Citation: abnormallydizzy. "I Wish Things Could Be as Simple as they Were on Meth: An Experience with Methamphetamine (exp20413)". Erowid.org. Nov 13, 2005. erowid.org/exp/20413
I was in the middle of my drug experimentation phase, in which I was trying every drug I could lay my hands on, save heroin or coke (Because of personal fears of danger and addiction. Interestingly enough, my mind didn't place this fear on meth).
I no longer partake in any illegal drugs, only because of my progression into panic disorder. While I'm still battling that, I have no desire to bring on attacks with drug use. But hopefully, once somewhat recovered, I can again journey into the world of recreational drug use. Of course, this is assuming the disorder wasn't brought about by the usage.
Anyway, I had a friend, Adam, who to me seemed *the* paragon of drug information. I knew my father had tried many different drugs over the course of his lifetime, but at the age of 19 coupled with the place I was in my life, I was not ready to discuss this with him. A had been trying different types of drugs since a young age (12 or so, started smoking pot), and therefore had built up a large network of contacts. Adam could lay his hands on nearly whatever he wanted within a week or two, usually even during droughts. So when he told me he had something special, I took notice.
He was somewhat bewildered by my near constant desire to try different substances, and told me this after I'd bugged him for two days straight about this 'special stuff'. He said he could remember wanting to try new stuff all the time, but never with this intensity. So to get me off of his case ;-), he brought out a little baggie of what he called glass. I trusted him unequivicoally, so I asked for no further explaination. I was aware that glass was speed, but had no idea of what the different types were, or how powerful they might be. He told me that the stuff was strong, so I should use only a little, and then asked how long I wanted to be awake. We decided that I'd snort three bumps, and see how that worked out. He snorted two, and then we walked over to my apartment (about a half a mile).
It hit me in full force as we went inside. He fired up his laptop and did some homework, as I chatted on endlessly, not even pausing for responses to anything I said. No drug I had ever taken had made me feel quite as wonderful, including E (MDMA, MDA).
As I was (and am) predisposed toward low self-esteem and bouts of extreme self-loathing, the feeling that nothing on earth, or even beyond, could touch my greatness was liberating in a way I could not have previously imagined. Yet I still knew it was because of the drug, which points out the other fundamental difference from other drugs, for me. Alcohol, LSD, shrooms, weed, opium...on every single one of those I lost part, and much of the time most, of my self control.
On glass I felt as if I were functioning on an extremely high level (duh, I suppose). I couldn't solve the world's problems, but I could still operate my body and my thoughts on a logical level. And they were so much better than average! About an hour into my soliloquoy, I paused enough to wonder if I was boring my friend A. He said no, that while he didn't get the talking side effect, he enjoyed it greatly when others did, especially since he felt he could concentrate on multiple things at once. His homework consisted of coding in C++, which involves manipulating basic rules. That might explain why he could concentrate on that and on me at the same time (the rules were already in his head, he wasn't really learning anything new per se. He just felt like he could manipulate them better). He later told me whatever it was that I was talking to him about somehow merged in his mind with his coding, and at the time he believed he was on the verge of coming up with a new way of programming (later to be absolutely not true :-), again, duh ).
Some hours later, he began to get really tired, so he left and went back to his apartment. I thanked him profusely, but was nowhere near the end of my experience. But without an ear to talk off, I was a bit lost on what to do. So I started to clean. I was subletting an apartment for the summer, and was too jittery to try and do homework as A had done. The owners of the place were obviously not of the 'Cleanliness is next to Godliness' mentality, so I had my work cut out for me. I did the normal things, and then got down to the nitty gritty, scrubbing every inch of the inside of the fridge and oven. It made me unbelievably fucking proud. Today the kitchen, tomorrow the cataloging of my socks!
We had started the experience at around six p.m. Saturday evening, and when I next looked at a clock it was eight o'clock Sunday morning. A gave me a call around then and we walked to Friendly's for breakfast (about a mile for me, half mile for him). By then I was starting to come down, which was mostly not unpleasant, but even with the little I had taken I wanted to hold onto that sense of accomplishment and love for myself forever. He told me my pupils were still dialated, and I was talking in a 'speedy manner.' The idea of food didn't make me nauseated, but it didn't hold any particular interest for me either. I got some coffee and a bagel, and made myself eat it (hadn't eaten in 16+ hours). The coffee didn't do much but make my heart race, so I quickly switched to water. Adam was continually amused by my chatter and attitude (and the chain smoking).
The rest of the day I grew more and more physically tired, but my mind was still going at a million miles a minute. I didn't want to go to sleep because I didn't want to miss a minute of the high. The reflection of myself in the mirror captivated me. For the first time in longer than I can remember I thought I was pretty. My boyfriend at the time came back from a weekend away (he didn't necessarily approve of my drug usage, was worried because of my addictive personality (nicotine and alcohol, amongst non-drug related personality traits)), we chatted for a while before falling asleep in each others' arms. That was about ten p.m. Sunday night.
I realize this is a little long, sorry about that, but I want to give the full experience. When I woke up, all I could think about was how I wanted to do it again. As a matter of fact, I never wanted to not be doing it. While the majority of my drug related experiences (except for alcohol, which is an entirely different long story) have been positive, and in some cases 'mind expanding,' nothing had ever or has ever reached me on such a profound level.
It was simpler than the hallucinations of acid or shrooms, less thought-muddying than alcohol or pot, and more honest somehow than E, and it clung to me, released me, elevated me. So I decided never to do it again. I know that I could easily come to depend on it, revolve my life around the high. And what would happen as my tolerance increased? I wish I could tell you that I used the memory of adoring myself, worshipping the wonderfullness that is me, and kept it as a measure of how I could feel when completely sober, I didn't. If only life were a movie. And an after-school special at that. But now, even almost three years later, thinking of it makes me want to do it again. I don't think I'm better than anyone for not, then or now. I guess my whole point is that I wish things could be as simple as they were on meth.
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