Kevin, Stop Using My Drugs

Kevin, I’ll start this by saying that this is coming from a place of love and that I care very deeply about you. However, I can’t say I love you all the time, especially when I know you’ve been stealing my drugs. I’m here, writing this, because you have a problem. I’ll just say it: if you’re going to use my drugs, at least pay me back. Your freeloading needs to stop, not just for your sake, but also for the sake of our friendship.

I remember when we first dropped acid together. We had moved in together, and you bought us each three tabs to celebrate. We had some great times that weekend, riding around on imaginary horses and listening to “SouljaBoy” on loop for 37 hours straight, I’m sure we did other things but nothing else is coming to my drug addled memory.

We had plenty of great weekends like that. We experimented with all sorts of drugs: PCP, meth, speed, Quaaludes, all sorts of stuff. That day when we took heroin enemas and lost control of our bowel movements is one of my few distinct, and most cherished, memories. Those were the days.

The best part about those weekends was that you always paid your fair share. Whenever DJ “Dirty” Jim the dealer came by, you always had enough cash, even some extra in case you needed to spot me.

But at some point, you changed. You got more quiet and reserved, and all you ever seemed to care about was getting your next fix. While I didn’t have much of a problem with your drug addiction, I definitely had a problem when you stopped paying for it. At first you just told me you’d pay your half next time, but next time never came.

Other strange things have been happening too. For example that eighth of Maui Wowie normally lasts me at least a week, but this time it lasted three days. I know you’ve been skimming off the top of my stash for awhile now. And before you blame the drug created hole in my brain’s paranoia center, let me just say that I’ve been counting pills and weighing my weed for a couple weeks now, you’re so busted dude.

Look Kev, I’m not asking you to stop using drugs, or even use them in moderation. Instead, all I ask is that you pay for your own fucking drugs. Even if your job doesn’t pay you enough to support your habit, you can still be a respectable drug addict and sell your body on the street for some extra cash. If you don’t do this, I’ll be forced to make you seek treatment for your problem, and that’s a solution that neither of us want that.

Originally published: Nov 2013

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