It was very sad to read about the eight Castle View students that ingested prescription drugs and had to be hospitalized on February 8th. Why kids are desperately trying to find ways to kill themselves in the name of having "fun" is beyond my scope of understanding.

I'm not really a stranger to this, however. Back "in the day," Rick was my best friend in high school. We knew each other from junior high band. I played trombone and he played the saxophone. We used to hang out after school together almost every day. When we got a bit older and could drive, we carpooled together. We were pretty tight.

In my junior year, Rick started smoking a joint in front of me. I asked where he got it from, and he said he stole it from his mother. He offered me a joint and I declined. Rick and I still hung out, however. Soon, Rick started to introduce me to some of his new friends. They seemed nice enough and seemed to have one thing in common - they all smoked pot. They invited me to join them and, again, I refused. They said it was okay, and were happy that I could at least be sober and drive Rick home at the end of the night.

Rick, meanwhile, continued his downward spiral. Soon he was sniffing room deodorizer with his friends. They'd pass the bottle around and take a huge snort. Their faces would turn red as a tomato and apparently it provided a huge rush. Then, the room deodorizer lost its appeal and Rick and his buddies got into stronger and stronger stuff. I kept hanging around Rick because he was my best friend, and I thought that if I could at least drive him home at the end of his partying, he'd still be safe.

One night we were at Rick's house watching movies and he suggested we order a pizza. When the doorbell rang, he got up and spent about five minutes in the kitchen while I remained in the living room. We ate the pizza, and by the end of the night, we were both laughing so hard - mostly at silly stuff - but we were having a great time.

I drove home later that night and went to sleep. Rick called me up the next morning and asked me how I liked the pizza. I said it was fine, but next time he should not sprinkle oregano on it as I wasn't a fan of the stuff. He started cracking up and told me that it wasn't oregano, rather, it was marijuana.

I became enraged. Of all the times I was there for Rick to get high and to make sure he got home safely, he endangered my life (and the lives of others) by letting me drive home high! I told Rick that I never wanted to speak to him again and that if he wanted to get himself killed, that was his thing. He called me a loser and hung up.

A few weeks later, Rick's parents called my parents. Rick was in the hospital. He apparently overdosed on whatever he was on. This, of course, caused a confrontation between me and my parents. They demanded to know if I was doing drugs, if I knew Rick was getting high, etc. I was very truthful with them, including the pizza incident. My folks suggested that I try to make up with Rick and help him after his recovery.

I didn't go to the hospital, but when Rick got home I went to visit him. He was a mess. It was like he had a stroke. His speech was slurred, his face was a bit twisted, and he had to shuffle his feet to walk. I remember his parents telling me how happy they were that I was there to help him out.

As the weeks went by, Rick really didn't get much better. The twisting of his face receded, but he still had trouble walking and his speech never improved. And, it didn't take him long to pull out the bong from his clothes drawer. At this point, I decided to call it quits. I got up, went home, called his parents and informed them that Rick was still getting high.

I never saw Rick again. I admit that I do think about him every so often. I often wonder what would cause an honor student with great grades, a loving family, and a fantastic future to give it all up in order to get wasted. Wasted - that's a good word. Kids that get high are wasting their lives. They're losers. They're idiots. And, while they may think they're invincible and just having fun, one day they're going to have to pay the piper in one sense or the other.