The Depths Of Drug Addiction.
When I look back to my drug taking days, it seriously frightens the shit out of me. How I’m not dead, I really don’t know. People have died for less than what I put myself through.
In hindsight, I can see now that I was subconsciously trying to kill myself. I thought nothing at taking 2, 3 ecstasy tablets at a time, and would then drive my car. In fact, I drove my car everywhere in those days – it was pre drug testing back then.
I snorted copious amounts of high grade speed, it’s actually what I first became addicted to. I remember the first time I had this high grade stuff, I had one line of it and didn’t sleep for three days – I think I was addicted immediately.
At my worst, I was taking it nearly everyday, I would go on five day benders with no sleep and basically no food. It was hard to eat anything but an apple here and there on this strong gear. My weight dropped down to 38 kilograms, and size 6 (Aus) clothes were too big for me. It was nearly impossible to buy clothes that fitted.
My face was gaunt and my eyes were sunken – I looked liked a drug fucked piece of shit (because I was).
I’d rack up lines in the toilet at work, in my car, hell, once I even racked up on the table in the dining room of a pub, using only a menu to hide behind. I didn’t care, I just needed a fix whenever and wherever I could.
My work sacked me, and my family had all become aware that I was now a drug addict. I looked so terrible, it was hard to disguise it – make-up will only take you so far! I went to my cousin’s wedding off my face, my Grandmothers 80th birthday, there was no occasion that was off limits.
Me, looking terrible on drugs, and after looking healthy.
I saw it as a game to try and take as many drugs as possible, and, as I hung out with some pretty high up drug dealers and quite a few rich kids, paying for it was never an issue – there was always something on offer.
I remember this acquaintance racking up a line of Ketamine (typically used as a horse tranquiliser) that was about 15cm long. She said “this one is for you Stace”, and before she could say she was joking, bang, I’d snorted the whole thing. I went into what is known as a k-hole.
It’s where you curl up in a foetal position and literally can’t move for hours. At one point (for a split second) I actually forgot how to breathe, I remember the panic I felt in that moment. It was scary then, but even scarier now to think about really.
Another time I was in a day club after being out all night. I’d had 3 ecstasy tablets, a gram of cocaine, alcohol, and then took GHB (a central nervous system depressant), a drug that people easily overdose on when taken singularly. With the cocktail of drugs in my system, I was incredibly lucky that I didn’t overdose. I did however, throw my guts up in a side street on a Sunday afternoon, whilst normal civilians walked by looking in disgust.
I took so many drugs that I became highly paranoid and regularly went into a drug induced psychosis. It was hard to distinguish what was real and what wasn’t – all the days seemed to roll into one.
My poor parents used to lie awake at night waiting for the Police to knock on the door. Mum truly believed I was going to die, or at the very least get arrested.
I overcame my speed addiction but soon turned to Ice (Methamphetamine), it was the latest craze and soon became the main drug on offer. I easily became addicted to this, especially when a friend who was addicted to it moved in with me.
He had a guy who made it, so once again, it was regularly on offer. We’d drive an hour and a half away to collect it straight from the stove. That shit was strong and I couldn’t get enough of it. Thankfully my friend moved out after about six months, which meant it wasn’t in my face everyday.
As much as I hated taking drugs by that stage, I was an addict – if it was in front of me I couldn’t say no. I still to this day struggle with saying no, which is why I don’t have drug users directly in my life – the temptation is still strong.
When I look back to the limits I pushed myself to, I truly don’t know how I’m still alive. God obviously had other plans for me, of which I’m truly grateful for. It’s kind of surreal actually. I’ve grown so much as a person, that all of that seems like it didn’t really happen – that it was just a bad dream.
But, every now and then it hit’s me like a ton of bricks, and I shake and panic as I realise the gravity of it all. In these moments I have to remind myself that I am safe, alive, and blessed with a bright and happy life.
I thank God everyday that I survived and am lucky enough to have lived to tell the tale. I know all too well that so many never make it out of the depths of what really is hell.
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