ESSAY CONTESTS
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1st Annual "Through My
Eyes" Drug Essay Contest Winners
A booklet called Through My
Eyes contains all 22 essays from the first contest on
the impact of alcohol and is available for $5.00 at Words
& Pictures, 407 Oak Street, Brookings,
OR 97415. 100% of the proceeds from the sale of this
booklet go to support these contests. This contest involves
the subject of substance abuse.
Grand
Prize Winner
- Anonymous
First
Runner Up
- Anonymous
Second
Runner Up
- Olivia Buscho
Third
Runner Up
- Anonymous
Background
Grand Prize
Winner
June 13, 2005, a 15 year old girl dies
at the hands of methamphetamines. Cold and alone, she was
found across the street from a church parking lot, hidden by
the protection of an alleyway dumpster. Several needles were
found strewn around her as if others carelessly ditched them
quickly. This isnt just looking through The Pilot and
skimming the jail logs and noticing your gas attendant is
going to court for possession. This isnt another
written pamphlet that warns you about dangers of
drugs and why teens shouldnt shoot up. This is
bitter reality. This girl wasnt just a statistic to
me; she was my friend.
Angela lived a block away from my
house in an old downtown Victorian that awed me every time I
was invited over. Whenever the doorbell was pressed, a loud,
majestic ringing would alert the inside, and a small, blond
head would peek through the glass. Sometimes I would be
jealous because her whole life seemed so easy; a ride to
school, ballet lessons and a new Barbie doll whenever report
cards came out. But time went by and I learned to deal with
it.
In 7th grade, we were inseparable. I
could go on about my grades and the school dances and the
day that we planned to wear matching Harry Potter shirts on
twin day, but all that really sounds mundane and pointless,
now. However, a day that should be recognized is the day
that she met Travis. He ruined her.
One Tuesday after school, when Angela
came over to do homework, she mentioned her older sister,
Caity. The night before, Caity invited her to one of her
friends parties. Angela told me about how she needed
to use the bathroom and Travis led her to find the nearest
one. Hes so cute, she kept squealing.
Did you know that hes a sophomore in high
school? Angela proceeded to tell me that she was
meeting him in the high school parking lot tomorrow after
school.
Week after week, I was bombarded with
stories about how much older and sophisticated he was. How
he drank wine from his parents refrigerator and they
didnt care and how his dad would give him a little pot
when Travis ran an errand for him.
Travis says that its
completely harmless. All it does is calms you down for
awhile. Really, I only tried it once and I didnt even
like it. Im not going to do it again. She
carefully reassured me. Somehow, by the tone in her voice
and the fascination in her eyes, I couldnt believe
her. I didnt believe her, but I didnt have the
heart to tell her parents.
Though this was all about four years
ago I remember police cars speeding past the middle school
and seeing Travis escorted out of the building with cuffs on
his wrists. Later, Angela informed me that he was caught
with meth in his backpack and the cops were called. But she
didnt hesitate to pull a tiny, thin plastic bag out of
her bra. A fine, white powder looked me straight in the
face. I couldnt believe it.
ANGELA! I screamed. Where
did she get it? How did she use it? How long had she used it
for? All these questions came spilling out of my mouth. My
mind was racing with thoughts of her on the bathroom floor
of Caitlyns room with a needle in her arm. Does she
scream like they do in the movies? Why didnt she have
red spots on her face? What the hell was going
on?!
Turns out, shed used it three
times before and she could stop whenever she wanted
to. (I know that it sounds cliché and everyone
hears it all the time, but the moment that you actually hear
someone you love excuse them with it, you dont know
how powerful those words can really be.)
She could not stop. She just
couldnt.
One night, I walked into her room and
heard crying. I looked behind her bed and in her closet, but
I couldnt see her. She was hiding underneath her desk
crouched in a little ball, just itching and hysterically
clawing at the wood. I didnt breathe.
Theyre everywhere! Please,
please stop it! Stop it! Get them off me!
Angela was crying and pleading with
me, but her eyes were blank; she didnt see me. Her
fingers found the hem of my jeans and she began to brush
them and pick at them all the while trying to dig her nails
into her neck.
Angela, stop it! Theres
nothing there! I tried to reason. I didnt know
what was happening.
I cant sleep. I cant
sleep or else theyll come. They sent all these bugs.
There all here on my legs and
my arms and they want
it. But hes gone. I tried to tell them that hes
not here and I dont have it. Please, get these bugs
off me... STOP!! she cried and scratched and tried to
save me from these bugs as well. So I held her. I held her
and rocked her and stroked her hair.
I did my best to get her to the front
room and to get a phone in my hand. She was beginning to
scream at me and punch my legs and arms and anything she
could reach. She told me shed never stop and it was
the best thing thatd ever happened to her. And hour
later, the police came and took her away from me.
That was a year ago and now shes
dead. They let her go back home after awhile under the
supervision of her parents, but she got out somehow. No one
knows who was with her or how she got out. But I know that
there are a lot of teens saying that its okay and that they,
too can stop whenever. Its not true.
Angela Maria Consuelo was my friend. She was another teen
victim to drugs.
First Runner Up -
Anonymous
Drugs have taken away arguably the
most important person in a childs life. Drugs have
taken away my mother. And the three years that she was a
part of my life definitely couldnt be defined as happy
times. Its a hard concept for a six year old to grasp
that its more important to get high than it is to be
taken to kindergarten on time
My grandparents had me until I was
three years old, and then my mother finally fought her way
through the court systems and back into my life. She moved
me up to Portland, expecting a second chance to be a good
mother, because when I was born she proved to be incapable
of taking care of me. Dismayed as my grandparents were, they
had no choice but to let me go. Driving away from their
house on top of the hill all I remember thinking is whether
or not my kitten Gizmo would be all right without me. She
ran away two days later.
The warm welcome that I got upon
entrance to the apartment in Gresham was a good screaming
about how horrible it was that I still drank from a bottle.
My bottle was taken from me and thrown down the stairs. That
was the day that I started drinking from a cup. My brother
living with us should have been a good thing, but he was
around eleven and thought that it was funny to pick on his
little sister. So on a daily basis I was reminded that I had
a lisp and couldnt pronounce the word three correctly.
He and his friend John would leave me by myself, even while
my mom was out getting high. Making food for myself became a
necessity at age four.
My mother lost her job, and all of her
money was being pumped into her addiction, so we were kicked
out of the apartment. Around this time her ex-boyfriend came
back into the picture. He was violent and controlling, but
my mother thought that she needed him. He lived with us in
all of our future, rather unique, residences. The Peach was
a motel that we lived in for quite some time. There were
other children living there, and I was able to go out and
play with them. On one such occasion, my brothers
father drove up in his giant red truck and told him to get
in. He couldnt take me because he was not my father,
so I was left alone in the dirty parking lot to fend for
myself. When my mother discovered that her son was gone, it
didnt effect her much because she was high, but later
I got in trouble because I didnt stop him from
leaving.
When the motel expenses got to be too
much to handle, we were forced onto the streets. For awhile
the front porch of an abandoned house across from the
Goodwill became our home. This was not a coincidence, being
as we stole from the Goodwill. Whenever the workers would
leave the Goodwill delivery truck open, we would sprint
across the highway and take whatever we could hold. I was
commended for stealing shoes and crayons.
Of all that occurred in those three
years, one memory stands out above the rest. During another
of my mothers drug binges, we ended up in a gigantic
empty warehouse. This warehouse was in one of the shadier
parts of the city, so it was a testament to my mothers
addiction that she even brought me along. Apparently she
thought it was safer to bring me rather than leave me on the
porch by myself. Upon entrance of the building, I was told
to go into a room on the left. I was given the instructions
to sit and be quiet. So thats where I sat, all night.
As it got darker I picked a spot on the wall and stared at
it. This was an attempt to not get scared. As a five year
old I learned the measure of my determination.
I believe that she wanted to stop, but
the addiction had such a strong hold on her that she just
couldnt. Thankfully my grandparents regained custody
of me when I was six, and I have lived with them in
Brookings ever since. I have just recently started building
a relationship with my mother, and it is off to a good
start. I actually think that my childhood is a big part of
who I am today. I have this desire to succeed that I cannot
begin to explain, and I know that I owe it to that
determined little five year old that I once was.
Second Runner Up -
Olivia Buscho
Scientists and psychologists have
hundreds of explanations for why drugs are abused:
Depression, genetic makeup, lifes pressures, or maybe
just the desire to get high. Maybe its a
combination of everything. But I believe drug abuse is a
direct result of fear, the fear of failure, fear of pain,
fear of being you. Or even sadder, drug abuse comes from the
fear of knowing yourself.
Lets say my theory is correct
and low self-esteem and fear drives the insecure and
frightened to use drugs. Who would be the most susceptible
to these conditions? Teenagers of course! We dont even
know who we are yet, but we are on the brink of
independence, trying to figure out all of lifes tricks
while deciding what we want to do with ourselves after high
school. Naturally, some insecurity arises.
What better way to avoid getting to
know yourself, numb the uncertainty and avert your eyes from
the future than to get stoned when the going gets tough.
Its a cop-out. How scared of yourself are you that you
have to alter your mind to live with it?
Of course this isnt the case
with all drug users, but being an insecure high school girl
myself, it doesnt seem like that insane of a theory.
Its true, I am insecure, but I also love myself. I
love my mind, crazy thoughts and all. I prefer it unaltered
with drugs. I believe if you mess with your mind enough your
heart will get messed with too. Eventually priorities change
and whoever you were or were trying to be gets lost along
the way. So please, dont be afraid to be you. Be
afraid to lose you. Find the courage to face that big scary
world; I expect you will be pleasantly surprised.
Third Runner Up -
Anonymous
I have seen the effects they cause,
from prison to adoption. From suicidal thoughts to running
away. There are no words to express the hurt and suffering I
have witnessed drugs produce. I havent personally
experienced any of this, but I have watched enough of it to
know that drugs are a huge problem in our town and in Oregon
in general.
Most of my friends have been abandoned
due to their parents addiction to drugs. Two have been
adopted, and a few others have moved in with their
grandparents because their parents (or parent, in most
cases) couldnt support them anymore. There are so many
lasting effects, and so many past problems that they have to
ignore because my friends just want to move forward with
their lives.
Could you imagine your parents
basically telling you that you are the second most important
thing to them? Their first priority being some kind of
illicit drug. And not only that, but then being asked to lie
for them and pretend like everything is okay. In one
situation, about four years ago, my friend (lets call him
John) ran away because he was getting beat because of the
mind games the drugs were playing on his mother. When the
cops found John they told him if he ran away again he would
be put in Juvenile hall, and didnt even bother to
listen to the horrid things that had caused him to leave his
house. Its not only the citizens that are in denial
about the problems teenagers face , its the
authorities too.
We need to take a stand and listen to
what the people who have been most affected have to say. I
am not one of them, but I am trying to help tell their
stories. Trying to help others in their situations. Drugs
are out of control in this town, county, and state. What
amazes me the most about drugs, is how they can bring people
to do things that otherwise, they would never do. To give up
on your own flesh and blood all because of a substance that
takes over your mind and soul seems
inconceivable.
My friends are strong and are actually
trying to mend the scars and problems that their birth
parents have caused. In my opinion they are smarter and more
compassionate because of the things they have been through,
but they are also more sensitive to certain things. Drugs
havent ruined their lives because they choose to
succeed. Unfortunately, I cant say as much for their
parents.
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