Ecstasy

Prologue

Prologue

Being high could either be the best or the worst feeling of your life. When you are high nothing feels real, things spin and go out of control but most importantly, when you are high you feel numb. All of your feelings of hurt, sadness, depression, the wanting to cry, all of that goes away. I know what you might be thinking, what the fuck does this bitch know? Well, let me tell you. I know quite a good amount. Hi, I'm Freya Nicholson, and I'm a drug addict.

    Starting from when I was thirteen I've always felt as though I was missing something. This came from Grayson. Grayson Williams, my middle school crush or boyfriend should I say. Now you might be thinking, that's absolutely fucking stupid, what would you know at thirteen? And I agree, I absolutely do, but if thirteen year old me was here she would give you a piece of her mind and she would ramble on and on about how cute Grayson Williams was. She would give you every single reason as to why Grayson Williams was to die for.

He was the type of boy who would give you his crackers if you had none. Grayson Williams was dreamy for thirteen year old me. Yet, he was my first boyfriend, and therefore my first break up. He tore my heart into pieces. He gave me the attention I craved from everyone else in the world and then took it away as if it was nothing.

  I believe middle school was the worst time of my life, and I'm currently a Junior in high school, so does that go a long way without saying? Indeed, I believe it does. In middle school, I got bullied for my skin color simply because of the fact that it did not match my race, considering I was so pale people did not believe that I was hispanic. It was only when I would occasionally speak spanish that they eventually started to believe me. I mean obviously racism has always been a thing, but I had never experienced racism, up until middle school.

     I went to very much diverse but private middle school, and since it was so diverse it was also ghetto in a way. This school was about half an hour away from my house because my mom—and I quote— 'didn't want to have me going to a all-white school.' I mean I loved her to death and I completely understood where she was coming from, but why a ghetto school, am I right? I mean out of all the good schools she could've picked in all of Queens, New York, she picked the most ghetto one for a hispanic thirteen year old girl who had silky long hair and could honestly be confused for a white girl.

I could not understand it but regardless I agreed to go—not like I could've disagreed— and so I remember my mom dropped me off the first day of school and I walked in there absolutely expecting the worse, because as MJ says in Spider-Man: No Way Home 'expect disappointment and you shall never be disappointed'.

I walked in there with my head held down low, I swear I could not have been staring down at the tiles any harder. I walk in there and the first thing I hear is whispers. I guessed they were about me therefore I couldn't keep my head low anymore so I decided to look up, and everyone standing in front of their locker was staring me down, giving me the dirtiest looks and making sure I knew I wasn't accepted.

    I kept walking down the hall, now with my head held high, and as I kept walking I eventually managed to get lost, now it wasn't because I didn't want to ask for directions, but every time I would start walking towards someone to ask for help they would grab up their stuff and walk away. Could you believe that? I mean it's twenty-seventeen people, what are you doing? Geez, don't be this racist and if you're going to be, try to be more subtle with it. I kept walking, and walking and walking, and before I knew it I had managed to go through each and every hall of the east wing at least once or twice. I decided to give up at this point, so I sat in front of a locker and shoved my head in my hands as I placed them on top of my knees. I cried, and I cried, and I cried, and I cried until I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?" I heard this voice