DOSE:

Methamphetamine

BODY WEIGHT:

118 lb

I'm giving you a piece of my life. I'm giving you an opportunity to decide for yourself what you want your life to become. I write what I know and know that what I write is me. I am 18 years old and, like most of my peers, I saw college as the freedom to party.

As long as there was something to drink, then there was something to drink about. Hangovers in class the next day didn't go over so well, and my beautiful MaryJane would have me wandering around campus not able to remember which class I had scheduled in the first place. Coke was around when the right people were around. The short-term effects had me disappointed and fiending, though, so I gave up on getting messed up. Then I got frostbite in September by Mr. Ice.

I was taking 19 hours at the time, so all the benefits got me through mid-terms great. A quarter of a gram (25 dollars worth) would get me through two nights of studying, two nights of partying, and two nights of no sleep easily. I was very pleased to see I was losing weight I didn't have in the first place. For some reason, it seemed to me that everything that came out of my mouth was the most profound statement in the history of mankind. I never realized that maybe I was running from something - something inside that your body hides deep within itself so you don't have to look.

I began to feel the weight of addiction heavy in my lungs when I started dating my dealer and dropped a half gram a day by myself. I had forgotten or just stopped caring about everyone, everything, every place, every memory I had ever had and just kept hitting that pipe. I knew I had a problem when a guy knocked the pipe to the floor, and I had already started crying before it shattered. I began to get used to speedboats, (tinfoil folded in half - shiny side down! - and lit from the underside), and could feel my brain baking twice as much. I then began eating the stuff. I would hit almost a gram in one capsule and be up for days without any refills. My insides burned all the time and I thought I was getting a hole in my Liver. This was always my favorite way to get spun though. I was able to concentrate on one thing and work on it for hours on end. I'm naturally hyper, so Ice relaxes me. I was never big on cleaning the whole apartment in 10 minutes.

I began to hallucinate all the time, and at one point I lost sight of reality. I would wake up to the images of the nightmare I just had dancing on my ceiling. For a week, (and this is no joke) I would have sworn that Bin Laden was hiding in my closet - I kept seeing a white turban which was really a white sweater. I began making myself do something - anything - while high, (which was either when I was alone or with other people). So I found my beloved journal under my dorm bed. I figured it would at least keep me from giving myself a mental disorder.

It was amazing to think of the girl I used to be in those beginning pages. I almost felt nervous, like I was sneaking a look at somebody else's secrets and dreams. The ink turned from my usual loopy cursive to skinny lines, (vertical and horizontal) of smashed words flying all over the page. I had lost my gift. I had forgotten about all the passion I had for the world. Everything that forced my hand to write page after page about freedom, beauty, truth and life. I could only write about drugs. Once I spent 13 hours sitting in my car at the park doing nothing but writing. Ice made me focused, efficient, horny, mean, anxious, euphoric, anorexic, guilty, and so very shameful.

Shortly after, I found myself in a rehab outside Lubbock, TX. I never knew how sickening sober could feel. A month later I thought I could start my new life, since Ice had ruined the old one. The thought of snorting a bump, smoking a bohl, or sucking alumminum through a straw disgusted me - or so I thought.

Boys and Girls, hear me now: if you want drugs you will have to give your right arm to find them, and if you are trying to stay away from them - they will find you - EVERYTIME! I hit my rock bottom harder this time. I began to get mad at God for my being born an addict. I stopped praying, I stopped listening, and inevitably - I stopped caring.

I lost my apartment, my boyfriend, my car, and my respect in less than a month. I had no money for Ice so I started dancing at a local strip bar where I knew my drug house would be the dressing room - I was right.

Looking again like a Holocaust victim, I stared at myself in the mirror for 15 minutes trying with everything I had to see something I liked. When that didn't work I did what any decent young girl would do. I went on another binge. I was a shell, an empty shell filled with smoke. I tried to kill myself.

I woke up in a mental hospital. That very moment I opened my eyes I found a peace that was given to me from above, serenity from within, and some words I had forgotten months ago. There was a homeless man that always went to the same Alcoholics Annonymous meeting I did, and one day I told him that I hoped the worst was over. He said to me that you hit rock bottom when you stop digging. I threw down my shovel immediately.

Swinging my feet out of the bed, (and noticing the stitches on my wrist), I took what felt like the first step. Somehow, the tiny bit of dignity I had left had fought every dark corner of my soul and body while I slept - I guess it won.

I breathed a new breath, and I said a new prayer. It said: God, may my burdens always be too great to carry so I may be driven back to you for strength. That's all it took for me - a second chance to wake up.

Oh, and that 13-hour writing session in the park? I was able to decipher one poem I wrote. It's about Meth, it's about me, it's about truth. - Julianne - 7-29-2004


Methanpheta Cream Pie

The making of your soul -
i see the image of God
racing to reach my faltering heart
Will you have the battered shreds
of my corroded love?
Or will it rust the gleam from the
polished grace you swept
beneath my heart
Will you ripen the bruises i cannot cut
and piece whole my curse of glass?
My mind became an icy embrace
smoldering with
the seduction of betrayal
You made the light that ate
the shards of shadow
from the spark of your words
and the glow of your touch
that burns deeper than
desire dare reach
The thoughts pierce serrated claws
into my throat to slice the voice
that fingers your name with
broken nails pointing to wrists
gushing crystal waves of
crimson treason desperate
to divorce the mind
of free thought
i pine, i press, i gasp for the breath
of my bitter beauty that crackles
over the infected flesh of my
lungs who whore over every
frozen street to lick
the frost between the blocks
of jagged pavement
i collapse to the blindingly
impure rock of angel-white sin
to feed my frigid soul with the
combustion of shady snowflakes
torched on crinkled silver
over a flaccid flame of
fractured frustration

This whore bears not my name

Like a pathetic squatter in an
unwanted home, she sucks the barren
the moisture of my mind
then brings forth a torturous
aura of ravished despair that
crashes with craving to
display her humble
appreciation of services
granted by myself

The slave to the slut of sensation

The sleet blackens and my sight
of nothing grows dim
Now i fall
i scream
at nothing
and everything
for something
someone
The weight of my limbs are pulled
and the star-warmed
mercy of God
allows the blades to
release me as they fall
below to cut slices out
of the darkness
- Like Methanpheta Cream Pie
i feel the soft grip of a feather
as it beckons me to the surface
of my immortal sea of delusion
A beating of wings wraps me
in the arms of a dream
i lost in the folds of my soul
as i crippled beneath
His tears that fall with the rain.

3-12-2004

Exp Year: 2004	ExpID: 35518
Gender: Female
Age at time of experience: Not Given
Published: Jan 14, 2007	Views: 75,436
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Methamphetamine (37) : Bad Trips (6), Train Wrecks & Trip Disasters (7), Poetry (43), Addiction & Habituation (10), Various (28)