7/11/04 (AGE 20) - Every Druggie Goes Over Sometimes...Right?
Shit, I put the dumb in dumbfuck! I've had four ODs now in one year - twice with heroin, once with crystal meth and now I've gone and made the same fuck-up with Ecstasy. Why do I do these things?
Friday, I had planned out fully. I spent the day filling up on food and selected music I thought would set my trip off nicely. Well apart from driving Graeme around, but even then I made sure we only talked about positive shit. Graeme had just got in 50 eccys - beige Vs - and he'd tested them and found them to be weak and fairly adulterated with meth, so he was having trouble selling them off (because E-tards are E-tards and methheads are methheads) and therefore sold me a batch of six for $100...okay they were shit pills but that is dirt fucking cheap, and Graeme wouldn't do me over by selling me PMA or something; we're mates! I'm not totally against meth bombs - MDMA always makes my eyes too wobbly on it's own and I'm not that into that feeling...I get paranoid I'm about to have a seizure!
So when I'd dropped Graeme home and fed up on a massive big breakfast at the Mangere Bakehouse Cafe, I went home and tested all my pills for myself, including the one I'd got off Andrew. I love testing pills - I really enjoyed chemistry. It was the one subject I did okay at at school...hey I turned out an alright P cook didn't I? Maybe if I hadn't been fried all through 6th and 7th form chemistry I could be running a legitimate pharmaceutical company by now! The dexie factory or something...or whoever makes the opioid painkillers that get supplied to hospitals?
Anyway, as Graeme had said, the Vs were mainly meth, the rest was MDMA and not very strong. The yellow CS was pure MDMA, and it was very strong, plus there was some good rep on those on pillreports.com. As soon as I'd done my research on that pill, no matter how I may feel about the wobbly-eye thing, I knew I had to pop it with my trip and feel the love while I journeyed into my soul. Nothing like candy-flipping, right?
So, late afternoon, I dropped the trip and swallowed the pill at the same time, then went on a long walk with Liam and the dogs in hope of the come-up starting faster, due to my blood moving faster from exercise. We must have been walking for about an hour but I still wasn't even starting to trip. I was feeling quite loved-up and empathetic but it didn't feel enough - it felt like a let-down compared to what I'd psyched myself up for.
So I decided the acid was a bum trip (hey sometimes Andre fucks up - he reckons it's pretty hard stuff to cook) and decided my night was for rolling instead. Unfortunately, I have the mentality of someone with an addictive personality so good as that one pill was, it didn't feel enough - and I wanted P, so I went and dropped half of those meth bombs. When I'm still recovering from that cardiac arrest I had earlier this year after I went over on P - but I don't ever call myself wise. At that point Mum had gone out and Liam had gone out and there I was at home alone, rolling and craving company, yet not satisfied with my roll.
People get stupid and cocky when they're fucked-up. Especially when they don't really believe they're fucked-up. When, what felt like an hour later (though time can get skewed when on drugs), I still was neither tripping (Andre is so paying me back) nor majorly rolling (or so I thought), I impatiently dropped the other three bombs and had a little hit of ice - maybe a point so...totally minute - and sat myself down at the computer feeling a bit tweaked, dizzy and tripped-out (in an 'I've had 7 E's' kind of way) but miserable. I came to the conclusion that E is no fun, alone.
Well, that was when it hit. The ice must have got my heart and blood pressure going enough to kick off all the meth bombs I though I'd already come up on. Suddenly I wondered if even a point of ice was a bit much on top of all that E. That was the smartest revelation I'd had all evening - but it was a little too late.
The room got very bright, I couldn't sit still or concentrate and my vision was covered in tracers and funny dots that moved as I looked round - and my eyes were so jittery I couldn't look at anything for more than a second or two. That felt like too much E.
But obviously the last triple stack hadn't hit because just when I was wobbling into the kitchen to try and get out a bottle of coke (I hadn't drank all evening at that point...), well that was when it hit.
That was when things went to shit - I itched all over from the daily meth intake, including all the meth in the pills and the point of ice I'd recently shot. I felt really sick in the stomach, and my gut felt like it would explode with pain, yet all I could vomit up was a little pool of blood, no pills. My heartbeat was irregular, my chest hurt, my vision blurred over so I could hardly see. I couldn't stand up straight, let alone stagger into my room to go lie down. A lot like the time I overdosed on P - and that ended in a heart attack. I was so frightened.
I didn't think to call 111 - I couldn't think straight at all! So instead I rang Mum's cellphone (luckily I have her on speed dial and my phone was on the kitchen bench...I couldn't walk; I was lying on the ground); she raced home from a party, angry as a snake, and took me off to the emergency department. I was given charcoal but that did shit-all except make me sick as shit, so they said I must have digested all the Ecstasy. I spent the rest of the night on a drip, trying to see straight and think straight. My heartrate continued to climb until it was going double my normal resting heartrate (which is about 120bpm, due to the P) - that worried even the nasty nurses, who gave me heaps of valium and shit to bring it down.
Onto the nasty staff. That's why I hate hospital. They know me there. My files describe me as a severe methamphetamine and heroin addict, a poly-drug abuser and a possible drug-seeker. I'm not a drug-seeker! So the doctor wasn't very nice. When I said that I was off heroin, working on my methamphetamine addiction, and that I'd been through detox, he said 'well, obviously it didn't work did it?'
The rest of the weekend, I very dimly remember. The acid never hit. My heartrate was irregular all day Saturday and I saw more things than usual out of the corner of my eye and felt very paranoid but that was probably just from the comedown. Ugh what a comedown it was too.
Saturday night the depression hit and I started thinking about what the ED doctor said about not having succeeded in detoxing. He hit me where it hurt all right! Oh well, since that's what people will always think of me, I can't be fucked trying anymore. Because I always fuck up no matter what. I'll never get off P, and you know what? I don't care.
All that night I shot P, and finished off the ice. It didn't feel good - I doubt I had enough serotonin and dopamine left to feel good on meth. Just going through the motions I guess - the brief rush when it goes into my veins, but after that, since I went over on that E, meth's just made me hyped-up and angry, then later, paranoid.
On Sunday I finished the ounce I had (there was like a gram left...uh-oh, should have gone to Graeme's the night before, no matter how fucked-up I was) - it didn't even touch me. I had a massive row with Mum that would have become a violent rage if I hadn't got out of there, driven to Graeme's and exhaustedly stayed up all night cooking another batch. Luckily he gave me plenty of P to keep me awake...but not enough to make me feel sociable. Even then, I came home the next day, had a blast and collapsed into bed.
Now it's four days later and the fact that I'm a failure who can never get off meth is really bugging me. It shouldn't, since I choose to cook it - I'm sure if I told my mates to fuck off out of my life and went to NA or church or something I could get off it but still. Why can't I just use on weekends or something? It's everyday or nothing with me.
Also why do I do all this risky shit with drugs like E that I'm not even addicted to? I mean, shit - that OD? Talk about the inevitable happening! Still every druggie goes over sometimes...right?
NB (some of these ppl/gang names may b under aliases, also I am no longer such a heavy P user and am no longer cooking it)
- Graeme was a drug buddy in a local ethnic gang called the 'White Tails' that I used to manufacture/distribute/supply, etc, methamphetamine, with...hes now doing time for manufacturing Class A drugs (I know he AND I were wrong in cooking etc but I do miss Graeme as he was a gd friend, and I regularly visit him still).
- Andrew was an old dealer of various drugs, mainly E/weed/P...he's also my friend's brother (now also inside, for trying to export Ecstasy pills by the kilo to Australia).![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
- Liam is my younger brother who hated all drugs other than booze/weed/party pills back then (when this was originally written - he would hav bn 18 - hes 23 now)...until he moved out recently and started sleeping with an E user - say no more, he's never looked back!
- Andre was an old mate who considered himself a bit of an alchemist, and he was really a bit of a loner...he only hung out with ppl he really trusted - I got to know him through my ex (they were gd friends) and he slowly got to trust me esp wen he found out I was into cooking drugs as well...only I only cooked P, he cooked all kinds of synthetics, including acid (something to do with ergotamine or something - he never fully told me how to do it, just that it was a difficult process compared to P) so we got acid cheap off him, and it varied...sometimes it was gd, sometimes it did shit-all like this trip; sadly wat i didnt know was that he was cooking all this shit to fund an H habit - he died oneday of an OD...RIP Andre.
Shit, I put the dumb in dumbfuck! I've had four ODs now in one year - twice with heroin, once with crystal meth and now I've gone and made the same fuck-up with Ecstasy. Why do I do these things?
Friday, I had planned out fully. I spent the day filling up on food and selected music I thought would set my trip off nicely. Well apart from driving Graeme around, but even then I made sure we only talked about positive shit. Graeme had just got in 50 eccys - beige Vs - and he'd tested them and found them to be weak and fairly adulterated with meth, so he was having trouble selling them off (because E-tards are E-tards and methheads are methheads) and therefore sold me a batch of six for $100...okay they were shit pills but that is dirt fucking cheap, and Graeme wouldn't do me over by selling me PMA or something; we're mates! I'm not totally against meth bombs - MDMA always makes my eyes too wobbly on it's own and I'm not that into that feeling...I get paranoid I'm about to have a seizure!
So when I'd dropped Graeme home and fed up on a massive big breakfast at the Mangere Bakehouse Cafe, I went home and tested all my pills for myself, including the one I'd got off Andrew. I love testing pills - I really enjoyed chemistry. It was the one subject I did okay at at school...hey I turned out an alright P cook didn't I? Maybe if I hadn't been fried all through 6th and 7th form chemistry I could be running a legitimate pharmaceutical company by now! The dexie factory or something...or whoever makes the opioid painkillers that get supplied to hospitals?
Anyway, as Graeme had said, the Vs were mainly meth, the rest was MDMA and not very strong. The yellow CS was pure MDMA, and it was very strong, plus there was some good rep on those on pillreports.com. As soon as I'd done my research on that pill, no matter how I may feel about the wobbly-eye thing, I knew I had to pop it with my trip and feel the love while I journeyed into my soul. Nothing like candy-flipping, right?
So, late afternoon, I dropped the trip and swallowed the pill at the same time, then went on a long walk with Liam and the dogs in hope of the come-up starting faster, due to my blood moving faster from exercise. We must have been walking for about an hour but I still wasn't even starting to trip. I was feeling quite loved-up and empathetic but it didn't feel enough - it felt like a let-down compared to what I'd psyched myself up for.
So I decided the acid was a bum trip (hey sometimes Andre fucks up - he reckons it's pretty hard stuff to cook) and decided my night was for rolling instead. Unfortunately, I have the mentality of someone with an addictive personality so good as that one pill was, it didn't feel enough - and I wanted P, so I went and dropped half of those meth bombs. When I'm still recovering from that cardiac arrest I had earlier this year after I went over on P - but I don't ever call myself wise. At that point Mum had gone out and Liam had gone out and there I was at home alone, rolling and craving company, yet not satisfied with my roll.
People get stupid and cocky when they're fucked-up. Especially when they don't really believe they're fucked-up. When, what felt like an hour later (though time can get skewed when on drugs), I still was neither tripping (Andre is so paying me back) nor majorly rolling (or so I thought), I impatiently dropped the other three bombs and had a little hit of ice - maybe a point so...totally minute - and sat myself down at the computer feeling a bit tweaked, dizzy and tripped-out (in an 'I've had 7 E's' kind of way) but miserable. I came to the conclusion that E is no fun, alone.
Well, that was when it hit. The ice must have got my heart and blood pressure going enough to kick off all the meth bombs I though I'd already come up on. Suddenly I wondered if even a point of ice was a bit much on top of all that E. That was the smartest revelation I'd had all evening - but it was a little too late.
The room got very bright, I couldn't sit still or concentrate and my vision was covered in tracers and funny dots that moved as I looked round - and my eyes were so jittery I couldn't look at anything for more than a second or two. That felt like too much E.
But obviously the last triple stack hadn't hit because just when I was wobbling into the kitchen to try and get out a bottle of coke (I hadn't drank all evening at that point...), well that was when it hit.
That was when things went to shit - I itched all over from the daily meth intake, including all the meth in the pills and the point of ice I'd recently shot. I felt really sick in the stomach, and my gut felt like it would explode with pain, yet all I could vomit up was a little pool of blood, no pills. My heartbeat was irregular, my chest hurt, my vision blurred over so I could hardly see. I couldn't stand up straight, let alone stagger into my room to go lie down. A lot like the time I overdosed on P - and that ended in a heart attack. I was so frightened.
I didn't think to call 111 - I couldn't think straight at all! So instead I rang Mum's cellphone (luckily I have her on speed dial and my phone was on the kitchen bench...I couldn't walk; I was lying on the ground); she raced home from a party, angry as a snake, and took me off to the emergency department. I was given charcoal but that did shit-all except make me sick as shit, so they said I must have digested all the Ecstasy. I spent the rest of the night on a drip, trying to see straight and think straight. My heartrate continued to climb until it was going double my normal resting heartrate (which is about 120bpm, due to the P) - that worried even the nasty nurses, who gave me heaps of valium and shit to bring it down.
Onto the nasty staff. That's why I hate hospital. They know me there. My files describe me as a severe methamphetamine and heroin addict, a poly-drug abuser and a possible drug-seeker. I'm not a drug-seeker! So the doctor wasn't very nice. When I said that I was off heroin, working on my methamphetamine addiction, and that I'd been through detox, he said 'well, obviously it didn't work did it?'
The rest of the weekend, I very dimly remember. The acid never hit. My heartrate was irregular all day Saturday and I saw more things than usual out of the corner of my eye and felt very paranoid but that was probably just from the comedown. Ugh what a comedown it was too.
Saturday night the depression hit and I started thinking about what the ED doctor said about not having succeeded in detoxing. He hit me where it hurt all right! Oh well, since that's what people will always think of me, I can't be fucked trying anymore. Because I always fuck up no matter what. I'll never get off P, and you know what? I don't care.
All that night I shot P, and finished off the ice. It didn't feel good - I doubt I had enough serotonin and dopamine left to feel good on meth. Just going through the motions I guess - the brief rush when it goes into my veins, but after that, since I went over on that E, meth's just made me hyped-up and angry, then later, paranoid.
On Sunday I finished the ounce I had (there was like a gram left...uh-oh, should have gone to Graeme's the night before, no matter how fucked-up I was) - it didn't even touch me. I had a massive row with Mum that would have become a violent rage if I hadn't got out of there, driven to Graeme's and exhaustedly stayed up all night cooking another batch. Luckily he gave me plenty of P to keep me awake...but not enough to make me feel sociable. Even then, I came home the next day, had a blast and collapsed into bed.
Now it's four days later and the fact that I'm a failure who can never get off meth is really bugging me. It shouldn't, since I choose to cook it - I'm sure if I told my mates to fuck off out of my life and went to NA or church or something I could get off it but still. Why can't I just use on weekends or something? It's everyday or nothing with me.
Also why do I do all this risky shit with drugs like E that I'm not even addicted to? I mean, shit - that OD? Talk about the inevitable happening! Still every druggie goes over sometimes...right?
NB (some of these ppl/gang names may b under aliases, also I am no longer such a heavy P user and am no longer cooking it)
- Graeme was a drug buddy in a local ethnic gang called the 'White Tails' that I used to manufacture/distribute/supply, etc, methamphetamine, with...hes now doing time for manufacturing Class A drugs (I know he AND I were wrong in cooking etc but I do miss Graeme as he was a gd friend, and I regularly visit him still).
- Andrew was an old dealer of various drugs, mainly E/weed/P...he's also my friend's brother (now also inside, for trying to export Ecstasy pills by the kilo to Australia).
- Liam is my younger brother who hated all drugs other than booze/weed/party pills back then (when this was originally written - he would hav bn 18 - hes 23 now)...until he moved out recently and started sleeping with an E user - say no more, he's never looked back!
- Andre was an old mate who considered himself a bit of an alchemist, and he was really a bit of a loner...he only hung out with ppl he really trusted - I got to know him through my ex (they were gd friends) and he slowly got to trust me esp wen he found out I was into cooking drugs as well...only I only cooked P, he cooked all kinds of synthetics, including acid (something to do with ergotamine or something - he never fully told me how to do it, just that it was a difficult process compared to P) so we got acid cheap off him, and it varied...sometimes it was gd, sometimes it did shit-all like this trip; sadly wat i didnt know was that he was cooking all this shit to fund an H habit - he died oneday of an OD...RIP Andre.
