I’ve seen people pick apart their carpeting and pull up their floors because they think – just maybe – some crystal meth slid off the foil or an icy chunk of hard may be there waiting for them.
Some have scraped the bottom of a drawer from their dresser because at one time there was meth in that drawer and just maybe there will be enough sting in the nostril to let them know they did get some dope in their system (along with particles of unknown origin, possibly roach or rat droppings or glass or wood or chemicals of some sort).
A mother gave birth to her baby in a crack house that happened to be
I’ve seen people continuously walk up and down an alley at a meth house, bending over to scour the gravel drive for just one more piece, trying desperately to melt down rock after rock after rock after rock . . . . The rocks God made, not those made by methamphetamine manufacturers, unfortunately seen by the searchers . . . .
Merriam-Webster's Medical Dictionary: the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.
…to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.
Can’t ANYONE see that it may be impossible for some addicts to stop?!?
Hell, throw those junkies away, man! Let the Department of Corrections treat them . . . . Then, when they get out, they’ll be even sicker . . . . better . . . . sicker.
And if you think there aren’t any drugs in prison, you are fooled.
That’s my rant for the day.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Comedown
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Where I Lived
I dread surfacing up into conscious thought,
Each morning that I wake up trapped and caught.
The panic that fills me; the cue that it is time;
The crude, unwarranted, murderous rhyme;
The damn fiends and ogres who feed on my smiles–
Dining and stockpiling; energized by my trials.
Searching for a connect weak enough to walk across,
To find out that my equal just equals a great loss.
Their bags are soon empty, the voids will need filled,
There, screams crawl the walls, in the pit where I live.
-Jeanne Sparks-Carreker
January, 2007
Get HIGH tomorrow…. stay clean from meth TODAY!!
Possession, Anyone? Here’s the Catch-22 the Judge Throws at You
WARNING: THIS POST MAY CAUSE A RELAPSE FOR THOSE IN RECOVERY FROM OXYCONTIN ABUSE – HELL, FORGET THE “MAY,” IT WILL CAUSE A RELAPSE! CLICK ON SOMETHING ELSE, TRICK! :) 
Brian, a native of Birmingham, was pulled over by one of Jefferson County’s finest the other day. Though Brian specifically remembered flipping up the blinker arm to signal a right hand turn to the cop he knew was behind him and on the hunt, the big man gave the tried-and-true excuse that Brian failed to use his turn signal when taking a right-hand turn. Actually, cops in that area of Birmingham look for any excuse to pull over a motorist due to the drug activity there.
Unfortunately, the cop was correct in his assumption that Brian may be in the area to buy pills from the local dealer. Four OxyContin 40mg pills were slipped into the evidence department’s version of an authoritative Ziploc bag, and Brian could see the dark yellow color of each tiny OC from where he sat, handcuffed, in the back of the squad car.
Why didn’t I just eat those?!
Every addict, pill popper, fiend, and doper whose addiction has been or was active for more
than 2-3 years can relate to the sad reason that Brian didn’t eat those pills when he saw the blue lights twirl on.
When the panic and raw fear in the pit of his stomach began, before he gained control and appeared calm to the approaching deputy, it occurred to Brian that his window of opportunity was closing quickly. and he decided fast to - - - 
- - - just hide them better because ingesting an OxyContin results in nothing close to the happiness caused by rubbing off the pill’s time-release coating, placing it on a hard, smooth surface then covering it with your cigarette pack’s cellophane wrapper to keep it all in place while crushing it with the butt-end of a Bic lighter; after that, rolling up a crisp $20 bill into a tight tube, and snorting it up his nose, hoping for a good, painful burn that shows how fresh – and thus more potent – the OC is, and being careful not to scrape the inside wall of the nostril because who knows what the freak could be on that money - - -
Do you see what I referred to as being a sad reason one realizes he/she is familiar with as an addict? If Brian had eaten the pills he would not have been arrested that day. But if he had eaten the pills, there would have been no chance whatsoever of being able to snort one when he got home.
The stranglehold of OCs is that strong – it holds a person that tight. In order to snort one rather than take it orally, I have also made the choice in the past to just hide an OC from a cop so that there was still at least a one-in-a-thousand chance that I’d be able to snort it in the very short distant future of that event. And being one of the fortunate addicts having a Class A felony on record ensures me of a complete shakedown any time a cop pulls me over, no matter who is driving the vehicle. So I was caught, also.
But here’s the thing: society wants me to stay clean. Is that a problem? Why, yes, it is. And it doesn’t seem to be a problem in which only I am the “perpetrator.” Listen up:
The American Psychological Association (APA) defines "addiction" as a habitual, psychological and physiological dependence on a substance or practice beyond one's voluntary control.
…beyond one’s voluntary control.
And an even better definition of “addiction” can be found in Merriam-Webster's Medical Dictionary: the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.
…to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.
And standing in front of a judge who has a look on his face that seems to say, “I know you aren’t going to comply with the stipulations I place upon the basis of you remaining free. But this is the way it is done.”
I could speak words that cause anyone in the courtroom to believe in my attempts to make a change this time. I could utter phrases that cause everyone in the front row to shed a tear, and once, I was able to flow a few myself. But the bottom line is this: I really did want to make a change. I really did mean what I said.
And at the same time, I knew, down deep in my own reasoning, that it was a futile attempt. Both, And. Yes, No, Will, Won’t. All at the same time. Though everyone who has an IQ of that above a jar of mayonnaise knows that an addict will lie faster and better and all the time. But the honest truth, the absolute truth of the matter is, an addict lies to their self way more than to anyone else.
And the Catch-22 that the State throws at an addict standing before them fearing the cut-off from all the people they love, the children that depend on them to stay in a place where they can be touched and utilized as a parent, and fearing the place they may be sent to (because underneath it all, they are and want to be a good person) is to stay clean of a drug which will not let them go . . . . a drug that is, in fact, in possession of them.
Any Old Reason Will Do
Any reason to get high on meth was a good reason for me when I was actively using drugs.
Good news, bad news, holidays, normal days, morning, noon, night, and even in between those times and for any reason whatsoever, and for no reason whatsoever, I wanted to smoke a bowl (use methamphetamine in a pipe) and snort an OC (a potent pain killer named OxyContin).
Since any old reason would do, the struggles of life or times when you receive a blow became completely impossible to face, unless I got high.
And it always progresses to unknown levels, and it’s always too late to turn back.
Got meth? Get help!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Sometimes Looks are Deceiving
These days, fashion trends and the free expression of self is important to teenagers. I remember when my daughters went through the “gothic” stage, and I patiently waited on them to just grow tired of it rather than tell them they could not wear too much black eyeliner and buy XL hoodies to hide under.
They eventually did change their attire and have grown into strong, drug - free women who are also mothers now to my beautiful grandchildren.
But there were times that I worried about their choice of friends, and usually this was because the things they wore were just crazy. Their friends expressed themselves very uniquely, to say the least.
Throughout their teenage years, I learned that looks can truly be deceiving.
I’m happy I stuck it out, bit my tongue, and gave their friends the benefit of the doubt.
fucking up your high....because we care
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Bravery Is Bravery, No Matter Why It Is Summoned
I listened as the anchor told the story, and my heart sank when she said that a child was in the crash. There were five killed total, no survivors.
I guess I should feel my heart tug over any age being killed in the crash, but I could not help focusing on the child, wondering if the child was afraid, wondering if the child had time to think about death. That’s usually enough to make me cry, I’ll admit it.
Then I thought, it may not have been as frightening for the child as it sounded. I would like to think that the adults and teenager on board told the child everything was fine, not to be afraid. Love will do that.
Then I realized, what a brave and selfless thing – to overcome your own fear of death and comfort a child to lessen the terrifying aspect most people have about dying.
What does this have to do with Methamphetamine and the Truth From the Stem? It’s very simple, actually:
If you are currently active in your addiction by using meth or any drug, think of the bravery and rarity that such a selfless act would have in deciding that you are going to get clean for your child. Or your younger sibling, or niece, nephew, neighbor’s kid who thinks you’re cool – no matter who the beneficial and loved child is, get clean for him or her.
You would be just as heroic and just as brave because you made a sacrificial change for love. You can do it. Bravery is bravery, no matter why it is summoned.
Have a happy day :)
-Jeanne
By GEOFF MULVIHILL
Associated Press Writer 
updated 9:47 p.m. CT, Mon., Feb. 15, 2010
WALL TOWNSHIP, N.J. - A small plane trying to land broke apart and tore through a snowy field next to a runway Monday afternoon, killing all five people aboard, including a teenager and a child, and scattering debris over 200 feet….
To continue reading this article, click HERE.
Image Credit:
Robert Ward / ASSOCIATED PRESS
Friday, February 12, 2010
Cold Med Rx Bills to Lower Number of Meth Labs?
The following article can be found at:
Drugsense: Drug Law Reform Weekly News
The Senate on Tuesday sent to the governor House Bill 512, which supporters say is designed to curtail the state's escalating meth activity. The House earlier passed the bill. Gov. Haley Barbour said he would sign the bill.
The law would go into effect July 1. Oregon passed a similar law in 2006.
Barbour said the new law would "make it more difficult to obtain the ingredients for this drug that tears families apart and harms many of our communities. Meth labs threaten public safety, and I don't think there is any doubt we will see a drop in the number of labs in our state."
Not everyone is pleased about the bill. Letha Wiley, 62, of Sardis said putting the restrictions on pseudoephedrine, a decongestant, won't stop meth addicts.
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Everybody can't afford to go to the doctor," Wiley said. "( Addicts ) are going to do what they want to do. Lawmakers have got more important issues to deal with."
This is the thing… the fact that there will be fewer meth labs if cold meds can only be obtained by prescription is an absolute certainty. And though my friends at drugsense.org seem to think it is something the government should not do, the fewer meth labs, the better off we all are.
Except…. an addict will find drugs when they want to get high. “Shake and Bake” is nothing like the real meth from yesteryear, and the ice that is out and about is a freaking joke. But labs and cooks, unfortunately, will adapt, will find another source of pseudoephedrine, and we’ll all be back here talking about it next year or so.
Many crack addicts turned to Shake and Bake and have actually become a bit better, though I absolutely do not advocate its use. I simply believe there are more pressing issues. But anyhoo…. pseudo ban - - - coming to a state near you!!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Veronica Scores a Gram
This is Veronica. A couple of years ago, if she had just known what crystal meth was really all about, she would have never found herself sitting alone there, trying to live through a shrieking moment of the
"WHAT THE F**K DID I JUST DO FOR THAT GRAM?!"
realization.
Maybe the next time she sleeps with someone to get high it will be easier for her to cope with afterward. And then the next time after that, and the next time. . . Hell, pretty soon, there won't be much Veronica left anyway, so it'll probably be smooth sailing for her conscious from here. 
Besides, now Veronica has that little baggie and it's screaming her name - only this time, she dreads the new realization that she doesn't seem to be looking forward to getting high as much as she did this morning. This time, the escape will have to help get her through the new way she acquires an escape.
Too bad she didn't get some info about meth years ago. Too bad she didn't
find the answers. . .
A Bit of Demotivation Is a Good Thing
I remember many times when I was high that I believed I was able to carry out a task better because I was high and "happy."
I was a better wife, mother, sister, friend....
Though I did not get into dancing while high, I absolutely can relate to the "awesome dancers" in the de-motivational poster above. 
I even washed dishes better, man, and if you had been there to watch me, you probably would have seen me pausing the dish chore 10 or 15 times to start another completely different chore that I would then stop to go back to another or even to create another different chore again entirely and forget what I even set out to do in the first place and then would see a blouse that needed mending and stop everything to pick it up and study it and when I finally CRASHED . . . . the dish chore was not even half the way complete.
Yeah, man, I was better at it all!
And the silly-stupid-uncool way those dancers look is actually the brighter picture of methamphetamine addiction. It gets so ugly that it’s beyond stupid, beyond uncool, beyond regret.
Methamphetamine. The worst is yet to come.
When the Choices We Make Become the Choices That Decide Our Fate
Had I stuck to that and stayed in college, I would now be where I wanted.
The same idea can be applied to kicking methamphetamine. Ten years, or five, or even just three, are going to come no matter what you do. And what you do today absolutely creates your future.
In this country, we make our own futures and are blessed with the freedom to live out our lives the way we want. But if you are still using in ten years, where is the gain? 
A lot of good partying, you may think. But if you depend on meth, or any substance, to the degree that you can look ahead years into the future and see yourself holding that pipe or tin-foil or syringe or straw, you don’t get high like you use to. And pretty soon, you won’t be able to get high off any amount of meth you do.
Justify your desires any old way you see fit, that’s your choice. But that’s also my point.
Methamphetamine. The Worst Is Yet to Come.
Friday, January 22, 2010
A Comparison: The Fear of Being Without
At first, of course, Nancy was skeptical, but the more the old woman spoke, the more intrigued Nancy became. Her curiosity won, and the old woman gave Nancy a small bottle of sweet liquid. Nancy tasted it, and immediately was changed. She felt like a superhero. She drank the liquid, and soared high above the tree tops, across her home town, above the clouds, flying without fear, dipping and diving and laughing as she never had before.For a while, Nancy visited the old woman on a regular basis, and the old woman told her the liquid would be available forever. Nancy created her whole life around it, becoming another person entirely.
Then one day, Nancy could not find the old woman. She searched everywhere for her, going days without even stopping to rest, looking and calling out to her. She realized the woman was gone, and with her, the magical, beautiful liquid. She dropped to her knees in the forest and felt as if she would die.
What would life be like, now? Where was the joy? How could she fly so high and so far, then just sit in an existence that held nothingness? The comparison of how happy she had been with the liquid to the reality of lifelessness without it was just too much for her to bear. She lay there in the woods and died, choosing death as a far better alternative to facing a reality of bitter depression.
And when facing a life without drugs, an addict feels and experiences the same fears, the same loss of hope for the future. Of course, with enough clean time (the period of time an addict experiences without substances), a natural joy for life will return, and hope for the future will come again.
Drugs? Not even once.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
"I'm Without" - Withdrawals From Ice
There was no ice to be found anywhere, and the gnawing in the pit of my stomach spelled out a fear that, for me, was every bit as frightful as the fear some people experience when faced with losing everything they own or even when first hearing that our nation is going to war.
Withdrawals were coming. I could taste them, smell them, and dread them in a way one dreads entering a courtroom in order to be sentenced after a guilty verdict. I didn’t want to go through it. I didn’t want to stop using.
The routine had become second nature to me. I was definitely a meth junkie, and though shameful of the fact many times, escaping into that little glass bowl at the end of my pipe wiped away all the guilt and anxiety of neglected parenthood.
But this time it wouldn’t matter how hard I searched. Everyone was out. A strange and complete drought had come to Alabama, and I had never been one who was able to “put back for a rainy day.” Oh, I had tried to before, just for times like this, but I always ended up smoking it, wanting to be higher, wanting more and more until finally I ruined relationships further due to meth psychosis and having been up way too many days without sleep.
The meth I had just ran out of was very strong, and it carried me throughout the night and into the next morning while I picked through the carpet in the floor of the room I had smoked in, searching for just another crumb, another decently sized shard of crystallized peace. The cravings for more had set in hard. If I didn’t crash soon, I would find myself hysterically crying and cursing, throwing a fit that could not be justifiably termed "emotional breakdown."
I searched for a pill, anything to placate the gnawing fear of being without. It’s so incredibly unbearable. I wanted to be knocked out, but my body was not tired yet. And there was a faint hope that someone somewhere would find some more for me to buy or deal out in order to have some of my own. I remained in this state for about half a day. Then I dropped.
When crashing after a four or five day stretch with no sleep, it’s as if I am in a coma. Nothing really wakes me at all. If I am aroused, it is only to a slightly coherent state where nothing makes sense to me. “Mama, the house is on fire,” would be answered with “Okay, sweetie, but not for too long because you have homework to finish.” That deep crashing sleep lasts, for me, about 12 to 15 hours.
After that, there is a period of normal sleep, lasting about 2 to 5 days. I can wake normally, eat, understand things during that 2 to 4 day sleep time, but I am so drained and drowsy that I want to do nothing more than sleep. And of course, faced with the knowledge that I have no dope, sleep is preferred to being awake.
About the fourth or fifth day without crystal meth, I abruptly awake in the middle of the night, my kidneys burning, perhaps because I am dehydrated, perhaps because I have laid on them for five days without getting up and moving around much. My spine is tingling with an uncomfortable twisting sensation and every hair on my body is standing on end. I just want to go back to sleep, but cannot. I’m awake. And nothing helps.
I need a sleep aid. I search the house for something, anything, and come up with a nighttime allergy medication that helps induce sleep. I take as many as I can find, about 6 or 7, and wait for the blissful waves of sleep to engulf me and save me from the twisting grip something has on my spine.
Cold sweats grip down into my bones, it seems, and I try not to think about anything because the anxiety and outright fear creates monsters of problems within my worrying mind out of anything I dwell upon for very long. Faces of people who love me and want me to love them again flood my mind and before I drift off to sleep to be free from this wave of withdrawals, I cry hard and long for my children.
I think about how they must feel. I think about the time I have wasted, the looks on their faces when they want me to spend time with them but I am too busy looking for my next high. After the long cry, I am off to dream about the same things, though now they are horribly twisted into unreal pictures in my dream world, pictures of my daughters drowning and me not being able to save them.
I have always believed in God. I have known Him from the very earliest memories I have in life. I have known Him in a personal, friendly, Fatherly way for as long as I can remember. And His enemy knows this. His enemy loves to plague me with things, and I suppose I make it easy for him to, considering the ways I choose to live my life.
So, interspersed with the “my kids are dying and I sit helpless” dreams, come the occasional “there’s something evil in the room it must be Satan he is here growling and holding you down” dreams.
About five hours into the allergy medication induced sleep, the dreams have made me wake up fully, and I cannot get back to sleep. Kidneys burning, no position comfortable, spine screaming and twisting, mind racing. Just a few more days, I pray. Just a few more.
What then - the depression? Will the cravings end? How long will this go on? I know enough about withdrawals to know that some doctors mark the length of post acute methamphetamine withdrawal for up to two years. Did I dream that? No, it is so, as crazy as it sounds.
My God, why did I ever start this horrible, frightfully terrible relationship with crystal meth? I would smoke more right now, even in the middle of this epiphany! But what on earth could I have been thinking with that first taste of hell?
I start to blame everyone from the President on down to the mayor of our little town for allowing such a horrible epidemic to find its way to our country. Still, I know I am the one to blame for having tried it. I know it is my fault that I am in the uncomfortable, strange, frightening, sad, hopeless, sick position I am in.
And I know it is going to get worse. I know that very soon, I will feel displaced, out of my own skin, and fully awake to enjoy every hideous moment.
And if the person who had originally handed me the straw to snort a try of it years and years ago could have instead shown me this day, I would have ran away screaming “No!" And I would have never searched for an escape from the beautifully welcoming small problems I once believed I could not handle sober.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The Incarceration Cure?
Locking Up The Chemically DependantBIRMINGHAM-The gavel lifts and slams, papers are shuffled, signed, placed in a folder, and a bailiff instructs a twenty-two year old African American male who is seated temporarily in the juror box with other Jefferson County inmates awaiting a hearing in Circuit Court.
Having pled guilty to a possession charge, Roy listens to the bailiff explain the process of entering the Alabama Department of Corrections' Processing Location, Kilby Correctional Facility. Serving a year and a day actually becomes around three months when tallying time off for good behavior, and is defined as "you'll be there for a minute," by those handcuffed to each of Roy's hands.
Roy's mother is in the courtroom, self-conscious about the tears streaming down her cheeks, watching the judge with a desperate look. It's as if she is waiting for the judge to suddenly pull back the papers he has just signed that will send her son to hell with monsters. Maybe he will rewind everything, and even take back what he said to her son that had shaken her to the very core: "Well, obviously you don't like getting up and making a sandwich whenever you want, Son - I guess you just don't like freedom. You didn't even try to go to support group meetings, did you? I don't really think you can be helped. And Alabama wants you off its streets."
Entire Article HERE
Find Something Strange In Junior's Room?
Maybe it is something a careless friend who gets high dropped, as you have been told.
But then you remember the extreme mood swings . . . the missing money . . . a couple of nights when you are absolutely certain that your kid didn't get a wink of sleep and was still going strong the next morning . . . falling grades . . . losing interest in things he once enjoyed . . . . Well, what else can you look for?
Here's Some Paraphernalia For Thought
Methamphetamine, Crystal Meth, Meth, Ice, Cheeba, Chicken, Glass:
If Junior is experimenting with meth, he is either snorting, smoking, eating, or banging (intravenously using) it.
Snorting
Look for pieces of cut up drinking straws or even rolled up dollar bills used to snort. Also look for 
Smoking
You can also identify meth on aluminum foil or in a pipe - it will be brown to white with a sparkly, crystallized shine like flecks of tiny diamonds.
Banging
If he's shooting up meth, look for syringes, small bottles/cups of water and/or bleach, burnt spoons which may have been bent for more steady control above the lighter flame. The thing is, if you suspect your kid is injecting drugs with needles, then you have been in denial for a very long time. Normally, addicts do not begin with needles.
I started my addiction with pills, as did many, many addicts. Smoking pot is a starter point for many. But needles? That's like the ultimate way to use drugs and is an addiction all its own. I have known addicts who would bang water when they ran out of their DOC (drug of choice) because it actually eased the cravings to shoot up something. Junior didn't start at the finish line, Mom. Wake up. It would be like entering a go-cart race with Dale Earnhardt's #3 Nascar ride.
BUT.... if you are pretty sure he's shooting up and you honestly have seen no indication of any other form of drug use, do not ignore the signs just because I say it cannot happen a certain way. Everyone knows teenagers are actually an alien species possessing the bodies of the young until age, what, 25? So who can really know? (Smile)
Pot, meth, cocaine and even pills are kept in the tiny bags - which actually can cause Junior to be charged with distribution of a drug if it is in more than one bag (of any size)- you know, a gram of meth split up into five small baggies weighing .20 grams (twenty sacks) is only divided that way in order to turn it (deal drugs).
If you have any questions pertaining to drug abuse, contact me at
h2oforthegaslit2009@hotmail.com
Friday, January 1, 2010
What Are Withdrawals From Ice Like?
So, my connections hit a temporary "drought" of sorts, due to a huge bust that had been making its way into Alabama from Texas. We'd be down for about a week and a half, probably, they had said. There was no ice to be found anywhere, and the gnawing in the pit of my stomach spelled out a fear that, for me, was every bit as frightful as the fear some people experience when faced with losing everything they own or even when first hearing that our nation is going to war.
Withdrawals were coming. I could taste them, smell them, and dread them in a way one dreads entering a courtroom in order to be sentenced after a guilty verdict. I didn’t want to go through it. I didn’t want to stop using.
The routine had become second nature to me. I was definitely a meth junkie, and though shameful of the fact many times, escaping into that little glass bowl at the end of my pipe wiped away all the guilt and anxiety of neglected parenthood.
But this time it wouldn’t matter how hard I searched. Everyone was out. A strange and complete drought had come to Alabama, and I had never been one who was able to “put back for a rainy day.” Oh, I had tried to before, just for times like this, but I always ended up smoking it, wanting to be higher, wanting more and more until finally I ruined relationships further due to meth psychosis and having been up way too many days without sleep.
The meth I had just ran out of was very strong, and it carried me throughout the night and into the next morning while I picked through the carpet in the floor of the room I had smoked in, searching for just another crumb, another decently sized shard of crystallized peace. The cravings for more had set in hard.
If I didn’t crash soon, I would find myself hysterically crying and cursing, throwing a fit that could not be justifiably termed "emotional breakdown." I searched for a pill, anything to placate the gnawing fear of being without.
It’s so incredibly unbearable. I wanted to be knocked out, but my body was not tired yet. And there was a faint hope that someone somewhere would find some more for me to buy or deal out in order to have some of my own. I remained in this state for about half a day. Then I dropped.
When crashing after a four or five day stretch with no sleep, it’s as if I am in a coma. Nothing really wakes me at all. If I am aroused, it is only to a slightly coherent state where nothing makes sense to me. “Mama, the house is on fire,” would be answered with “Okay, sweetie, but not for too long because you have homework to finish.” That deep crashing sleep lasts, for me, about 12 to 15 hours.
.
After that, there is a period of normal sleep, lasting about 2 to 5 days. I can wake normally, eat, understand things during that 2 to 4 day sleep time, but I am so drained and drowsy that I want to do nothing more than sleep. And of course, faced with the knowledge that I have no dope, sleep is preferred to being awake.
About the fourth or fifth day without crystal meth, I abruptly awake in the middle of the night, my kidneys burning, perhaps because I am dehydrated, perhaps because I have laid on them for five days without getting up and moving around much. My spine is tingling with an uncomfortable twisting sensation and every hair on my body is standing on end.
I just want to go back to sleep, but cannot. I’m awake. And nothing helps. I need a sleep aid. I search the house for something, anything, and come up with a nighttime allergy medication that helps induce sleep. I take as many as I can find, about 6 or 7, and wait for the blissful waves of sleep to engulf me and save me from the twisting grip something has on my spine.
Cold sweats grip down into my bones, it seems, and I try not to think about anything because the anxiety and outright fear creates monsters of problems within my worrying mind out of anything I dwell upon for very long.
Faces of people who love me and want me to love them again flood my mind and before I drift off to sleep to be free from this wave of withdrawals, I cry hard and long for my children. I think about how they must feel. I think about the time I have wasted, the looks on their faces when they want me to spend time with them but I am too busy looking for my next high.
After the long cry, I am off to dream about the same things, though now they are horribly twisted into unreal pictures in my dream world, pictures of my daughters drowning and me not being able to save them.
I have always believed in God. I have known Him from the very earliest memories I have in life. I have known Him in a personal, friendly, Fatherly way for as long as I can remember. And His enemy knows this. His enemy loves to plague me with things, and I suppose I make it easy for him to, considering the ways I choose to live my life.
So, interspersed with the “my kids are dying and I sit helpless” dreams, come the occasional “there’s something evil in the room it must be Satan he is here growling and holding you down” dreams.
About five hours into the allergy medication induced sleep, the dreams have made me wake up fully, and I cannot get back to sleep. Kidneys burning, no position comfortable, spine screaming and twisting, mind racing. Just a few more days, I pray. Just a few more.
What then - the depression? Will the cravings end? How long will this go on? I know enough about withdrawals to know that some doctors mark the length of post acute methamphetamine withdrawal for up to two years.
Did I dream that? No, it is so, as crazy as it sounds. My God, why did I ever start this horrible, frightfully terrible relationship with crystal meth? I would smoke more right now, even in the middle of this epiphany! But what on earth could I have been thinking with that first taste of hell?
I start to blame everyone from the President on down to the mayor of our little town for allowing such a horrible epidemic to find its way to our country. Still, I know I am the one to blame for having tried it. I know it is my fault that I am in the uncomfortable, strange, frightening, sad, hopeless, sick position I am in.
And I know it is going to get worse. I know that very soon, I will feel displaced, out of my own skin, and fully awake to enjoy every hideous moment.
And if the person who had originally handed me the straw to snort a try of it years and years ago could have instead shown me this day, I would have ran away screaming “No!" And I would have never searched for an escape from the beautifully welcoming small problems I once believed I could not handle sober.
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Crystal Meth: the Threshold for Corrupting America's Youth
Reason #1 to Stop Using Methamphetamine
