Juturna
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 28, 2005
- Messages
- 150
I understand that trip reports usually focus on illustrating a single experience under the influence. Arguably, my dependency on meth has generated an altered state for much longer than a "trip", and it can even be considered a trip in itself. It is for that reason I feel justified in sharing a short, incomplete summary in hopes of not only providing a fresh and enjoyable read, but an insightful perspective and look into the world of a tweaker who lives predominantly in the South East of Asia. Should any type of question arise as you read this post, please feel free to inquire! I will be glad to answer them to the best of my ability. 
I have been dabbling/on-off methamphetamine ever since my mother's friend introduced it to me, aged 16. He recollects events for me that I cannot remember for myself; mostly accounts of when I would walk in on his friends as an innocent 10 year old, completely oblivious to the nature of their acts. As a curious and inquisitive child, I had once confronted him, having seen him scurry towards the shoes of the front porch, kneeling down to hide a foreign object. I approached the pair of shoes, two tweakers staring at me dead on, only to uncover what I thought of as regular foil--a nicely shaped strip of foil. In my mind, it was nothing but that. I gave them all weird looks and walked away, giggling to myself. "What weirdos," I had thought to myself.
Now, all I can remember is the toothpaste stains on the mirror of my bathroom, the traces of aluminium scrub-downs from my compulsive nights of excess. My mother's friend is now a methamphetamine dealer of mine, and my most trusted source. Whenever I want to score some ice, accessibility is never a problem. As long as I have the money, I've got the shit.
Eventually, I started looking for other people like myself: a rich kid in a country of corruption and over-valued social status. When things were dry back home, I would walk in the ghettos, looking to find what is referred to here as shabu. The labs were deep in the slums, and I stuck out like a sore thumb, sporting a weak 6'3" 120lbs frame, clothed in designer brands. Eventually, I took it upon myself to wear rags specifically for scoring. I hid my money in my shoes, left my cellphone at home, and carried a knife for protection. It was a complex rush of emotions; I was both excited and frightened. Adrenaline was a constant and my brain repeated its instinctive cognitive; flight, or fight? I cannot count the number of times I have sat in a lab, uncomfortable and paranoid. There was rarely anything left to do but notice the walls, covered with non-sensical graffiti and of course, an idol of the Virgin Mary, the only slight reassurance that I would not be murdered for my money in cold blood. This paranoia, caused ironically by what I came for, was not limited to getting fucked over by dealers, but corrupt cops too.
Eventually, a couple of people I knew got busted but of course, they're out. Bribery is common place in the third world, but it comes with a price. Soon, I weened away from the scene having heard of old dealers going awry. The 3g of methamphetamine I am referring to in the title was purchased downtown. I recently got a call from a friend, explaining that he passed by the lab and there were 3 cop cars outside, so I am extremely lucky, once again. Holding enough meth to pin you with intent of distribution gets you a helpful dose of cyanide. So naturally, after completely fucking wrecking my body, the cons outweighed the pros. But since when did rationality apply to an addict?
I was soon sent away to Europe, where I began exploring the highest grade entheogens/psychedelics I could find to curb my "escapist mentality". Effectively, my dependence on meth withered away for a total of six months. I returned to my favourite country healthy and rejuvenated, only to throw it all away on relapse. What can I say, I was drawn to the place.
I began helping out old friends by hooking them up with what they still regarded as the best shit in the country. Deal after deal, I was exposed to huge amounts of ice on a frequent basis. On total impulse, I smoked a stash I was supposed to run with one of my favourite people; my mother's friend.
3 days and 6 valiums later, here I am. I have lost 10lbs this weekend. Is the feeling quite the same? Not really. I had to follow-up around half a dozen times to get close to my desired effect, despite my clean streak of 6 months, sub one anomalous experience while in Europe. Was it worth it? I'd say yeah. The euphoria was a familiar and welcoming feeling, but I got way out of hand. Revisiting the past is a great experience, but that's enough for a while. I am going to be sent away this July. I am particularly dependent on my sister for financial aid, so that is certainly something I do not want to compromise.
To close, I am going to reiterate the futility of meth as a whole. Sure it feels good, but it's temporary like most things in life. Every experience warrants a lesson however, so taking other peoples' accounts into consideration is imperative, as is experimentation for yourself. Take my companion; he has been hooked on methamphetamine for life. He was part of the FTA, acting as Jane Fonda's right hand man while in the Philippines, a South East Asian country that was occupied by American troops. He was once a very attractive young man with a bright future. Now he has no teeth, and very little, if any purpose. While he is a wonderful man, let us take his example. Learn from others' mistakes; do not begin to dig your hole if you intend on settling. Rock bottom is a unique perspective, but essentially it's somewhere you do not want to be for long.
