My parents took me to see a psychologist for the first time when I was seven years old. And the only reason I know I was seven is because I remember I was playing The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time when they came downstairs and told me to stop playing because we had to go somewhere. This upset me, because that game was and will forever be amazing, but I digress. I don't know why they took me to therapy. They always thought something was wrong with me. They thought I was autistic when I was a toddler because I used to flap my arms like a bird when I got excited about something. In retrospect, they might have blown that out of proportion a bit. Anyway, therapy continued on and off for years. I don't remember actually feeling sad or troubled as a child - I just remember thinking I must be sad and something must be wrong with me because mom and dad always took me to see a psychologist, and mom and dad know better than I do. It made me feel abnormal. I always had friends but never felt like I fit in. Eventually, I actually started to feel anxious and depressed. The doctors put me on medication. That didn't work, so I tried to self medicate. Started drinking when I was twelve. Started smoking pot around 13. I started experimenting with pills when I was a senior in high school - mostly OxyContin. And before I knew it, I was snorting heroin. Getting high enhanced my ability to socialize. I felt like people liked me more when I was high. I liked me more when I was high. I finally felt like I fit in. Nothing is more important to an adolescent.
The guy who gave me my first Oxy was this thirty-year-old dude who I worked with at a pizza shop. He was charismatic, seemed popular, and he could talk to anyone. I idolized him because of this. One night after work he offered to give me a 20mg Oxy in exchange for a ride home. It turned out that "home" was his mom's house. He invited me in to hang out, have a beer and play call of duty. We played for a while. When I said I had to leave he asked me to play one more round, so I did. But then he did that again, and again, and again. And then it hit me. This guy is lonely. This guy is so lonely, he's thirty years old and is begging a teenager to hang out a little while longer. He has nobody. He has nothing. I had to give him a ride home tonight because he doesn't have a car. He still lives with his mom. He works for minimum wage. If I keep this shit up, that's me in twelve years. I need to stop. I don't want to be lonely. I want to fit in. Ironically, it was the same desire to fit in that encouraged me to use drugs, that convinced me to get sober.
I knew that I was addicted and that my moment of clarity might be short-lived, so I went home and just straight up told my parents I was a drug addict and needed help. The following week I was in an outpatient program. I didn't physically return to school the rest of senior year, but the school assigned me a tutor that would bring my assignments to me at home, and I was able to finish high school on time and get my diploma in 2010. I skipped the graduation ceremony though, mainly because I felt ashamed. I ended up going to community college for two years, then Syracuse University. I graduated in 2015 and now I'm a CPA and work for one of the Big 4, which isn't Goldman Sachs or Google, but it's something I'm proud of, especially considering what I fought through to get here. I'm incredibly fortunate.
TLDR: As cliche as it may sound, I started doing drugs because I wanted to fit in. Had an epiphany. Realized addicts often end up lonely. Lonely people don't fit in. Ironically, I also stopped doing drugs because I wanted to fit in.