a piece of shit monologue about my affair with coke for speech

Being Friends With Drugs

They say that your friends are the largest influences in your life. It makes sense; you grow to love them, they become a part of your family, they are people that you cannot imagine living without. But friends come and go. Some need to go.
Over a year ago, I hung out with some real classy people. And by real classy, I actually mean trashy. These people who I developed friendships with, made me friends with drugs. We’d smoke cocaine out of clear, shiny, glass light bulbs , cut each other lines with our debit cards or drivers license on a disinfected glass table, then go downstairs to inhale cigarette smoke or pack bowls and get high.
I was finding happiness and satisfaction in coke. Cocaine and I were like a person with a pacemaker: wherever I went, coke came with me to keep me alive. We were inseparable—I’d wake up, snort a couple lines before school, get in the car to drive my sister and I to class, snort more at school, go home, and snort some more or snort some before work. We were very good friends for several months, before I realized that I was always giving, and cocaine was just taking.
So, I did some gardening with hard drugs and people who live, breathe, sleep, and eat them. I pulled them out like weeds, to let the rest of my life flourish.