The Day I Met Crack Cocaine

 I was at university, surrounded by people yet feeling completely alone. I had friends, but the thought of walking into a lecture hall filled me with a kind of anxiety I couldn’t bear. So I stayed away from classes, filling my days with drugs instead.


Back then, it was ecstasy, Xanax, weed, oxy — a rotating cocktail that blurred the edges of my world. One of my friends eventually brought heroin into the mix. We used it together for a couple of months, until he decided to go to rehab.


That’s when I called the dealer myself.


He sold me heroin — and, along with it, some crack. I didn’t know much about it, but that night, I smoked a few rocks. And I remember thinking, I love this. Not in a casual way. Not in a “this is fun” way. It was like falling in love — sudden, consuming, undeniable.


I had no idea that this “love” would turn into something else entirely: nearly ten years of chaos, loss, and destruction.


Looking back now, that night was a door I didn’t realise I was opening — a door that led to places I would spend years trying to escape.


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