Citation: Healed. "Second Chance: An Experience with Methamphetamine (exp15323)". Erowid.org. Apr 11, 2005. erowid.org/exp/15323
Speed has sent my life on a tangent that has both been horrific, and tantalizing. I've come in contact with people I never would of dreamed of hanging out with in my right mind. From former business' owners turned speedfreaks, to the lowly dope fiend who thrives on 'chasing the high.' The foreground and setting of my abuse has been as equally diverse; ranging from houses along the beach to macabre street alleys. I've been to heaven.. And hell, within a short span of 4 years.
My romance with speed began when I was sixteen. I was a pothead, but I always was open to new things. The death of my grandmother provided the perfect opportunity for the onset of a speed addiction. I was overwhelmed with grief and guilt, and a girl I was seeing at the time offered me a quick solution to pain. She took me to an apartment complex and had me wait in the car. I sat waiting there for what seemed an eternity when suddenly she emerged, energetic and enthuthiastic. She talked relentlessly on the way back to her place,about all types of shit I didn't care about. When we got into her place she pulled a small baggie of semi-transparent crystals. She hooked me up with a rail and I was on my way into a euphoric journey of assurance and pleasure. I felt this tremendous sense of power, that I could do almost anything. Energy surged through my body and I felt great insight in meaning of existance, and of good and evil. I talked of the impact of grandmother's death and of unrealting things, yet I still managed to tie them all into one conversation, pausing only for a hit of a cigarette, or another rail.
It was the greatest moment of my life. I bonded with her emotionally in ways I never could have thought. The way it felt going up my nostril didn't bother me either. Not even the burning or the horribly bitter taste of the drip going down my throat. I loved every second of it. That is, until the sun came up. What proceeded to happen was a living hell, my life was transformed into a meaningless void, fueled by an unholy passion for the instrument of my self-destruction. My first experiences were endurable,the comedowns were bad, but not as horrid to those to come. My relationship with the girl went sour, severing my speed connection. But not for long.
I met another girl from a mutual friend. We hit-off, especially when we shared our interest in methamphetamine. She told me her ex was a connect, and a reliable one with good shit. I asked when she could call him.. She said right now. He came over and he brought his glass pipe with him. Smoking speed elevated me to new dimension in meth use. When I jumped to my feet after smoking a bowl I felt like I had enough energy to walk across the whole city. When I took steps my feet felt light almost. But what captured my attention the most were the immense, billowing, clouds of smoke. How they toppled through the air, thick, and heavy. Marijuana was all but a vague memory to me by now. I had found my niche. Smoking speed through a glass dick.
From this point on I was no longer interested in the deep conversations which was engrossed my time on the drug. No, I found a science in blowing speed pipes out of glass tubes containing small decorative flowers(found at any liqour store). I used a tourch which my dad had in his tools. I also discovered speed bongs (Hawaian punch, sunny delight, or water with a cough drop were my favorite liquids used) which added new variety. I was also introduced to the 'hot rail.' The act of heating a glass tube and then railing a fat line, smoking whatever speed had melted on the sides the way up. Thus the meth hits your systems through both methods simultaneously.
Slowly my social life began to revolve around the drug. I became a recluse to my friends, isolating myself in my room( which was actually a guest room converted into my kick-back spot). Many of close friends remained by me. All tokers, they criticized my habit, but after a few months I had them doing it too. How could one resist?
My relationship with my dad faltered. I avoided him at all times, making cameo apperances in his room late at night to steal 20's from his wallet. He was a broken man after things with my mom and all I did was add to his grief. But being emotionally distant he dealt with it by isolating himself thus furthering the decay of our relationship. With my new hobbie so prominent, I found no use for the material things of my youth. I began clucking(trading) all of my valued possesions. My comic book collection, which had accumlated into skyskrapers of vintage issues over the years. My old accordion(I took lessons as a child), even the TV and VCR from my room. I didn't need that shit anyway, its not like I used any of it.
I kept my computer though, I needed it while I stayed up all night to 'research.' In time I detected a 'flaw' and decided to take the hard-drive apart to see what was wrong. By the next morning I was already coming down and I didn't have the patience to put it back together. So I clucked what was left for half of a teener.
Soon, my dad decided to get away, and went on vacation. And I decided to go off the deep end. I quit going to school completely, and dedicated all my time to smoking speed and my numerous 'projects.' At night the house was packed with tweakers, and Ilet my connect crash at my place for a few nights. While I was consumed with hitting the dope pipe, they went through my dads things, looting irreplacable sentimental items of my family's past. My next door neighbors became concerned with the late night traffic, and the police began to frequent the area(which didn't help my skecthing any). My aunt, who was assigned check-up on me, was concerned as well. Between work she would come by, and she began to notice my behavioral changes. And my ever increasing paranoia at her visits. I lied to her about school, and my late night activities. I thought I was getting away, but was I wrong.
One night, in a craving for more dope, I broke into my dope-friends room in search of more shit. Coming across only empty baggies, I finally found a resinated speed bong, and I decided to drink the water out of it. I nearly through up my intestines. Stumbling home I began to sketch like never before. I had smoked bunk(bad) shit earlier and if that was bad enough, I had been without sleep about a week. I began halucinating, seeing demonic images reflected on glass surfaces, even in the mirror. I saw phantom like shadows moving about the house, and a 12-inch tall dwarf staring at me at the foot of the couch. I tried speaking to it but my mouth could only verbalize jibberish. I began to panic. My grandmother had influzema, and her breathing machine was still in the living room. I turned it on and put the hoses in my nostrils. Slowly clean air poured into my nose. Soon I began to ease off, and slowly I passed out.
My bad experiences with meth increased, but I didn't care. I was in a whirl-pool of self-loathing and digust. When my dad returned he found all of his power tools missing. Finding me passed out on the couch he grabbed me by the collar and gave a blow to the side of my head. I fell to the floor and he told me to get the fuck out or he was calling the cops. Within 10 minutes, I had my back-pack, and a few pairs of clothes and I was gone. What was worse is I didn't care. I was actually enticed with the new idea of freedom. Home for me now was bumping from house to house. Sofa-city. Burning bridges everywhere I went. I stayed with one friend, and after turning him on to dope, I decided, as a going away present; to steal his ninentdo and a few other things. My life was shit. I had self-inflicted wounds on my skin from trying to dig imaginary bugs out with razor blades. I had lost lots of weight. I became more uncomfortable around people, and surfaced only at night. Night became my comforter, like a vampire I scorned the day because it represented all that I hated. I roamed the streets with a girl I turned on to speed, and we would shelter wherever we could.
One night we even broke into a boat out side a house and stayed in there, smoking speed and peeking out the window in paranoia. My idea of partying had gone from underground parties with blarring house anthems to smoking meth in gas station bathrooms out of a broken speed pipe stem. I had only the girl, Alicia, as my companion at this dark time.
Alicia grew tired of the shit, and her company became more of a drag then anything else. I encouraged her to go home, and eventually left her in the parking lot of a bowling alley for what I thought was her own good. I found myself wandering aimslessly that night. Spun out, and lost. At that moment enlightment happen. For some reason I got a compulsion to go to my mother's, whom I hadn't spoken to for a few years. I walked clear across town to her house, and arrived at 1:00 AM. I had no expectations, my mind was blank and I was empty of all feeling. I just knew I needed help. She welcomed me in a emotionally tear-jerking embrace, concern pouring out her very soul. Her and my stepfather were recovering heroin addicts (I had always carried resentment towards her because of her addiction, now look at me). They had me stay in a recovery program connected with a church which changed my life. I was a realist, and naturally cynical towards faith oriented religion, but here it was different. I met tons of people through programs and rehab, from all walks of life. All who had hit rock bottom, all in a wonderful process of transformation. I dont have time to get into if but it changed the whole course of my drug use.
Now, I'm sober for 5 months, I've relasped a couple of times since being introduced to programs but now I have the support base and the accountability to pull myself out when I do fall in the hole. I am now reconciled with my father and his side of the family as well. One of the hardest things though is to see the damage I have done now that I am in the aftermath. I have taken years off my dad life, and destroyed much of his livlihood, if not all. Many of those I turned on to speed are full blown dopefiends, and not to mention all the emotional baggage I have now. Meth changed my life, for good or for worst. But mostly for worst. However if not for Meth, I wouldnt have been able to become involved in what I am doing today. Now dont get me wrong, I know meetings and programs dont work for everyone but they sure as hell helped me. I'm sure Id be dead right now had it not been for this 'second chance.'
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