I'm only 23 years old, and that makes it hard for me to admit that I have a problem. Some days I still say that I don't, claiming that I'm in control. That's our thing though, right? Control? We all just want to be in control. I was raised in an abusive household, and it didn't help that I was always around drugs. My father was a dealer, and I can't count how many times I saw him, my mother, and their friends doing different things. They always had a bottle in their hand, too. Once I got old enough to realize that I could sneak out without being noticed, I did. Of course I tried the normal things that everyone does these days, drinking and pot, but it was never really enough. At the age of fifteen, I fell in love with cocaine. I was blowing through three grams a week, and it was expensive. At the age of sixteen, I got pregnant and vowed I'd never touch it again... and I didn't, for a very long time. Six months ago, I was at a friend's house and they offered me some. I said no at first. I said no five or six times, but then I gave in. I've only done it a handful of times since then, but I keep finding myself wanting to crawl back into that hole.