The speed was a little scary at first because Bill had to inject it right into my arm.

I remembered how much I hated shots when I was in the hospital, but this is different.

Now I can't wait. I positively can't wait to try it again. No wonder it's called speed.

I could hardly control myself. In fact, I could have, if I wanted to, I didn't want to.

A teenage girl hurriedly scribbles that description in her diary. Or so the author and publishers

of said diary claimed. It was 1970, the year of bell bottoms and incredible vinyl records,

the counterculture is in full swing,

but it never seemed to reach this teen in her small suburban town, the town she was forced to move to

when her dad took a job at the local college. Just a couple months earlier, her diary entries were

full of boring things like school and homework and things that made her upset like her weight and acne but ever since

she tried lSD at a party the pages of her diary began to be consumed by one thing her desperate

obsessive desire to try more drugs she wanted to smoke pot then to take heroin next. Luckily, her town was full of more drug

users than she'd initially realized, including a couple of college students who eagerly showed her

how to both smoke pot and inject speed via a needle. And then they encouraged her to push the products on

other kids. And why wouldn't she?

Drugs are fun.

She'd always been told by her parents that drugs were bad.

But they must not have taken any because they make you feel so good.

They don't understand that there's just so much out there to experience.

Not only pot, speed, and LSD, but ecstasy too.

Hell yeah.

And then there are the other things she's curious about.

...