rhymetoker
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2010
- Messages
- 32
So I'm 24 years old and I've been using meth on and off for the past six years. Up until about a year ago, I kept my use under control. I mean, sure, I would binge. There were definitely times when I went a few to many days without sleep. But I would also regularly take extended breaks from the shit. I think my longest break was about 9 months.
But for the past 12 months or so, the breaks have been pretty much nonexistent. I went three weeks without using back in October, but usually I can't even go two weeks. It's disgusting how predictable the pattern has gotten. I'll pick up a bag which usually lasts me about 7-10 days. I'm always sick of it by the time it's gone, and usually somewhat relieved. That's when I decide to "quit." I start eating better, working out more, and sleeping more. I become more social. After a week I feel great. I'm happy. I have energy, REAL energy. I always feel confident that my meth use is finally just a thing of the past.
After about ten days, however, something changes. I start getting the nastiest fucking cravings that are damn near impossible to ignore. And if I've maybe had a drink or two? Forget about it. It's over. Back to square one.
I've always been able to assess my drug use in an honest manner. I've always been able to walk away when things start getting a little too messy. But for some reason with meth it's different. The way I think about it is different. The way I approach it is different. I mean I can clearly see the negative impact that it's having on my life, both physically and mentally. And I could go on for hours about the hideous comedowns, the paranoid delusions that I KNOW are ridiculous but that FEEL completely and utterly real. The way everyone starts looking at me, starts staring at me, starts judging me. Every time someone laughs, they're laughing at me. Every whisper is a joke at my expense. Every smile is fake, every thought is cruel. Unfortunately these awful experiences, these unspeakable lows, the indescribable mental anguish that I have subjected myself to are not enough to make me quit. And they never will be enough to make me quit. I need a better reason.
I REALLY need to quit by September. I'll be back in school and getting pretty close to graduation. I'll be applying for a lot of jobs, going to career fairs, hopefully getting some interviews. And no one wants to hire a fucking meth head. Maybe that will be enough motivation to finally part ways and just let it go.
But for the past 12 months or so, the breaks have been pretty much nonexistent. I went three weeks without using back in October, but usually I can't even go two weeks. It's disgusting how predictable the pattern has gotten. I'll pick up a bag which usually lasts me about 7-10 days. I'm always sick of it by the time it's gone, and usually somewhat relieved. That's when I decide to "quit." I start eating better, working out more, and sleeping more. I become more social. After a week I feel great. I'm happy. I have energy, REAL energy. I always feel confident that my meth use is finally just a thing of the past.
After about ten days, however, something changes. I start getting the nastiest fucking cravings that are damn near impossible to ignore. And if I've maybe had a drink or two? Forget about it. It's over. Back to square one.
I've always been able to assess my drug use in an honest manner. I've always been able to walk away when things start getting a little too messy. But for some reason with meth it's different. The way I think about it is different. The way I approach it is different. I mean I can clearly see the negative impact that it's having on my life, both physically and mentally. And I could go on for hours about the hideous comedowns, the paranoid delusions that I KNOW are ridiculous but that FEEL completely and utterly real. The way everyone starts looking at me, starts staring at me, starts judging me. Every time someone laughs, they're laughing at me. Every whisper is a joke at my expense. Every smile is fake, every thought is cruel. Unfortunately these awful experiences, these unspeakable lows, the indescribable mental anguish that I have subjected myself to are not enough to make me quit. And they never will be enough to make me quit. I need a better reason.
I REALLY need to quit by September. I'll be back in school and getting pretty close to graduation. I'll be applying for a lot of jobs, going to career fairs, hopefully getting some interviews. And no one wants to hire a fucking meth head. Maybe that will be enough motivation to finally part ways and just let it go.
