Erika Quintero

Growing up, my stepfather was my hero in every way. I wanted to do everything he did. He was my Batman and I was his Robin; we were "Partners in crime," my mother would say. We had a bond closer than blood. We had an everlasting bond of love and drugs.

I remember walking home from school one day. I was nine years old. The day was as bright as the sun. I had on my new sunflower dress from Kids-Mart. My hair was flowing in the wind as my friends and I ran down the steep hill. I remember smelling my friend Karen's shampoo; it was either Johnson & Johnson or Mr. Bubbles. We ran down the hill so fast, as if we had a reason to be running, and reached my home out of breath. As I walked in the door I smelled something so strong I almost gagged. I had a terrible feeling and sent my friends home. I remember creeping to the bathroom like a wolf after his prey. I called to my father from outside the bathroom door, but I got no answer. I put my ear to the door and I heard my stepfather weeping like a baby. He wept and then screamed in pain. I called him once more, "Daddy are you okay? Let me in!" I opened the door. The smell of burnt flesh and cigarettes was so strong I could taste it. I saw towels on the floor as red as Merlot wine. I looked around the bathroom and saw my stepfather on the floor near the sink. He had tripped on the rug and hit his head. There was blood all over my precious father. I tried to help him up but his 5'10"; 160-pound body was too much for me. I was looking around for the phone when I saw a syringe. I looked at that evil entity on the floor, overwhelmed. I picked up the phone and dialed 911. I have little recollection of what words came out of my mouth. It might have been, "Help my fathers on the floor bleeding to death," or,
"Help-911-my father's a drug addict." My stepfather died in my arms that sun-brightened day. I could only stare at the syringe. That same day, I made an oath to myself to never be like my stepfather. However, Batman and Robin work best as a team and Robin always wants to be Batman.

After my stepfather's death I tried my hardest to keep sane for the welfare of my mother. I did a good job at acting happy and content with life. My mother was happy and that's all that mattered to me. Years passed since my innocence was lost that day. I was seventeen and attending a high school known for good drugs. My mother had remarried, and was trying to go on with her life. I, on the other hand, felt as if part of me was dead. I no longer could hide my pain from anyone. My mother sent me to a psychiatrist. "Psychiatrists are for crazy people," I told my mother. I felt that the trip to the psychiatrist was my breaking point. I had kept all my emotions and frustrations inside me, because it was too horrible to talk about them. I felt as if this doctor was breaking my mind open and stealing all my emotions and memories. I never went back again.
I had taken an oath to myself to never be like my stepfather. But whether I knew it or not, I was heading in the same direction. I was depressed, and I felt an emptiness inside that never left me. Depression wrapped around me like a snake. I couldn't free myself from it.

I remember the night my friend Grace and I tried marijuana for the first time. I was seventeen. I remember being at a house so unlike my own. There were flowers in the yard and very expensive vases on the table and popular art on the wall. I sat on the balcony with my friends feeling so afraid and so free at the same time. I knew exactly what these parties were all about. I sat watching everyone pass the bong. I was so nervous my hands shook and one of the guys from the party saw this. I remember him saying, "Relax Erika, it's just weed, not heroin." How ironic, I thought, that he would say that. My turn finally came. I inhaled as much as I possibly could with the hope that this drug would heal me of all my pain. My body felt so free that night that I felt I could do anything. The marijuana god had rid me of my pain, or so I thought. After that night I smoked weed every chance I got. I wanted to escape reality whenever possible.

I have heard a phrase that marijuana is a gateway drug. This is entirely true. After awhile I forgot my oath to myself. I felt that by doing drugs, I could be at the same level with my stepfather, almost to my grave, but I promised myself that I would do anything and everything except heroin. My first and last gateway drugs were Acid and Mushrooms. My friend Jo and I tried them at her house when her parents were away. I remember the look on her face when she saw the Acid and Mushrooms in my hand. Her face turned white as milk, and it looked as if she was staring death in the face. She and I took four acid tabs and three mushrooms. I was so high that night that I only remember one thing-being in my friend's bathroom and screaming out of control. The drug made my heart race so fast, I thought that any moment I was either going to die or pass out. I awoke three days later up in a hospital realizing I had been in a coma. I had tried to commit suicide and almost died of a drug overdose. While in the bathroom I had downed some pills and slit my wrists. My friend's parents had come home early and found my friend unconscious and me almost dead. They said that I kept mumbling the words "Here I come daddy" over and over again.

It has been four years since my crash and burn. I am living drug and depression free. The best thing I can say is "no to drugs and yes to life."