indelibleface
Bluelight Crew
EDIT 4/14/05: Let me clarify something. The thread title is a misnomer. I did not overdose on methamphetamine. I merely had a severe panic attack from combining meth with a massive amount of weed. Coupled with the psychosis already in effect, I freaked out (some call it 'geeking').
My experiments with meth finally came to a near-fatal head last weekend. I had said repeatedly that I would never use this dirty chemical ever again, but the opportunity arose once more, and it sucked me back in. Last weekend, I drove out from Los Angeles, California to Flagstaff, Arizona in one night, staying up while using methamphetamine with a friend.
When we got to Flagstaff, my friend said I looked like a 'crackhead'. My eyes were sunken with black rings, and my pupils were heavily dilated. I had never looked like this before under the influence of meth. I felt like a zombie. Hell, that was reason enough to quit using this vile stuff.
When we arrived at my friend's in Flagstaff, I attempted to get some sleep around 11:00am (my last nasal dose of methamphetamine was around 6:00am). I couldn't. I had already been up for two days, and I was starting to get some bizarre meth psychosis visuals. This is where I made my near-fatal mistake. Looking for any sort of possible sleep aid, the only thing availiable at the time was marijuana. I ended up smoking a bowl from a bong in a vain attempt to tranquilize myself. Big mistake. For one, this wasn't your basic shwag, this was five star quality haze. Secondly, in my altered state, I had forgotten that I hadn't smoked weed in over a year. My tolerance was nonexistent, and I had just taken six to eight massive bong hits. Game over.
Basically, stoned and twacked out of my mind, I wandered back to the bed, and tried to sleep without any luck. My mind and heart was racing. I was watching an astronomy poster on the ceiling float around back and forth. I saw stars and planets jittering on the poster itself. It looked like one of those Magic Eye 3-D posters, even though it wasn't.
My heartrate rose and rose, and my hands became very tingly. This pins-and-needles effect rose up my arms, and eventually covered my body. Figuring that at this point none of this was psychosomatic, I yelled for my friend to call 911. Suddenly, I felt like the pins-and-needles, already covering my body, "exploded" in a sense. I couldn't move, my muscles were tensing up in bizarre directions. Oddly enough, I was still conscious and semi-lucid, but my vision became extremely blurry. I was having a seizure.
After about thirty seconds, I was able to move normally again, and over the next ten minutes the tingling subsided slightly. I noticed that my bowels, or my bladder, during the seizure, lost control and the bed was covered in either urine or feces, I couldn't tell.
Either way, the paramedics were there within ten minutes, and I was driven to the hospital. My heart rate was at least 230 BPM at this point. They put in an IV and hooked me up to all the machines. I had never been through this before in my life, I felt like I was in an episode of ER or something, except this time nothing was entertaining. I was terrified out of my freakin' gourd. This panicking didn't help my heartrate.
Several times, they administered a drug called adenosine to normalize my heartrate. Basically, they shoot it into your IV and it takes about 15 seconds to take effect. You suddenly feel like you're flying out of your body very uncomfortably for a few seconds, as it, from what I gathered, basically stops and restarts your heart muscle. This didn't work the first few times, but worked mildly the third.
There was nothing they could do to immediately reverse the heartrate on the whole, really, since I still had some methamphetamine coursing through my veins. They administered some lorazepam to calm me down and let me relax. I just had to wait it out and take deep, slow breaths for the next several hours.
During the next five or so hours, my meth psychosis went into overdrive. I had repeated visions of myself being moved suddenly between rooms, some that looked distinctly dungeon like, and at least one that looked like a Roman colisseum. I was, in reality, never moved from my room. I often saw objects float off of the wall or table and come towards me, jingle around, as if they're trying to communicate or something. The curtains talked to me, and I was convinced that they were not only sentient, but were performing tests on my heartrate and breathing. I had full on hallucinations that were what I imagine to be exactly like those suffered by people under the influence of anticholinergic deleriants, like datura. I was immersed in a complete delerium, and I wondered if I would ever regain my sanity again. It was the scariest five or six hours of my life.
Eventually I got to sleep, and when I woke up, I still had some hallucinations but they were mild and undistracting. I was discharged soon afterwards, still shakey and definitely nauseous. I was given a perscription for an antiemetic.
This experience has convinced me to turn my life around, quit drugs, and focus on what is important in life to me. I still believe in harm reduction over abstinence, but I believe in abstinence for those who can't handle their own usage. As evidenced by this, I went overboard, and suffered for it. I feel confident about my future now, but I'm still terrified over the memory of what happened last weekend.
Hell, I lived the cliche: I thought I was invincible. Well, not really invincible, but I thought I was regulating perfectly, and I apparently wasn't. It goes to show that you can convince and rationalize your way out of anything. It doesn't mean your problem is solved. I could have died, but I'm lucky to be alive, and I'm not going to sacrifice this second chance by ingesting anything else. Let's just say I have a new fondness for sobriety. Everytime I think of drugs now, I just remember those hours entranced in psychosis, and I can't bring myself to tempt fate again.
My experiments with meth finally came to a near-fatal head last weekend. I had said repeatedly that I would never use this dirty chemical ever again, but the opportunity arose once more, and it sucked me back in. Last weekend, I drove out from Los Angeles, California to Flagstaff, Arizona in one night, staying up while using methamphetamine with a friend.
When we got to Flagstaff, my friend said I looked like a 'crackhead'. My eyes were sunken with black rings, and my pupils were heavily dilated. I had never looked like this before under the influence of meth. I felt like a zombie. Hell, that was reason enough to quit using this vile stuff.
When we arrived at my friend's in Flagstaff, I attempted to get some sleep around 11:00am (my last nasal dose of methamphetamine was around 6:00am). I couldn't. I had already been up for two days, and I was starting to get some bizarre meth psychosis visuals. This is where I made my near-fatal mistake. Looking for any sort of possible sleep aid, the only thing availiable at the time was marijuana. I ended up smoking a bowl from a bong in a vain attempt to tranquilize myself. Big mistake. For one, this wasn't your basic shwag, this was five star quality haze. Secondly, in my altered state, I had forgotten that I hadn't smoked weed in over a year. My tolerance was nonexistent, and I had just taken six to eight massive bong hits. Game over.
Basically, stoned and twacked out of my mind, I wandered back to the bed, and tried to sleep without any luck. My mind and heart was racing. I was watching an astronomy poster on the ceiling float around back and forth. I saw stars and planets jittering on the poster itself. It looked like one of those Magic Eye 3-D posters, even though it wasn't.
My heartrate rose and rose, and my hands became very tingly. This pins-and-needles effect rose up my arms, and eventually covered my body. Figuring that at this point none of this was psychosomatic, I yelled for my friend to call 911. Suddenly, I felt like the pins-and-needles, already covering my body, "exploded" in a sense. I couldn't move, my muscles were tensing up in bizarre directions. Oddly enough, I was still conscious and semi-lucid, but my vision became extremely blurry. I was having a seizure.
After about thirty seconds, I was able to move normally again, and over the next ten minutes the tingling subsided slightly. I noticed that my bowels, or my bladder, during the seizure, lost control and the bed was covered in either urine or feces, I couldn't tell.
Either way, the paramedics were there within ten minutes, and I was driven to the hospital. My heart rate was at least 230 BPM at this point. They put in an IV and hooked me up to all the machines. I had never been through this before in my life, I felt like I was in an episode of ER or something, except this time nothing was entertaining. I was terrified out of my freakin' gourd. This panicking didn't help my heartrate.
Several times, they administered a drug called adenosine to normalize my heartrate. Basically, they shoot it into your IV and it takes about 15 seconds to take effect. You suddenly feel like you're flying out of your body very uncomfortably for a few seconds, as it, from what I gathered, basically stops and restarts your heart muscle. This didn't work the first few times, but worked mildly the third.
There was nothing they could do to immediately reverse the heartrate on the whole, really, since I still had some methamphetamine coursing through my veins. They administered some lorazepam to calm me down and let me relax. I just had to wait it out and take deep, slow breaths for the next several hours.
During the next five or so hours, my meth psychosis went into overdrive. I had repeated visions of myself being moved suddenly between rooms, some that looked distinctly dungeon like, and at least one that looked like a Roman colisseum. I was, in reality, never moved from my room. I often saw objects float off of the wall or table and come towards me, jingle around, as if they're trying to communicate or something. The curtains talked to me, and I was convinced that they were not only sentient, but were performing tests on my heartrate and breathing. I had full on hallucinations that were what I imagine to be exactly like those suffered by people under the influence of anticholinergic deleriants, like datura. I was immersed in a complete delerium, and I wondered if I would ever regain my sanity again. It was the scariest five or six hours of my life.
Eventually I got to sleep, and when I woke up, I still had some hallucinations but they were mild and undistracting. I was discharged soon afterwards, still shakey and definitely nauseous. I was given a perscription for an antiemetic.
This experience has convinced me to turn my life around, quit drugs, and focus on what is important in life to me. I still believe in harm reduction over abstinence, but I believe in abstinence for those who can't handle their own usage. As evidenced by this, I went overboard, and suffered for it. I feel confident about my future now, but I'm still terrified over the memory of what happened last weekend.
Hell, I lived the cliche: I thought I was invincible. Well, not really invincible, but I thought I was regulating perfectly, and I apparently wasn't. It goes to show that you can convince and rationalize your way out of anything. It doesn't mean your problem is solved. I could have died, but I'm lucky to be alive, and I'm not going to sacrifice this second chance by ingesting anything else. Let's just say I have a new fondness for sobriety. Everytime I think of drugs now, I just remember those hours entranced in psychosis, and I can't bring myself to tempt fate again.
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