Citation: Anonymous. "Untreated Mental Illness: An Experience with Methamphetamine (exp109179)". Erowid.org. Apr 8, 2019. erowid.org/exp/109179
A neverending year ago, on a moderately summery warm night of July 2015, I traipsed into the dangerous furious dance of crystal methamphetamine with untreated mental illness. At this time, I was in deep denial about me having mental illness, and believed that certain otherworld beings were completely out to get me.
I suppose I should mention a little bit something about my background and life story. I'll talk about the above-mentioned stuff in detail later on.
I'm a twenty-one years old female with a weight of approximately 240 pounds. I'm also around 5'1' tall. Plus, I'm also completely and fully deaf in each ear, and I use proficient sign language as a primary method of communication along with a handy pen and pad of paper.
I'm going to list every drug I have ever laid my hands on and used, in order of encounter. I first tried salvia divinorum at 15 years old, having bought it from a legal headshop in the 20x concentrate and I've only tried it twice in a row. I then discovered fantastical cannabis amongst my friends and it has developed into heavy daily smoking out from a glass bong. I found some crystal methamphetamine which also will be the basis of this story. I've also experienced crack maybe three times, all times smoking it. I've also snorted cocaine once for an entire night. Then it was the ol' magic shrooms in some nature forest and a couple of other good vibing experiences. Finally, but not the least, I popped some MDMA pills at some friend-hosted New Years Eve party.
That pretty much concludes my drug usage, apart from legal substances such as alcohol and nicotine; and it also doesn't include my prescribed medicine history since it would be way too long-winded. Now, I have mentioned that I have a mental illness. I have specifically schizoaffective disorder. I sometimes struggle with denial of it. I have been suffering from some form of mental illnesses growing up. It was due to the highly disturbing violence and the frenzied and intense mood swings that I exhibited ever since I entered preschool that lasted up to a couple of years ago, although the moods haven't really stopped.
This just meant that I experienced and grew up without a real childhood. My parents weren't exactly physically abusive, although they were highly demanding and had no idea how to deal with such a kid like me. I grew up through the anguish of bullying, especially because I was simply deaf and wasn't 'one of them'. I, of course, acted out by punching and kicking, even clawing every time they teased me or provoked me, landing me in detention in elementary school and eventual suspension then almost expulsion in high school. I didn't graduate high school, so I live off on disability.
This hopefully concludes my somewhat brief history about myself, and I hope it helps in any kind of way - by increasing insight, learning something, etc. Now, the story.
As I said, it was a warm night in July 2015 when I arrived in the big city with grim determination as this very moment I was going to sleep on the streets as a runaway. The reason behind this was basically the fact the sentient otherworld beings was chasing me and keen on tricky psychological and physical experiments done on me. I found this to be a logical and non-bizarre reason too, at the time. I was scared to near-death and was craving for a fast reality escape and the answer were obviously drugs. I decided to go to the slums in the city where methamphetamine is very prevalent and decent-quality. It was as simple as approaching one of the homeless junkies who invited me to sit down with them for a chat via a paper and pen. We all smoked two joints which did buzz me up a bit, but not much at all, due to high tolerance at this point.
After a bit of chatter, the junkie woman agreed to take me to her dealer, but there were all sorts of safeguards in place. For example, we stopped in a corridor that had lights on and she told me to stay where I was, to wait and that she would bring me the methamphetamine. All I had was $25 at the time, so I told her $25 worth since I had no clue what gram was what price. She brought back a 0.5g baggie full of small-medium crystals with not too opaque color. I inquired about a meth pipe, or otherwise known as oil burner pipes. The junkie woman led me to a corner market that had $5 oil burner pipes behind their counter and they were actually of not-bad quality, much better than expected of a $5 pipe.
By then, it was completely dark but it was summer and the moon was out bright, so it wasn't bad to see at all. I was very eager to finally open my eyes to the vortex of rushing dopamine that methamphetamine brings, so we walked over to a secluded park. Once we settled in - she had a bike with two backpacks full of items - she told me there was a method of smoking that she would show me with her own supply, which I really appreciated. She explained all about the one-inch or lower flame, and to make sure to melt down everything before inhaling. She gave me the classic meth pipe twisting motions that I have learned how to love. I watched her load the ice shards into my pipe by the carb cap. She slowly pulled upright, the meth pipe level and her bic lighter positioned almost directly below it. She flicked it, and a bright orange flame flickers into reality. I watched her as she rolled it, the vapors of meth fogging up my oil burner pipe as she inhaled it. Exhaled it like majestic dragon clouds that wanted to take over everything.
Then finally, it was my turn. I was definitely excited about trying methamphetamine even though I have heard all the horror stories out there - it didn't deter me at all. I was oblivious to the fact I was well deep into a mental illness episode.
I have heard all the horror stories out there - it didn't deter me at all. I was oblivious to the fact I was well deep into a mental illness episode.
The glass pipe was positioned to my mouth, me holding it to practice the rocking motion. Once she knew that I could twirl it well enough for sustainable hits, she lit the bic. I watched as the meth melted into liquid, and then vaporize straight into my lungs. I rocked the pipe not too slow but not too fast, but still imperfect. As I exhaled the shiny white smoke, I suddenly got this buzzing sparkling rush in my head, and I felt right at top of the world and definitely felt blissful and actually calm that made me relax on the grass in the park. There were no demon or alien in the area at the time, which I was regularly sensing and kind of seeing shapes of them. The woman knew that I was feeling the good stuff, and grinned at me. After some hanging out happening, I did another hit off the pipe later on when we were leaving, as she had some business to attend to. At this time, it was already day two of my absence.
I enjoyed the effects of smoking meth the rest of the early morning into the day, until I wandered into some friendly homeless street vendors - you know, the guys who sells the stolen goods and the random pieces of clothes and whatever else he can get his hands on - and I decided to hang out with them and maybe earn some money. Indeed I did, as I earned almost $200 by selling a DVD portable machine I fixed that they said I would keep the profits on if I could fix. There was this man there, Shawn, who stuck close to me and was really friendly, which would have been a deterrent for me normally because he was simply way too friendly, but in my fueled meth state I decided he was safe even though I was in fact extremely paranoid over little small stuff such as airplanes. We did some hits off the glass pipe I brought to the alley behind the area they vendor on, getting me especially euphoric for a little while. I was increasingly suspicious of everyone else other than the usual crowd, and it was pretty much like that for much of the remainder of the day.
As it neared midnight to mark day three of my run-away and the beginning of my binge and speedy dance with methamphetamine, Shawn approached me and explained to me that he and the others were prepping an entire sesh of needles with meth to inject and if I wanted in. At first, I was fearful and worried, but he assured me that he was an experienced user and that he would plunge it into my arm himself to ensure safety. I agreed to it. I, unfortunately, didn't watch them prepare the needles and the meth, so I couldn't describe it. However, the liquid itself was clear. The needle was positioned to my left arm's vein and was plunged by Shawn immediately. The high I experienced... It completely shot me right outta the stratosphere! I'll never forget the epic focus and the sheer energy it rewarded me, and it had me vibrating especially wonderful vibes. I was told they gave me a pretty heavy dose for a beginner, which was 0.15g of methamphetamine all filled in that needle. No wonder it felt so amazing to me, and in my opinion, it was probably the kickstart to everything bad.
I got even worse on my paranoia about everyone around me, thinking every single person was a discreet cop. Demons would keep bothering me, and there were also actual audible voices that whispered stuff like, 'Run, run, they're gonna get you, drop everything.' or 'Kill them all.' and it was terrible for me to frantically ponder why and how such demons could insert thoughts into my head and say such mean stuff. I started to talk to those voices, replying and conversing, which resulted in inane literal gibberish babble from me and sometimes I yell at them randomly, angry for them to bother me at all. I was behaving very erratic, and at that point, Shawn wanted to ditch me because I was too much of a hassle. So, he tricked me by walking fast in long distances having me follow him. I was obviously crashing, and when we were at McDonalds, I got seized by an intense desire to drink, and my mistake was to grab a large cup and filled it full of water and bottomed it in 30 seconds flat, and repeated it. After this, I chased after Shawn. This was in the middle of broad very hot daylight, and it was almost four days worth of binging and lack of care. Barely a minute later, on the street following Shawn, I puked and couldn't stop puking, and it got to the point where it was simply dry heaves but I couldn't stop.
After dry heaving and walking for an hour or two, I knew I was in dire trouble and I stumbled into a gas store, managed to write down a visible number, '911' to a clearly worried manager. Which meant I needed immediate emergency response teams. I walked outside and simply collapsed on the hot gritty pavement until the ambulance arrived. Once the guys took my vitals, their faces went into shock and panic and quickly ushered me into the ambulance and went to the nearest hospital, full-on siren blaring and light flashing. I was still dry heaving at this point, and the methamphetamine high was almost completely worn off. I was heavily moody and angry at this point, which is never a good combo for psychotic drugged up people. Almost immediately upon arrival, I descended into complete primal psychosis and all I remember at this point is the agony prevailing and flaming inside me from all the anxiety, fear, paranoia, and moods mixed in. I was flailing my arms at everyone frantically, shrieking at top of my lungs. All midst of this chaos, I was - believe it or not - still dry heaving, and it got so bad I was actually choking on air which stopped me from flailing. This promoted everyone to seize me and take me to the emergency trauma bed and immediately put me out.
I was out for a full day. I woke up in the seclusion room of the psych ward's jail version of supermax... A psychiatric intensive care unit. A nurse notices that I'm awake, and enters the tiny room with two security guards. I was still very much moody and paranoid, although the methamphetamine effects had completely worn off. I was forced to have an injection of Haldol every one or two hours, right into my butt cheeks. Sadly, my sense of time in this shoddy small white room was completely lost. Needless to say, I started sleeping a lot but was still unstable and periodically violent. After maybe a week, I finally stabilized enough to go out in the general population of the psych ward. The rest of the memory of the stay in the psych ward is a huge mental fog due to the heavy antipsychotics and mood stabilizers they put on me. I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, dual diagnosis with drug problems.
I got released then went back to drugs, but with a difference this time; I was on medication and never went back to IV. It seemed to have a literal difference, even though I use drugs daily. I'd like to say that my life had a happy after ending, but nope. So far, anyway.
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