I posted this in The Dark Side, but it was closed by a moderator who said I should blog it. Well, okay. I really feel that this is a story that every tweaker should read.
P.S. All the pictures in my gallery are from the time period indicated in this story, which, coincidentally, was also when I joined Bluelight.
Hello people. It is so wonderful to have sites like this. Anyways, I guess I'll start at the beginning. There is a lesson, a moral, and a suprising twist to the traditional meth addiction in my story. "Listen" up, y'all. I grew up in a upper-middle class home with non-smoking, non-drinking (at least regularly), non-drug-using parents. I was gifted and blessed and I am eternally grateful for my upbringing. However, I was able to start smoking cigarettes at age 10, going to roughly a pack a day by age 12. I was also born with weak lungs. All was well for years. I started burning the ganjicus greenery around 18, and dove head-first into the world of mind-altering illicit chemicals as fast as I could. Uppers (meth in particular) always held the most appeal for me, which makes sense because I'm an "up" person in general. I used to call meth "me juice", as in "it makes me more me!" Hindsight is 20/20, and looking back, I was the most annoying, fiendish, jonesy, stingy, wet-behind-the-ears, obnoxious tweaker those first few years. Needless to say, the drug had me in its pocket.
Time went by, my addiction went through phases, getting better, worse, and back again. I *ALWAYS* smoked it. I think that I was more addicted to the act of smoking it than to the drug itself there towards the end of the early years (as I highly suspect most tweakers are). It got pretty bad. Bad enough, that I felt I had to do something drastic to get away. So, of course, out of the frying pan and into the frier right? I joined the U.S. Navy.
I will not go into that story, but all in all it was a beneficial, educational, self-evaluating experience. Of course, I spent a good percentage of the time fantasizing about my buds back home, rolling bowls... Okay, flash forward. I got out of the Navy (another long story that can be simplified into: the Navy was ludicrously overstaffed [there were 32,000 recruits in basic with me, for example]). I bought a Civic, got a job running pizzas, and set about rebuilding my networks. Things continued at a fairly expectable pace for about six months, untill, one day... I found the connect to beat all connects. Ever. It was unreal, how I could get a 1/4oz of METH for...well...not gonna mention prices. Lets just say it was a chance of a life-time. Problem? I had no money. One day, I was playing video games on my 'box when my good friend calls me and tells me that hes got this girl thats looking for a little tina. Well, sure! Little did I know that I was about to meet my now-wife of four years and mother of my son. Here's where things get interesting.
See, she was in a horrible car accident a few years prior where she broke her neck and had to learn how to walk again, among other things. Her seatbelt broke. I'm sure y'all can figure out what THAT means... Yes, bi-yearly settlements of more than $10,000. And me with this unholy access portal to the world of cheap-ass dallas meth. Needless to say, we went into "business" together. It was what I had been dreaming of ever since my first foil-hit 10 years prior. Rivers, and I mean RIVERS of dope. I have so many shocking, fucked up stories that I could never share them all. Heres a sampling: She took 1.5g HOTRAIL in ONE HIT!!! (yes, this is true. the image is forever burned into my memory...), i overamped and passed out....WHILE HITTING THE PIPE, one night I smoked an entire 1/4oz alone with a propane torch. This is barely scratching the surface. I know this is a harm-reduction site, and the mods are reaching for that close button, but hear me out. There is good life stuff coming. Okay, this period of "plentifullness" went on for around 8 or 9 months. We'd stay up for (and I kid you people not, you'd be suprised what your body is actually capable of) between 2 and 4 weeks at a time, crash for a few days, rinse, repeat. This went on. And on. And suddenly, I couldn't smoke. Anything. Hell, a Marlboro ULTRA light (and those fuckers are mainly air) had me near to fainting. So I took to snorting and eating the shit. And it got worse. And worse. I don't need to throw in the part where all of a sudden we were dosing just to feel normal. Everybody's heard that. Truer words were never spoken.
Flash forward to the end. Heres a great motivation for quitting: we got ripped off for over $2000, and my dear close friend got arrested in my car trying to make our money back. So we quit. I swear to god, it was so easy...I can't stress this enough. I was desperate to come down, get it over with, and never look back. So we did. And BAM! She was pregnant. I got a job managing a chain of mexican restaurants, and my beautiful son was born on April Fool's Day, 2008. Me and his mother got married last May. Wait, I'm skipping stuff. Okay, so the girl who took a 1.5g hotrail suddenly (and I mean literally overnight) became the intolerant wife who would leave her husband for smoking....CIGARETTES! And who (for a short strech of time), administed random urinalisys'... I put up with it because I loved her. I love her. Entirely. To steal a quote: She lives as though the world were as it should be, to show it what it CAN be. (A hundred million points to the person who can place that).
I'm getting ahead of myself. So, she's clean, and under the impression that I'm clean. Well, I'm not. I wasn't then. I'm not now. And I likely never will be for any considerable amount of time. Judge me if you will, but it is what it is. I have successfully hidden daily cigarette and weed usage and semi-periodic to frequent stim usage. Here's the kicker: At the age of 26, I was diagnosed with moderately advanced emphesema. My pulmonologist (just about the most well-regarded in my community) told me that my lungs were 25 years older than I am. He told me that they were the worst he had ever seen in 25 years of practicing. He asked me about my past. I was honest. Completely honest. And he told me that that 8 month stretch SINGLE-HANDEDLY gave me emphesema. Here's a direct quote I will never forget: "You could have very likely smoked a pack a day until the day you died and had no lung problems worth mentioning. That was the one and only thing that did it. Smoking that stuff is like pouring hydrochloric acid on a kitten." Seriously. Think about that for a second, tweakers. Smoking it is easily the most toxic thing about an already super toxic drug. There are ways to get even better rushes off of it not involving your lungs at all (read: Buttshots).
However, here's the good news (at least for me). The thought of smoking it (which once was just about the most appealing thing I could think of) literally turns my stomache now. It disgusts me and you couldn't pay me to do it. That fact alone opened SO MANY doors that I am still discovering. For example: I can now get a rather large amount, do it for the morning and early afternoon, then cut myself off entirely for the rest of the day, eat supper, and go to sleep. As a test, I have done this the last 5 days, tweaking all day and sleeping all night. I'm not saying that it is remotely safe. I'm saying two things. 1. That 8-month bender altered my brain chemistry in very interesting (and surely dangerous) ways. My attitude towards the dope now is hard to categorize. The addiction is still there, and always will be. And my willpower is still non-existant, and likely always will be. But, theres something very, very different. Its like my demon, i don't know, lost his voice maybe? Still trying to figure that out. 2. Not smoking it is unbelievable liberating. Oh my god, it's like a whole new drug. No more holding the damn pipe up to the light, craning my neck, and blah blah blah that we're all intimately familiar with. Now, I can buttshot or snort a large amount (or multiple small amounts), have a fucking blast, get alot of shit done, then eat a healthy meal, stock up on magnesium and 5-htp supplements, and go to sleep.
I would love to keep typing, and I have alot more to say, but that is enough for now. Thank you to all of you who kept up with this all this way. If you take anything away from my story, take this: if you must do ice, do everything you can to cut smoking it from your life. Sit and really think about what you are doing, what is going into your lungs. My breaths now absorb about 35% of what they used to, and I've shortened my overall lifespan by who knows how long. I can tell you that I know very well what it would feel like to suffocate and die while still breathing. Scary. Powerless. Down the dope-smoking road lies this for all of you. Therenare better ways! Be safe, have fun, and make every day count!
P.S. All the pictures in my gallery are from the time period indicated in this story, which, coincidentally, was also when I joined Bluelight.
Hello people. It is so wonderful to have sites like this. Anyways, I guess I'll start at the beginning. There is a lesson, a moral, and a suprising twist to the traditional meth addiction in my story. "Listen" up, y'all. I grew up in a upper-middle class home with non-smoking, non-drinking (at least regularly), non-drug-using parents. I was gifted and blessed and I am eternally grateful for my upbringing. However, I was able to start smoking cigarettes at age 10, going to roughly a pack a day by age 12. I was also born with weak lungs. All was well for years. I started burning the ganjicus greenery around 18, and dove head-first into the world of mind-altering illicit chemicals as fast as I could. Uppers (meth in particular) always held the most appeal for me, which makes sense because I'm an "up" person in general. I used to call meth "me juice", as in "it makes me more me!" Hindsight is 20/20, and looking back, I was the most annoying, fiendish, jonesy, stingy, wet-behind-the-ears, obnoxious tweaker those first few years. Needless to say, the drug had me in its pocket.
Time went by, my addiction went through phases, getting better, worse, and back again. I *ALWAYS* smoked it. I think that I was more addicted to the act of smoking it than to the drug itself there towards the end of the early years (as I highly suspect most tweakers are). It got pretty bad. Bad enough, that I felt I had to do something drastic to get away. So, of course, out of the frying pan and into the frier right? I joined the U.S. Navy.
I will not go into that story, but all in all it was a beneficial, educational, self-evaluating experience. Of course, I spent a good percentage of the time fantasizing about my buds back home, rolling bowls... Okay, flash forward. I got out of the Navy (another long story that can be simplified into: the Navy was ludicrously overstaffed [there were 32,000 recruits in basic with me, for example]). I bought a Civic, got a job running pizzas, and set about rebuilding my networks. Things continued at a fairly expectable pace for about six months, untill, one day... I found the connect to beat all connects. Ever. It was unreal, how I could get a 1/4oz of METH for...well...not gonna mention prices. Lets just say it was a chance of a life-time. Problem? I had no money. One day, I was playing video games on my 'box when my good friend calls me and tells me that hes got this girl thats looking for a little tina. Well, sure! Little did I know that I was about to meet my now-wife of four years and mother of my son. Here's where things get interesting.
See, she was in a horrible car accident a few years prior where she broke her neck and had to learn how to walk again, among other things. Her seatbelt broke. I'm sure y'all can figure out what THAT means... Yes, bi-yearly settlements of more than $10,000. And me with this unholy access portal to the world of cheap-ass dallas meth. Needless to say, we went into "business" together. It was what I had been dreaming of ever since my first foil-hit 10 years prior. Rivers, and I mean RIVERS of dope. I have so many shocking, fucked up stories that I could never share them all. Heres a sampling: She took 1.5g HOTRAIL in ONE HIT!!! (yes, this is true. the image is forever burned into my memory...), i overamped and passed out....WHILE HITTING THE PIPE, one night I smoked an entire 1/4oz alone with a propane torch. This is barely scratching the surface. I know this is a harm-reduction site, and the mods are reaching for that close button, but hear me out. There is good life stuff coming. Okay, this period of "plentifullness" went on for around 8 or 9 months. We'd stay up for (and I kid you people not, you'd be suprised what your body is actually capable of) between 2 and 4 weeks at a time, crash for a few days, rinse, repeat. This went on. And on. And suddenly, I couldn't smoke. Anything. Hell, a Marlboro ULTRA light (and those fuckers are mainly air) had me near to fainting. So I took to snorting and eating the shit. And it got worse. And worse. I don't need to throw in the part where all of a sudden we were dosing just to feel normal. Everybody's heard that. Truer words were never spoken.
Flash forward to the end. Heres a great motivation for quitting: we got ripped off for over $2000, and my dear close friend got arrested in my car trying to make our money back. So we quit. I swear to god, it was so easy...I can't stress this enough. I was desperate to come down, get it over with, and never look back. So we did. And BAM! She was pregnant. I got a job managing a chain of mexican restaurants, and my beautiful son was born on April Fool's Day, 2008. Me and his mother got married last May. Wait, I'm skipping stuff. Okay, so the girl who took a 1.5g hotrail suddenly (and I mean literally overnight) became the intolerant wife who would leave her husband for smoking....CIGARETTES! And who (for a short strech of time), administed random urinalisys'... I put up with it because I loved her. I love her. Entirely. To steal a quote: She lives as though the world were as it should be, to show it what it CAN be. (A hundred million points to the person who can place that).
I'm getting ahead of myself. So, she's clean, and under the impression that I'm clean. Well, I'm not. I wasn't then. I'm not now. And I likely never will be for any considerable amount of time. Judge me if you will, but it is what it is. I have successfully hidden daily cigarette and weed usage and semi-periodic to frequent stim usage. Here's the kicker: At the age of 26, I was diagnosed with moderately advanced emphesema. My pulmonologist (just about the most well-regarded in my community) told me that my lungs were 25 years older than I am. He told me that they were the worst he had ever seen in 25 years of practicing. He asked me about my past. I was honest. Completely honest. And he told me that that 8 month stretch SINGLE-HANDEDLY gave me emphesema. Here's a direct quote I will never forget: "You could have very likely smoked a pack a day until the day you died and had no lung problems worth mentioning. That was the one and only thing that did it. Smoking that stuff is like pouring hydrochloric acid on a kitten." Seriously. Think about that for a second, tweakers. Smoking it is easily the most toxic thing about an already super toxic drug. There are ways to get even better rushes off of it not involving your lungs at all (read: Buttshots).
However, here's the good news (at least for me). The thought of smoking it (which once was just about the most appealing thing I could think of) literally turns my stomache now. It disgusts me and you couldn't pay me to do it. That fact alone opened SO MANY doors that I am still discovering. For example: I can now get a rather large amount, do it for the morning and early afternoon, then cut myself off entirely for the rest of the day, eat supper, and go to sleep. As a test, I have done this the last 5 days, tweaking all day and sleeping all night. I'm not saying that it is remotely safe. I'm saying two things. 1. That 8-month bender altered my brain chemistry in very interesting (and surely dangerous) ways. My attitude towards the dope now is hard to categorize. The addiction is still there, and always will be. And my willpower is still non-existant, and likely always will be. But, theres something very, very different. Its like my demon, i don't know, lost his voice maybe? Still trying to figure that out. 2. Not smoking it is unbelievable liberating. Oh my god, it's like a whole new drug. No more holding the damn pipe up to the light, craning my neck, and blah blah blah that we're all intimately familiar with. Now, I can buttshot or snort a large amount (or multiple small amounts), have a fucking blast, get alot of shit done, then eat a healthy meal, stock up on magnesium and 5-htp supplements, and go to sleep.
I would love to keep typing, and I have alot more to say, but that is enough for now. Thank you to all of you who kept up with this all this way. If you take anything away from my story, take this: if you must do ice, do everything you can to cut smoking it from your life. Sit and really think about what you are doing, what is going into your lungs. My breaths now absorb about 35% of what they used to, and I've shortened my overall lifespan by who knows how long. I can tell you that I know very well what it would feel like to suffocate and die while still breathing. Scary. Powerless. Down the dope-smoking road lies this for all of you. Therenare better ways! Be safe, have fun, and make every day count!
