This story is for those of you who are interested in trying Meth...although this doesn't happen to everyone, it is something that happens to MANY people far to many times to count...Please take this into consideration...
-- Dancing With the White Demon --
There are so many psychonauts out there searching for that one high that will surpass all others, they are willing to try almost anything. I’m writing this experience report here today so that my story may steer certain people away from what I like to call “Satan’s Drug of Choice.” It’s a little lengthy, however, it’s important for me to stress what this drug can do to someone’s mind. I want to share with all of you a story, my story…about my addiction, about my betrayals, about what it’s like to hit “rock-bottom.” This is a story about my Meth addiction…an addiction I would wish on my worst enemy.
Let me start from the beginning. An insight into how things were going before my addiction will help illustrate just how fucked up I eventually got. I was a “straight A” student, and not one of those “bookworm school nerds.” I was quite popular throughout high school and my first and only year of college. I had everything going for me, tuition was paid for by my Grandparents whom I’d lived with practically all my life. I was very close to all of my family, and a friend to me was something to be treasured and not walked upon. I was the king of my castle and I knew it. I was proud of what I’d accomplished and my future to come.
I started getting into the party scene. It started off with the usual “drink yourself silly and wake up in front of a toilet the next morning.” I then moved on to smoking a little marijuana here and there. I made some of the best friends of my life during this period of my life. I was usually home at a decent hour, responsibility was on top al all my priorities. I had a lot of fun in those days, the “good ole’ days” as I like to call them. Then, my life drastically turned into a downward spiral before I even realized where it was going.
A party…of all the places for my addiction to start, this is probably the most usual and common place for it to happen. This party had a different atmosphere to it however, a darker atmosphere. It wasn’t the lively little party with everyone screaming, yelling and having a good time. I had been used to those types of parties. The people here seemed to be so…so disturbed. I didn’t think nothing of it and partied with the rest of my friends that had come along. Then, it happened, a guy pulled me into a rest room with a few other people and asked me if I wanted to try some Crank. I’ve always been one to try new things, so, I accepted. Being as inexperienced as I was, he had to hold the pipe for me because I was burning the Meth above the flame.
Needless to say, I liked it so much that I was at his back the whole night begging for more. It turned me into a different person. I’m generally not a nagging, persistent little pest, but it didn’t matter to me that night. If it meant I would get more, I would do it. My friends, my good friends, eventually left once they realized what kind of a party it was, however, I stayed behind in spite of their disapproval. I stayed the rest of the night there with a friend that I had just met. I remember us talking outside, telling each other that we would never forget this night and the kick-ass time we both had. It was supposed to be some kind of a bonding moment. To this day, I still don’t remember her name.
Anyways, that was the beginning. The little spark that ignited a fire of despair and loneliness. I never saw any of the people I met that night ever again. It was like a still moment in time that would come and go, never to come back. The next day I felt like shit. I wanted some more so terribly bad, but it wasn’t there and I couldn’t get it. The next week or so wasn’t that bad. After all, I had only done the drug once, and I wasn’t really addicted. Then, something terrible happened, I found a hookup!!!
I was working at that time as an Independent Contractor being a phone psychic with my friend, Aaron, whom I was living with (it’s all fake folks, don’t buy into it). Our boss was hella cool and we could talk to her about literally anything. So, one day, I mentioned the fact that I had tried Crank and liked it. One night, when my friend Aaron wasn’t working, she pulled out her stash and shared. I was surprisingly shocked, and for the next few months, I got my drugs through her.
I eventually moved back in with my Grandmother due to the death of my Grandfather. My Grandmother was devastated and she needed someone to be there for her. I moved back in to give her the comfort I knew she needed. During the first month I had moved back into my Grandmothers, my addiction grew almost exponentially. I was buying an “8-Ball” ($100 worth) on Thursdays and partied until Sunday, sometimes even by myself. It got to the point that practically all of my paychecks were going to drugs. School was becoming less and less important, and I started ignoring my Grandmothers pleas to have me home at a decent hour. She was terribly worried about me, with all the uncertainty surrounding my shift in personality. If she only knew that I was an addict, I know she would have helped me.
I met a guy shortly after the move back home named Che. I soon found out that he was just as much into the Meth scene as I was, plus, he had better hookups and much more availability. Being 30 miles away from my home, I was never with my Grandmother. It got to the point that I went home just to sleep. I would usually come home to a crying Grandmother, worried about why I was getting home so late. Money was starting to become a problem with my addiction growing so rapidly. The pawn-shop soon became my best friend. I would steal my Grandmother’s gold jewelry and hawk it for pennies on the dollar. I even ripped off money from my cousin’s college fund that was locked up in my Grandmother’s drawer. It was at the point that I would do absolutely anything for more Crank. I was turning into a monster and didn’t even see it happening.
My car eventually broke down and I had no way of getting back and forth to visit Che and the “druggies.” It was at this point in time that I did something that I would never do in my right state of mind. I turned my back on my Grandmother, who just lost her husband of almost 40 years, dropped out of college and moved out. I’ll never forget her crying, begging me not to go. We parted on very bad terms, and it was all my fault. She just needed someone to be there for her. She needed a reason to wake up in the morning. She was so worried about me and just wanted me to be ok. If only I knew that at the time, and if only I never started using drugs.
I eventually turned my back on the rest of my family and my best friends whom I’d known for years. I dropped all contact and didn’t speak with any of them again until after my recovery. During this time, I was basically “street scum.” I had no job and no place to live. My boyfriend Che and I couch-hopped from place to place and party to party. As long as we had the drugs, it didn’t matter where we were. My weight diminished dramatically, to the point I was nothing but skin and bone. My health was deteriorating and it was the middle of winter. I must have worn the same outfit for at least a month straight. There was one point I even endeared some type of heart problem. I had taken a little too much Crank that night and my heart was beating so hard, and so fast, that it felt like I was having a heart attack. It hurt so tremendously bad that I feared my impending death. Thankfully, I didn’t die. I told myself if I were to live through that situation, I would never touch Crank again. I ended up giving my heart about a days worth of rest, and went right back to the drugs, what a shame.
I could go on endlessly about the details surrounding this part of my life. There were days when Che and I didn’t have a place to stay, and we walked alone on the dark streets all night long in the middle of December. I wouldn’t even be able to count the number of times we borrowed money from friends to buy drugs and never paid them back (that is until after my recovery). It was so bad that we had to steal food from Mini-Marts just to put food in our stomachs. We stole cigarettes from K-Mart and Wal-Mart to fuel our nicotine addiction (a habit I still haven’t been able to kick, go figure). All and all, the quality of my life back then was no greater than that of a street-bum.
Meth had me so confused and disoriented; I didn’t even know what had hit me. Hell, I didn’t even know I’d been hit. I thought everything was going to be fine, but everything was getting worse. It’s funny how Meth creates this illusion for you of whatever you want to believe. It’s a false positive that everything is ok, when in reality, everything is dangerously wrong. If I were to explain every single detail of what happened from the time I moved out of my Grandmothers, to my recover, this experience report would be a lot longer than it already is. Just know that I was nothing. I had nothing to my name, nothing to be proud of, and the only think I could call “home” was Main Street or the local park. I lived for the little white baggie of Meth, and that was all I lived for.
Let me fast-forward to Christmas Eve. Che, who had been doing Meth alot longer than I had, was starting to realize what it was doing to him. He wanted to go home for Christmas Eve to be with his family, however, I wouldn’t be allowed because they didn’t approve of his gay lifestyle. I didn’t want him to go, and he promised me he wouldn’t. We ended up getting separated and he told me to meet him somewhere on Main Street within the next hour. I waited, and waited, and waited, until I realized he wasn’t coming. He had gone home to his family for Christmas, and here I was, on a cold evening, by myself on Christmas Eve. I began to cry. It was at this one moment in time that I realized what I had done to my life. I stood out there on Main Street, usually packed, however, not tonight. Everyone was at home with their families. I cried, tears rolling down my cheeks as cold as ice, wishing I were back at home with my family. I desperately searched for someone to be with, for someone to talk to…I didn’t want to be alone on the one day of the year you are supposed to be with family and friends. I finally found someone, and to be honest, I wouldn’t be able to tell you who it was. We ended up spending the night at a friend’s house and went to the movies the next day for Christmas. Che finally met up with me the day after Christmas and I didn’t get too upset at him. I was really too doped up to even care.
Then, it happened, my life was saved. I was sitting on Main Street, Che had gone to look for some more drugs and my mother pulled up with my best friend, Aaron, who gave up my location to my family and told them how bad things were. My mother, whom I never really saw that often, told me to get in the car. We cried the whole way back to my Grandmother’s house. For the first time I can remember, my mother and father (who had been divorced 14 years) and my Grandmother sat in the same room with a common goal. They wanted to get me off of the drugs and move in with my mother in Northern California. I refused to do so and told them there was nothing they could do to make me go. I told them that I was an adult and that’s all that mattered. The Meth was talking for me. I wanted to go back and get high again with Che. The power with which this drug pulls you in is absolutely amazing. It wasn’t going to work this time though; the Meth was finally forced to be silenced. My family pulled out a bag of drugs they had found in my old room and threatened to call the police if I didn’t do as they wished, and so I did. I went back home with my mom (also once an addict) who helped me close the chapter on this part of my life.
I look back now with regret on that period of my life. I hurt a lot of people, including myself. I had everything going for me, and there was nothing in the way to stop me, except an addiction. I want to thank my family, my mother, and Aaron for saving my life. Without them, I’m certain I wouldn’t be alive today. I’m proud to be able to say that I have stayed away from the imprisonment of addiction for two years now, and I’m loving every second it. I am out on my own with a good job and a wonderful boyfriend named George. This relationship, however, is based on love rather than drugs. I just recently found out that Che continued his abuse of Meth, and is now in prison for robbery. I can only wish the best for him, that one day, he will be able to conquer the white demon that torments him. Please take this story seriously for those of you who want to try this kind of drug. It could be the beginning of a road that leads to no-where, except away. Away from your family. Away from your friends. Away from your future. Away from reality. And away from yourself. Thank you for taking the time to read this story about my addiction to Meth, a high that kills.