Citation: Foxy Lady. "Leaning Toward the 'Tired Of' Side: An Experience with Cocaine & Ketamine (exp23400)". Erowid.org. Mar 27, 2018. erowid.org/exp/23400
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Retrospective on Coke With an Interlude by K
I've wished I had some K coming down from coke before (seeing as how I consider myself to have been addicted to both), but I've never actually had it to do. Tonight I did. For three weeks I've been modestly doing lines off a quarter ounce of coke (because you can't ever make your money back if you buy less than an eight ball)...
Well, I should say first that my history with cocaine is what I wonder is as usual and extensive and arduous as others. Actually there's probably no wondering about the arduous part. I should start from the beginning. Given the opportunity to try and eventually sell coke in great quantity, I've had a strange relationship with the drug for...god time passes fucked up when you're fucked up...2 years, roughly, yeah. First time I tried it I didn't need another line for two hours and stayed awake talking to people accustomed to it for 12. The next night I woke up stiff, having had a good time, but not craving - when my then-boyfriend P said 'Wanna do some more tonight?' Two nights in a row. That's a rule I eventually learned to break from J, who told it to me that night as he broke it. Never two nights in a row. So that's how I started. Breaking someone else's rule. Who I later learned had tried to pawn his parents VCR to buy coke or maybe even crack at some point, but now manages a restaurant. Or managed one at least a year ago. You lose touch sometimes. But then we always find each other, don't we?
Anyway, great at first. Always clear. Couldn't understand when P called into work because his eye was so swollen from an impacted sinus. Thought coke made your skin better. I even made a joke one night: Hints from Heloise - little coca works well for the complexion. Really it just occupied me so that I never picked my zits.
Funny since tonight I lived out an anti-drug commercial in my mind when I took a shower in order to get clear to do a little K to feel better and picked on my face to get my nose to run so that I could blow it and maybe get a clear channel. Looking at myself in the mirror, I thought, 'What if I saw me on tv all ruddy-faced and red-nosed snotting into the obligatory Kleenex?' I'm like Dave Chappelle's anti-drug crackhead. Or the lie down trick? Couldn't really capture that one in a commercial, but you know when you lie down on your side hoping that your snot will all drain to the other side - giving you just a second of a clear nostril to put more shit up it.
So I tried coke for the first time a little over two years ago.
I tried coke for the first time a little over two years ago.
Incidentally, didn't do it again for a while after that weekend. Actually kept half a g and forgot about it until about a month later I remembered and ruined an LSD trip. Anyway, just so happened that my ex-boyfriend(W) sold rolls, too (and I've always loved a good trip or roll - LSD and X came right after pot in college), so I stayed in touch with him. And I told my ex-boyfriend W that I knew people who wanted to buy coke and tried it for the first time without telling him. Should have been a clue when my friends showed up at my house like vultures swooping in on me and the 8 ball. W sold it, but never touched it. He 'held his (own) leash.' And pretty soon he thought I could sell it, too - but really I could do it, too...a lot.
For the first few months, I had fun and other people paid for it. I remember the first night I said to my then-boyfriend P 'So we did a whole gram tonight?', and then when I said 'So we did a whole 8 ball tonight?' After that, I had coke and other people paid for it. And then I paid for it even though I sold it. Because W never thought I did it. He thought he was helping me make extra money. Now I realize how much extra money I made him. Once I had a 'Bright Lights, Big City' moment in his bathroom when my nose started running pink and I looked up at the mirror. He'd ask 'This is after yours, right?' when I handed him hundreds of dollars. Truth was I could get the hundred I owed him off a credit card if all of a sudden he asked for it all back. Because ounces were fronted to me. Because I didn't do it. Supposedly. Actually, I think I did pretty good when I look back. I did an average of half a gram a day even though I had way more at my disposal which wasn't paid for and didn't lose my job. I managed to max out my credit cards and support my habit and that of P, but not get hurt or arrested before my mom intervened on me thanks to a then-rat of a friend who really cared. Or die.
But I wasn't going to die, although I always thought I was. After my scare. P asked one night about four months into my gig as a 'distributor' if I wanted some more. Usually worked perfectly - I'd do a line, we'd talk. P would say 'Wanna do some more?' and I did. But one night when he asked I looked at my hand and it was trembling so hard and I couldn't relax enough to make it stop. Then I took my pulse. Then I freaked out. After that, I was constantly aware of my pulse. I realize something like less than 10,000 people die from coke a year, and then usually because they bang it or speedball. I know because I did lines and then researched the likelihood of my death. Fucked up, huh? No, I did not want another one, but I did (not a good situation for someone with asthma). After my scare I still did it every day for 5 months (because we wouldn't do it if we coudn't get it so easily, right?), but the fun stopped and the maintenance began. Although I don't know how well I maintained. I got down to 88 lbs at my worst. I mean, I've always been small, but c'mon. I became jealous of people I sold to who could do so much nonchalantly and have fun. I still am.
Rolling wasn't fun anymore. It was always a matter of 'Am I fucked up enough?' Same story with LSD. And I caved and ruined both by doing coke at some point. I guess that's how people learn lessons. Eventually, W stopped dealing and not only did I not have any more easily accessible white, I didn't have anything else for the comedown either. Like 3 rolls. That was a bright idea (which I paid for) one night around 5:00 a.m. after an 8 ball. I had to eat 3 to really get going since long-term coke usage seriously fucked up my ability to roll. P ate 4 (which I also paid for). I wish I could have written a story at that point about how a good roll cured my coke addiction, but I was down on the mirror the next night - with P, because I felt like I'd helped get him hooked or something and junkies love company I guess.
Without a steady connection anymore, I eventually found others. Some were safe and some were not. Some were friends, some were not. I never prostituted myself or anything. I still never cut shit I sold to anyone. Do unto others. But I did steal from my job, do lines at my job. I also got my purse stolen out of my car in a REALLY bad neighborhood while I was in a house with two stoves cooking and black guys passing around a baggie with a cut straw like it was a joint. Never went longer than 2 weeks without it. And there had to be shit in between.
Eventually, Daddy died of cancer at some point while I was in out-patient rehab. Probably best anyway. He didn't need me doing lines in the bathroom while I watched him at night, giving him liquid morphine and too terrified to speedball. The rehab didn't work. Wellbutrin sucks and seroquel just helped me go to sleep after doing more white. Then the doc had me panic about whether those meds would kill me in combo with coke. Surely they wouldn't put me on meds that would kill me with coke because they know I'm gonna hit more than a few bumps (or lines) in the road and fall off the wagon, right?
I started looking at the clock and catching it at either 20 or 44 minutes after. Swear, the weirdest thing. Happens less now, but happened a lot for a while and freaked me out. I considered keeping a journal of the times I caught, but then I thought about what if I die and they find this thing on me with a daily log reading 'April 30, 2002 - 11:20, 2:44, 5:20, 7:20, 10:44, etc.' They'd think I was like serial killer nuts. And I hoard things now, too. Right now I have 2 grams of K, 15 xanax, 4 klonopin, 10 ativan, some 5-meo-dipt, some amt. No more coke.
I think I'd gotten up to 9 weeks or so, but I caved again 3 weeks ago. Now I'm out again. It's so crazy. I wonder why I cave when I know that while I used to want to talk, I'll just sit there now geeked out, too scared to get up and move around or think straight. Nostalgia for the time before everything was counted and weighed. And I can't do rails anymore. Maybe it's psychological, but small lines of good shit geek me out ever since that scare so many months ago.
So there's my crossroads. I have some K [my addiction of which is a whole different story, but at least it's hard for me to get - although I'm glad I've found something I'm addicted to that I still like and that I can actually wait time before doing it again so I can get off better. Tried that line (no pun intended) of thought with coke, but it never worked].
Tonight, I did some K (3 lines) 1.5 hours after doing my last line of coke. (Incidentally, my nose is clogged pretty bad.) It took more than usual (although I've been known to gain a high tolerance for K) to get going. Not enough for a hole, which is strange, but enough to get me creative enough to purge all this shit. Which is cool because my life has been a binge without the purge for a good while now. I don't even want a hole. I just want someone to read this and say they know. But that they don't know either - if they can do it, keep the pact. Tell you what if you are there - I'll stick to psychedelics if you will. Maybe a pill now and then. Than again, a garbage can doesn't have a 'thing.'
I've tried 5-meo-dipt and amt (never together of course). Somewhere in a period of no coke, I saw several great singers in concert - Anni DeFranco, Erika Badu, Gwen Stefani, Shirley Manson. I was on amt for the first time. At the port-a-potty, I saw a girl get down in a group to do some coke (dumbass to think she could get into a bathroom at a public function - christ, get a bullet). I was tripping and had been watching all these wonderful women and thought 'These women aren't about addiction or any kind of weakness.' They were all so confident and strong. Erika Badu said 'Peace, Love & Life ya'll.' But even that experience wasn't enough to make me end my hate/hate relationship!
Best advice I got is never two nights in a row (on anything), and asking myself:
Are you a sober person who gets fucked up sometimes or a fucked up person that gets sober sometimes?
I know the trouble with rehab is that they want you to stop everything for ALL TIME. And that's just not realistic for people like me. But I'm not an uneducated person. I have a brain. No telling what a CAT scan would show though - could probably have a laser light show with all the holes burned and cells lost. I even have a real job, a career. Not a brain surgeon, but not a convenient store clerk either.
So listen, I made a couple lists several months ago. One of 'Things I'm Tired Of' and 'Things I Want.' The last thing I should be tired of is making my 'tired of' list. After I stopped the powder, I was making things happen that I wanted. Every time I go back to doing it, my life leans toward the 'tired of' side. Counting the minutes, counting my pulse, dirty fingernails... Let's think about what we want again. That's all I know to do. Seeing daily magic. Getting a prize out of a bubble machine. Old friends, new friends. Peace, Love, Life...
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