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The first time I ever got high was during the summer, the night before my 17th birthday. I was helping my auntie set up for her wedding the next day and a friend called me asking me to pick him up at the mall. As I was getting ready to leave, my pothead cousin asked if I could take him to a friend’s house, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. My friend decided to follow me to take my cousin to his friend’s house—keep in mind that I was driving my auntie's car, which was in horrible condition. The speedometer didn’t work, the car made a loud knocking noise whenever you took a turn, the back window was covered in plastic, and sometimes the car wouldn’t start; plus, I didn’t have my license. I thought we were driving no more than 10 minutes to get to my cousin’s friend’s house, but it took us about 30 minutes (the farthest I’d ever driven). Halfway to this house, my cousin decided to tell me he was picking up weed from his dealer. I was kind of mad, but didn’t really care at the same time. We finally got to my cousin’s friend’s house and my cousin got down. A couple of minutes later, he came back and asked if any of us wanted to smoke. I said, "Sure, why not?" and, luckily, my friend declined. I got out of the car and sat with my cousin and his friend. I took about three hits off the joint. I didn’t feel anything as I was sitting down, but as soon as I stood up to leave I could barely walk straight. I got to the driver's side of the car and just stood there. My cousin had to call my name and tell me to get into the car so we could leave. I sat in the driver's seat and just stared at the steering wheel for a good five minutes until my cousin said to start the car. I knew I couldn’t drive, but I tried to shake it off and started the car. I barely made it out of the street. I ended up driving into the neighbor’s yard, stopping right in front of a tree. My cousin and friend kicked me out of the driver's seat and my friend ended up driving us back. As we were on the road, I really started to feel the effects and I didn’t know what to do. I just felt like I was getting sucked to the back of my head (strange, I know). I was freaking out so badly I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm down. I eventually started freaking out because it was so dark and I couldn’t see what was going on. I started freaking out to the point where I was screaming, crying, and kicking the back of the passenger's seat. I thought I was dying, so I ended up calling a girl I had just recently met and telling her that I was going to die because I got so high and I couldn’t focus properly. Soon after, I started to calm down, and I had cotton mouth; I didn’t know what it was at the time, so I thought there was something wrong with me. My friend decided to stop by a store to get me something to eat and drink—of all things, he got me the driest snack you could ever eat with cotton mouth: Choco Pie. I was making a complete mess with the Choco Pie and I couldn’t even drink a bottle of water properly. By the time we got to my friend’s house, I was calm but still a bit impaired. My cousin ended up driving us back to my auntie's. When I got home, I looked in the mirror and my eyes were bloodshot red. I took myself straight to sleep. I woke up the next day still high, so I laid there on the bed waiting for it to wear off. I was absolutely freaked out by the experience and told myself I was never going to smoke again, but that was a complete lie.