heythatsmybike
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 29, 2009
- Messages
- 740
Just thought I'd quickly share a story regarding people trying to maximize their codeine highs.
The first substance I ever got into, even before my grassroots of shrooms and bud, was codeine phosphate. I had an eccentric friend "Ozzy," who throughout his younger life was always too smart for his own good. He had social problems to a point, and never fit in properly with most. He went under regular therapy whit all sorts of doctors. All of them cam to the consensus that he was severely depressed, and a bunch more other social disorders.
Ozzy was the guy who taught me all about the ease in which to extract codeine. At first I just thought he was a crazed mad man proclaiming you can get wasted off shit you get from a chemist, WITHOUT SCRIPT! There were times I would rock up to school ready for a double in Math, which was one of the 4/5 i shared with him and he would just hand me this tiny vial that was usually used for holding oil incenses. "Drink this" he said.
"What is it? We have a SAC coming up and I think I want to pass."
"It's bliss, it will make you concentrate better."
"What, like ritalin?"
"Haha, god no."
"So it will help me concentrate better on my SAC?"
"No, it'll help you concentrate on not giving a fuck. Try and see beyond this school, life needs to be lived. Exist in the moment." (he had a disturbing obsession with Dr. House, which has dictated a lot of his later life decisions)
He had me sold.
From that day on, I was abusing codeine more often than I touched myself (we were only 16 at the time) and we couldn't see any immediate problems. I had a heap before each of my final year 12 exams (except for math methods, that day was worse because I had tried the infamous nutmeg cake.) Just a quick side note, for those who believe drugs affect peoples performances, I have to say I still ended up with an ENTER of 88 so suck it.
Once school days were over, I still spoke to him on a regular basis and we would hang out every now and then. One sunny morning, I went to his house for a surprise visit and to wake his arse up (slept in until he couldn't hold on to his piss any longer). I knocked on the door, no answer. Walked around the back and kcocked, no answer. "This is strange." I thought to myself. I then went to peep through his window when the next door neighbor came over and started to question me. It seems he had thought I was trying to break into the house or something. After justifying myself to him, the neighbor went on to tell me something that made me sick to the stomach.
"James is in hospital, possibly could have died."
I didn't know what to say, I just unveiled my dumbfounded brain by blurting out a bunch of cerebral bulimia. "Ww, www, wwhaat did you just say?" I asked him
"His dad said that he found James on the couch, all covered in vomit and unresponsive. The ambo's were in and out reall fast so I'm not really sure where he could be.''
It was days before I was allowed to go and visit him in anyway. When I finally got in contact with his dad, the instructed me I need to go to the Freemasons hospital. I had a little bit of a chuckle at this, as Ozzy was always one to waffle on about how much he thinks the Freemasons are conspiring against the rest of the world.
I walked into his room, and found him there, semi-constrained with straps but completely inapt and subconsciously existing. He was well out of it. I walked up next his bed, grabbed his hand and tried to connect either through conversation or eye contact. There wasn't much hope though. It wasn't long after this, that his nurse rocked in to do some her duties. This was the first time that Ozzy had spoken and he turned to me and said "What the fuck did you give me?" Beyond that he couldn't verbalize any other thoughts or ideas. I was shocked, completely taken aback . I tried to explain that it wasn't me, and that I infact had not seen him in weeks. Overhearing what had been said, the nurse thought she would try and take it further and possibly be investigated for truth. I was very lucky that Ozzys dad had taken a sicky from his night shift, as it supplied me with an alibi, but the greatest twist of fate, is the only reason that my friend is still alive today.
What happened: Ozzy was normally smart enough to exercise proper harm reduction. At the time but, because of his misdiagnosis and off the mark medicating, he wasn't in complete control of his rational mind. During our heyday of codeine use, we were having 700-800mg at a time. By itself, especially with a high tolerance these doses were just enough to get us where we wanted. Ozzy hadn't even thought that his polydrug use would possibly endanger him let alone change the course of his life forever.
He consumed 800mg of extracted codeine phosphate, 10mg of alprazolam, a bottle of cough syrup containing DXM, and anywhere between 1-2 bottles of red wine. After some time he slipped out of consciousness, and filled his lungs full of barf. The biggest, and most shocking eclipse of supernatural I have encountered in my life, lies within the father of my friend. He had taken the day off (the guy is a work veteran, something llike 4 days off in 20 years in the company so why did he choose this particular day?), and at about midnight, decided to get up and retrieve a glass of water. To his horror, he found his one and only son seemingly motionless, and hauntingly observed as deceased.
Ozzy wasn't quite dead, they ambulance had to rush him and have his lungs pumped. So on top of all of the damage done to him physically, he ended up with a life threatening chest infection that lasted a little over a month. If you think all of this is pretty bad, it's only half the story.
The rest of the facts I'll keep short because they are rather unrelated to my story or point. Because of Ozzys ongoing social and depression struggles the doctors theorized and acted upon the idea that he had infact, tried to commit suicide (so far from the truth, and I was the only one who stuck by his side by this). The best course of action according to these experts, was to lock him up in the (as he calls it) the 'fucking loony bin."
They later diagnosed him, after much non consensual restraint, with having a loose form of schizophrenia, which would explain his suicide attempt and his troubled youth...
All of this because he wanted to get high.
These days are much better for him, the schizophrenia label has been removed and more fitting diagnosis of bipolar disorder has been handed down to him. He is now properly medicated, and can now live a functional life in which he is free to focus on the things that actually matter to him. He occasionly uses small amounts of opiates, but for the most part only rarely.
This was an intense life experience for me, and many other involved. I hope you have enjoyed my story and the main point I was trying a demonstrate has been conveyed.
Peace out my BL brothers.
HTMB.
The first substance I ever got into, even before my grassroots of shrooms and bud, was codeine phosphate. I had an eccentric friend "Ozzy," who throughout his younger life was always too smart for his own good. He had social problems to a point, and never fit in properly with most. He went under regular therapy whit all sorts of doctors. All of them cam to the consensus that he was severely depressed, and a bunch more other social disorders.
Ozzy was the guy who taught me all about the ease in which to extract codeine. At first I just thought he was a crazed mad man proclaiming you can get wasted off shit you get from a chemist, WITHOUT SCRIPT! There were times I would rock up to school ready for a double in Math, which was one of the 4/5 i shared with him and he would just hand me this tiny vial that was usually used for holding oil incenses. "Drink this" he said.
"What is it? We have a SAC coming up and I think I want to pass."
"It's bliss, it will make you concentrate better."
"What, like ritalin?"
"Haha, god no."
"So it will help me concentrate better on my SAC?"
"No, it'll help you concentrate on not giving a fuck. Try and see beyond this school, life needs to be lived. Exist in the moment." (he had a disturbing obsession with Dr. House, which has dictated a lot of his later life decisions)
He had me sold.
From that day on, I was abusing codeine more often than I touched myself (we were only 16 at the time) and we couldn't see any immediate problems. I had a heap before each of my final year 12 exams (except for math methods, that day was worse because I had tried the infamous nutmeg cake.) Just a quick side note, for those who believe drugs affect peoples performances, I have to say I still ended up with an ENTER of 88 so suck it.
Once school days were over, I still spoke to him on a regular basis and we would hang out every now and then. One sunny morning, I went to his house for a surprise visit and to wake his arse up (slept in until he couldn't hold on to his piss any longer). I knocked on the door, no answer. Walked around the back and kcocked, no answer. "This is strange." I thought to myself. I then went to peep through his window when the next door neighbor came over and started to question me. It seems he had thought I was trying to break into the house or something. After justifying myself to him, the neighbor went on to tell me something that made me sick to the stomach.
"James is in hospital, possibly could have died."
I didn't know what to say, I just unveiled my dumbfounded brain by blurting out a bunch of cerebral bulimia. "Ww, www, wwhaat did you just say?" I asked him
"His dad said that he found James on the couch, all covered in vomit and unresponsive. The ambo's were in and out reall fast so I'm not really sure where he could be.''
It was days before I was allowed to go and visit him in anyway. When I finally got in contact with his dad, the instructed me I need to go to the Freemasons hospital. I had a little bit of a chuckle at this, as Ozzy was always one to waffle on about how much he thinks the Freemasons are conspiring against the rest of the world.
I walked into his room, and found him there, semi-constrained with straps but completely inapt and subconsciously existing. He was well out of it. I walked up next his bed, grabbed his hand and tried to connect either through conversation or eye contact. There wasn't much hope though. It wasn't long after this, that his nurse rocked in to do some her duties. This was the first time that Ozzy had spoken and he turned to me and said "What the fuck did you give me?" Beyond that he couldn't verbalize any other thoughts or ideas. I was shocked, completely taken aback . I tried to explain that it wasn't me, and that I infact had not seen him in weeks. Overhearing what had been said, the nurse thought she would try and take it further and possibly be investigated for truth. I was very lucky that Ozzys dad had taken a sicky from his night shift, as it supplied me with an alibi, but the greatest twist of fate, is the only reason that my friend is still alive today.
What happened: Ozzy was normally smart enough to exercise proper harm reduction. At the time but, because of his misdiagnosis and off the mark medicating, he wasn't in complete control of his rational mind. During our heyday of codeine use, we were having 700-800mg at a time. By itself, especially with a high tolerance these doses were just enough to get us where we wanted. Ozzy hadn't even thought that his polydrug use would possibly endanger him let alone change the course of his life forever.
He consumed 800mg of extracted codeine phosphate, 10mg of alprazolam, a bottle of cough syrup containing DXM, and anywhere between 1-2 bottles of red wine. After some time he slipped out of consciousness, and filled his lungs full of barf. The biggest, and most shocking eclipse of supernatural I have encountered in my life, lies within the father of my friend. He had taken the day off (the guy is a work veteran, something llike 4 days off in 20 years in the company so why did he choose this particular day?), and at about midnight, decided to get up and retrieve a glass of water. To his horror, he found his one and only son seemingly motionless, and hauntingly observed as deceased.
Ozzy wasn't quite dead, they ambulance had to rush him and have his lungs pumped. So on top of all of the damage done to him physically, he ended up with a life threatening chest infection that lasted a little over a month. If you think all of this is pretty bad, it's only half the story.
The rest of the facts I'll keep short because they are rather unrelated to my story or point. Because of Ozzys ongoing social and depression struggles the doctors theorized and acted upon the idea that he had infact, tried to commit suicide (so far from the truth, and I was the only one who stuck by his side by this). The best course of action according to these experts, was to lock him up in the (as he calls it) the 'fucking loony bin."
They later diagnosed him, after much non consensual restraint, with having a loose form of schizophrenia, which would explain his suicide attempt and his troubled youth...
All of this because he wanted to get high.
These days are much better for him, the schizophrenia label has been removed and more fitting diagnosis of bipolar disorder has been handed down to him. He is now properly medicated, and can now live a functional life in which he is free to focus on the things that actually matter to him. He occasionly uses small amounts of opiates, but for the most part only rarely.
This was an intense life experience for me, and many other involved. I hope you have enjoyed my story and the main point I was trying a demonstrate has been conveyed.
Peace out my BL brothers.
HTMB.
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