I was adamantly opposed to drugs. I saw what coke did to my sister, and vowed never to bring that pain unto myself or family. Then I met him. At the age of 20, he was so damn cool, fun, and perfect. WTF was I ever thinking. He was a “recovering” (recovering my ass) coke addict (aka coke, crystal, g, e…) who I let into my life, and fell madly in love with. (shit, even know it sounds absolutely revolting and pathetic) after changing colleges, getting a DWI, and moving for him, I was able to enjoy the love for what it was… needless to say, I was struck countless times. He kept saying that I couldn’t judge him because “I don’t understand what its like, what he has been through” so drunk one night, I said to him at the bar “fine, find me something and I’ll fucking do it” did some E, then the bar closed… found a party, dropped my pants, and then was taught about T, G, more E, and coke. 7 years later, and I find myself lying to the perfect specimen of a man. Cute as can be, hot cock, cooks like no other, and puts up with me… so what am I doing? I sneak off when he is working (two jobs, mind you) and find a buddy to smoke with. I hate myself, but did a line in the bathroom this morning anyway. I am so glad I decided to try and understand that ex of mine. I also know that anyone who truly loved me, as I do my man, would never EVER tell someone, you don’t understand, unless you party at least once. Here I am, in love, ruining my life and relationship, typing to you all. Moral… sharing your drugs with someone who you “love” is not love… it’s a form of fucking sado-masochism.