Well lets see if I can deter any people from getting hooked on methamphetamines; this is my story.
Part 1 Sixteen, oh the good life for most of us. A time where a person really gets in touch with themselves and all of that wild freedom that most teenagers have. Only problem is mine was anything but that once I got introduced to meth by my friend who was cooking it. I fell in love instantly the moment I smoked it, running figure eights naked in my friends yard I knew this was some powerful shit, capable of turning a human into a mindless, monster. I knew nothing about making it at the time but knew from what he had told me it was phosphorus meth. I was jealous he had the knowledge of manufacturing it, yet he refused to let me know anything about how it was done. In retrospect, he was saving my life and being a half-assed good friend. It didn’t take long before I was completely hooked and chewing my lip so bad I was spitting out blood from fiending so bad when I couldn’t get any. Eventually I would crash and wake up with my jaw and lip swollen horribly. I stayed up 14 days at one point, and it was a hell of a ride. No hallucinations, no paranoia, just high as fuck and drinking like a fish while staying at another friends house. All I had to do was get a box of contac cold pills from the pharmacy for 7.98 and give it to my one friend, and he’d have me a half gram later that night usually. I was just a smoker at this time and had only done a couple of smaller lines. I wouldn’t stop a binge though until I couldn’t get any more, so it was more of a "well, I guess I have to go to sleep"
That friend later got busted at the young age of 17 while transporting some glassware and a few boxes of pills to go cook somewhere, snitched out by someone who he refused to deal with. Off to prison he went for a very light sentence of 120 days plus 2 years probation for being young and dumb, he also just happened to be the probation officers nephew as well so that worked in his favor you could say.
Fast forward a few months and I got with this girl who’s parents had a reputation as dealers but that was not an influence, I loved the girl. Her parents had accepted me into their family quickly knowing the habits I had and I guess you could say we had an invisible bond right off the start without doing any drugs with each other. Everything was great for another few months while I kept my use somewhat under control still getting it from my friend. Somewhere along the line her uncle (44 years old) who was moving into a" fixer upper trailer" just a ways down the gravel road walked by while I was sitting on the couch and said in exact words "You want a blast?" My girlfriend at the time was in the shower so I of course said "Fuck yeah."
He lays out a decent sized line and instantly the burn was the worst I’d ever had. I was in love all over again. He hooked me up with free lines and smoked a bit with me here and there for a good month or two before he says to me "Come up sometime and I’ll show you how it’s done." I didn’t even have to think about it, I was there the next night. To make a process short, I became his assistant that first night using the blender to chop up pills into powder. I watched the rest as he split battery and put the lithium strips into coleman, hit the mixture with anhydrous ammonia, and stir.
I remember saying at one point during the anhydrous fogged trailer "How do you hover over that without passing out?" to which he said "It’s an acquired taste." I watched in awe as the shitty black egg smelling mixture eventually transformed into a blueish solution after adding some more things, then the smoke of the mixture of muriatic acid and aluminum foil balls was ran through a hose and swirled just right above the solution making the meth fall to the bottom. I would then run it through coffee filters and get all the solidified meth caught in the filters, then he would hit it the smoke 2-3 more times. I was amazed at the amount of meth one box of 120mg pills could produce, right over 3 grams easy every time. He would never do just one box though, always a minimum of 4 boxes and sometimes upwards of 15+boxes depending on how many people would bring us the boxes.
Things went like this for another few months and I was at his place every night after my girlfriend would fall asleep. My excuse was I was helping him work on his trailer which wasn’t completely untrue, but it was not even close to the truth about why I was there every night. We would be out cutting plywood and 2×4’s with a chainsaw at 4am which I thought was hilarious at the time. I was getting a taste of the wild life, and I was the man so I thought at the time. Friends became jealous when I would have grams of meth in my pocket just for helping the guy with his trailer and assisting in his operation. I usually kept my binges to a max of 3-4 days before I would make myself crash but I thought I was doing well with my habit since I was able to go to sleep while having a fat bag in my pocket unlike before.
Here’s where my memory starts to fade out, a guy just a few years older than me came by one time and we went out cruising the gravels doing bumps constantly. He said to me "you ever shoot up?" Not wanting to be the uncool kid, I lied and said hell yeah I have……huge mistake. We go to the pharmacy and he sends me in completely clueless except for the fact he said he likes the bd ultrafines. I waked in strung out and just said "I need some bd ultrafines." They caught me off guard me with "what size needle do you need and how many cc’s?" Even with me asking what sizes they had and all, they walked me through it and I settled on some bd ultrafines 1/2in needle and 1ml volume.
We get back out to the guys house and he was gone so we sat down and geared up with spoons and cottons. I just kinda replicated what he was doing while trying not to seem pretty fucking clueless. Id say I put maybe 1/10th of a gram in mine and added 30 units of water. I stuck it in the crook of my arm, pulled back to check that I was in and went for it. How I knew to register, I have no idea it just happened. Immediately I coughed and got light headed as reality faded in and out as I tasted fumes coming from my lungs. I was higher than I had ever been and this was my downfall, I loved it too much. From that point I had a new addiction, IV. I was addicted to the meth, the cooking process, and now IV’ing. I lost the next 3 months of my memories because everything was a blur, and somewhere along the line I must have eased up but it didn’t seem like it. I was drawing blood just for the thrill of sticking a needle in my arm because I couldn’t risk pumping any more dope into my body. It was at this point I realized this addiction will be the death of me and soon if something didn’t happen.
I made it another year and some months somehow and cried like a baby when I made it to my 18th birthday because I didn’t think I would make it this far even.
Then one day, the only time I wasn’t keeping in touch with the cook as I was in another town helping a friend crush cans so he could get some money, I got a call. The guys house had been raided along with my girlfriends parents. Both taken down for manufacturing, distribution, possession, and paraphanelia. One thing I have not mentioned so far in this story is….My uncle by marriage on my mom’s side, just happened to be the sheriff of Clark County Missouri. For the longest time I was convinced that they had waited for me to not be around to take the guy down, and this is confirmed later in life.
Part 2 Here we go, free of an addiction at last I thought. 18 years old soon to be 19 and I met up a girl who has been texting me during my recovery. I was stubborn to let her in as I knew I had to first care for myself, then I could care for another human. We hit it off immediately and things were the best I’d seen in a long time, things were finally going my way. I worked dead end jobs making 10.00 an hour at the most in factories trying to make a living for the next 3 or so years but the only problem was the thought of working up a shot ran through my head several times a day, daring to call me back. I decided it was finally time to start a career and one thing I had always been interested in was welding so off to a tech school I went. I moved her and myself up to Burlington Iowa for a year of schooling and got a 90% grade in Tig welding. I got A’s and B’s in my math and tech writing classes I had taken and progressed very quickly in all the other areas of welding I did. I had gotten all 10’s on my pipe welding tests, something that the teacher told me he personally had never given in the many years of teaching there. I became very proud and felt as if I could go somewhere in life finally, a great deal of self worth was acquired. After this a good job was in my future certainly. Graduated in Jan 2013 at the top of my classes.
First job I applied for was at Vermeer Manufacturing in Pella Iowa, and by the end of January ’13, I had secured a job starting at 16.50 an hour there. I became a certified welder and had the AWS welding inspector tell me he could make a master of welding out of me if I stuck with it. I was ecstatic. Before 6 months had gone by I was making 20.00 an hour, paying my own bills with ease and having plenty of money left over for material things. I decided to reward myself with my dream car in July ’13, a Nissan 350z. That day I bought it I looked back at my life while staring at it, and realized just how far I had come, but the thoughts in my head were still telling me I was an addict and I hadn’t seen the end of things yet. I went ahead and bought it and to this day was one of the top 5 happiest feelings I can remember.
Fast forward 3 months of joy and things start becoming rocky between the girlfriend and I. The thoughts of wanting to still use in my head were driving me crazy and I begun to isolate myself from the world, all I did was work and come home and bitch about my days then tune out every thing she had to say to me. My brains function had drastically slowed down, it had become noticeably harder to learn things and happiness was in material things. She was worried I was about to become what I used to be. The more unhappy I got I begun to lose weight rapidly even though I wasn’t doing anything. She begun to accuse me of doing meth even though I wasn’t, but the more she accused the closer to returning to it I became. She moved out and back in with her mom to regain her happiness as I was dragging her down into my pit, I had became a self-loathing asshole who didn’t want to go do anything with her to try and have some fun. Fun was an obsolete word to me at this point.
Things got slightly better for a bit as I got to worry only about myself again, but then the long distance relationship fell apart in October ’13 Almost 5 years had passed by without me realizing how much she tried to help me and how much I did love her, and to this very day I still do. The heartbreak was enough to send me over the edge and I took a leave of absence from work for a week to try to get my life back in order. I returned to work that next week with tears still flowing and flashbacks of all the happy times me and her had shared together. This was also the month I started using anabolic steroids.
The moment that work week was done on Friday, I called up a friend from my hometown that I used to do meth with, and set up an arrangement for a half gram of meth that night after finding out that he could get some. I wasn’t the kind of guy to buy it normally, but I said fuck it and went ahead. It was only 60 bucks was my rationalization. I drove the 150 mile trip without even second guessing what I was doing, I was unhappy so why not have an escape for a bit. I arrived in Keokuk Ia to a beautiful chunk of ice at my friends dealers house, something I wasn’t too familiar with but hell, I’ll do it. I did a good sized line and off to my past I went without realizing I had started a fast journey that almost was the death of me. After doing that line the first words out of my mouth was "Do you know where to get any rigs at this late?" to which he replied "I have some at home if you wanna go over there and chill." There was not even a second thought once again and we drove the 20 miles over to his house in Kahoka Missouri. I threw a small amount in a spoon, probably a tenth of a gram again and holy shit, there was the fumes roaring up from my lungs but no cough. I loaded up another and there it was. This friends house became my spot to shoot up for the next 2 weeks. We started to become best friends and would just sit holed up in his house just sitting on his sofas and shooting meth constantly every weekend from 7pm-5am just bullshitting about the old days. I would grab a gram or so before returning to work and make it stretch through the week if possible
After 2 weeks of using I found my life had started to revolve around using again, my house would go un-cleaned and dishes un done. I would get home and shoot up while sitting on my couch after work, and stay up for 3-4days at a time, then I’d make myself go to sleep after work. this was my "down day" to where I would sleep from the moment I got home, to the point I had to get up and go to work the next day. One night at 9pm I got a call from my ex girlfriend that I decided to answer. I tried to act like I was doing ok because she didn’t know what I was doing, but for that whole 4 hour call I smoked meth non-stop, then shot up a good amount after the call. Instantly I found I was unable to swallow, it was very hard to breathe, my heart was doing flip flops in my chest, and I was having horrible pains in my chest. I drove as fast as I could 2 blocks over to the hospital and stumbled in saying "Im an IV meth user think I’m having a heart attack." They got me on a stretcher immediately and wheeled me into the ER, they gave my some aspirin and some iv fluids and waited. My vitals started to go back to normal and they never really said much about whether I was on the verge of a heart attack or not that I can remember. I started to feel better and come down and was discharged at 4am, and had to be at work at 6am. I thought "Well I’ll just shoot the rest of my dope and stay up then go to work. (I had just gotten out of the ER convinced I was having a heart attack, and immediately back to shooting up the moment I got home)
I geared up and blast o…….wait wtf I’m barely high now after shooting a good 1/4 gram. Before I knew it I was waking up at 3pm. My alarm went unheard that morning and I slept past my whole work shift except for 30 min. I rushed to work and told them I was in the hospital until very late because I was having trouble breathing and having chest pains and that is why I ended up accidently sleeping all day. They asked for the hospital record stating the times I was in there, and said I could possibly keep my job if I bring that in. No problem I thought. I went and got the report and what do you know, the paper that had the dates and times also stated I was in there with chest pains due to an IV meth addiction. I returned to the head office at work with the statement "I don’t feel I should have to prove to you I was in the hospital as those are confidential papers"
I lost my job that day and had to move back in with my parents. The good life was gone. I only had 4 grand left in my bank account and that was "going to be used to pay on my car" until I got back on my feet and free of my addiction
Towards the end of that first month, I got several texts from my ex girlfriend wanting me to come over and hang out just a few blocks away over at her mom’s house while I would be shooting dope at my friends house. They built bonfires hoping I’d attend, invited me to eat at denny’s, and tried to get me to come over to hang out but no no avail. I didn’t give a fuck about anything but methamphetamines again. I could have probably worked things back out with her but I gave that opportunity up to keep getting high. She knew I was only a few blocks away as she had seen my car there, but had no idea what was really taking place. I wouldn’t answer her calls or texts.
I chased this cough while staying on the cautionary side trying to limit my use to the best of my abilities for the next 3 months but before I knew it, I was slamming just shy of a 1/2 gram in a night easy declaring that the dope was junk when I wouldn’t be nearly as high as I was getting off of way less. I was introduced to a new contact through this friend and his dope was slightly different, giving me a different high so therefore, it was "better" when in reality it was just made slightly different, but it wasn’t long until tolerance built to this dope as well. I was still limiting my awake time to 3-4 days as I knew that any longer was way unsafe due to the amount of driving and transporting I was doing.
This is where my life started to deteriorate as of January ’14.I was shooting meth and anabolic steroids pretty heavily. I don’t remember my birthday this year, but I’m sure I know what it involved. Soon I began to have friends coming to me with concerns about what I was doing, they had found out I was buying boxes of needles (100 needles) at walmart pharmacy and blowing through them in less than 2 weeks and t-shirts became un normal for me to wear. I put them all away and only had long sleeves in my dresser. I would arrive home at 7 or 8am in the morning to concerned looks from my parents, crash for the day and go back to my friends house for the night. I blew all but $ 230 dollars of my $ 4,000 on meth by the beginning on February but then began to draw unemployment as I somehow won the case. 404 dollars a week from the state of Iowa to pay for my meth, I was pure evil inside and relished the thought of using state money to fund my addction. Somewhere in this month I was injecting my dose of testosterone cypionate, and halfway through it I began to feel very faint and had a weird taste in my mouth. I awakenened on the floor thinking I was smoking weed and had coughed so hard I passed out (it’s happened to me before) and then I got up, only to find an inch and a half needle bent almost 90* sticking out of my asscheek. It was later found I must have shot it into a vein and it went straight to my heart, and the steroid being oil based, was not good at all. I was petrified to go to sleep that night for fear of not waking up
February, Fuck I hated this time of my life. I began using heavily as I was getting money faster than I could pump meth into my veins. I begun shooting up without filtering my dope first, I would just pop the plunger out, use the end as a scoop down into my baggie, and put the plunger back in then suck some water up out of a bottle of water. It was literally Russian roulette as most of the time it would be uncrushed so I had no idea the volume of drugs I would be ingesting. Most of the time I just filled the rig up to about 30-40 units with meth, but one load crushed was totally different than another. It became normal to see me carrying around a bottle of water with barely any used out of it. I did this out of paranoia thinking at any moment someone could walk in and find me working up a shot so this was a way faster process, it was also a way that was bound to put me in the ground and fast. My favorite thing to do was shoot up in the shower, the rush and combined warmth of the water hitting me was orgasmic. It was also my favorite because it was a smaller room and I could keep an eye on the door as I stuck the needle in my arm. There was 2 times I recall picking myself up off of the shower floor after shooting so much that I just blacked out, I awakened crying like a bitch. After those couple of overdoses, I began to lose interest in life. Every shot I did I would have flashbacks of a 5 year old me running around the yard with a smile and laughing with not a care or worry in the world, and they were very vivid memories;I would have tears well up in my eyes as I pushed the plunger thinking this is probably my last one. This "Last one" was never the last though.
From then on I began to hallucinate very badly. People in the IRC chat could probably vouch for the crazy things I said I seen. I thought my parents had installed cranks at hidden points in the house, and would turn them to move things in my room such as my dresser, the clothes hanging rack in my closet, and my door. Actually, I thought they were using a fishing pole to somehow open my door very very slowly to keep me so paranoid so that I couldn’t shoot up. I would be down on the floor with a video camera pointed towards my dresser and door with a notecard that had 2 marks on it as reference points. I took a knife around the end of my door several times trying to cut the "strings" and even gouged up the carpet because later I thought that under the carpet were spirals of steel that when turned, would open and close my door. I would also have my cell phone hidden while on record pointed at the camera in case someone tried to mess with the camera. I was intelligent but losing touch with reality due to the paranoia. This in turn made me shoot mega sized loads to compensate for not being able to shoot but maybe once every couple of days because the paranoia was getting that bad. I was hearing whispering in my parents voices, and they were always the same "It’s not going to be long until he dies" "We have to do something before he kills himself" "Just let him do it"……I got to where 2 days awake was my maximum time I could stay awake, even if I tried to go further. I would shoot up under my blankets with my door locked and jammed shut with a couple of rubber door stops, and my dresser moved in front of it. This was the month all I did was shoot up and lay in bed or shoot up in the gas stations parking lot in my car when I would go get my drugs. My car became my safe spot with no cranks or strings moving anything. I was a highly unfunctional meth addict who couldn’t even get out of bed except to go get drugs or when I would have to leave due to my extreme paranoia
March rolls around and damnit I didn’t think it could get worse but it did. Not only did I see things constantly moving and voices, I also began to feel them move. My floor started moving up and down in concentrated spots, and every where I sat had the same thing happening. I eventually had to sit on wooden tables or metal stools that had plenty of visable clearance underneath to keep my mind from wondering "How the fuck are they moving these things." These feelings eventually transferred over to my car and would scare the shit out of me while driving down the freeway. Not a good place for these things to be happening. I got to where I couldn’t sleep with the light off because when I did try, I would feel a hand grabbing my ankle and it was keeping me on the verge of a heart attack. I was so paranoid through the days that I was physically getting sick, and there was nothing I could do about it except quit (when you’re that far in that’s not even a thought that crosses the mind) Later somewhere in my mind I thought that my parents had installed a secret compartment in my car and hired someone to ride in there with me at all times, so in case of an overdose they could call 911 immediately. I would feel my car swaying as I drove down the road because of the "people in my car" were throwing the center of gravity off when they would move.
Mid march on if you seen me in my car, I would be having full blown conversations with the "people in my car." I would roll up to a stop sign, stop light, or gas station, talking into my rearview mirror that was pointed towards my trunk. If someone seen me talking, I would say "hold on motherfuckers, these people see me talking to you guys" then I would resume talking as I drove away. I recall shooting up one night in my room and then fearing for my life. I said "somebody help me" and I went from high, to instant sober and calm with the weirdest feeling of peace spread throughout my body. It was like a cold chill, minus the cold. Next thing I knew, I seen the image of Jesus‘ face on my wall with a sort of telepathic link to me saying "Everything will be ok"……I still cannot explain how real this felt. Hallucination or not, I believe it was a devine intervention even though I have never been a believer in any religion
In order for me to get meth and keep these people from following me to my dealers house I would park my car out in the open, lock it, then run the opposite way of the targeted house, then make a loop around to throw "them" off. I began to question if my body could handle running even at this point for it was causing me very bad chest pain, and I would be out of breath for 30 min from running 3 or 4 blocks. I was sleeping with my bag of meth in my hand or stuffed down in my sock, along with my syringes stuffed in my tall socks. Extreme paranoia once again that someone was going to try to steal my drugs or worse, my syringes because at this point, I really didn’t even like to smoke or snort it because it didn’t get me high really. I wasn’t able to stay awake over a day at this point even if I tried. I would slam a shot then wake up the next day just unable to keep going. My short term memory was gone, I would find myself pouring a drink then walking away from it a couple times a day easy. A 10 minute drive became an average of 40 minutes. I would have to pull off on a side road every time I had a car behind me, and if there wasn’t one reasonably close, I would floor it and enter "die trying" mode. I would dip into peoples driveways and shut my lights off once I got far enough ahead of whatever car that was behind me and they weren’t able to see me pull in.
March 23rd-the first day of the rest of my life. I had planned of offing myself this day because I was so sick and tired of being sick and tired. I hadn’t stopped moving for a entire week except for when I would sleep which was way out of the ordinary so I knew something bad was happening. I shook so bad I constantly had to readjust my body position for relief from shaking, it would work for a few seconds then I had to re adjust again. I loaded up just over 3/4 of a gram of meth into a syringe and went for it. It didn’t work but subconsciously I didn’t want it to work because I had another probably half or 3/4 of a gram. I carried this around in my hand with a death grip fearing that at any moment my parents were going to call the cops to save my life. I thought they were looking for any reason to call the cops, anything from looking at them wrong, to doing something wrong so I stood in the center of my room with my head down looking at the floor for hours. I was going to eat the rest of my dope the moment the cops showed up as I was pretty sure that would send me into cardiac arrest, but there was an uncertainty because if that 3/4 gram shot didn’t do it, I didn’t know what could kill me if anything.
I started hearing whispers "just call them, he already tried to kill himself, just call them" so I dumped what I had left in my mouth and chewed it. It was the worst taste ever and I literally had to chew it was so much. I heard them call (they didn’t) so I hopped in my car to drove into town to die in peace. I arrived in a parking lot to which I had never seen before on the outskirts of town, I got out, ripped the plates off of my car, and threw them up on top of a building so if cops were on the lookout and I lived, I could sue them for not having the info they "needed" to stop and investigate. Something told me this wasn’t enough and the people in my trunk decided to start rocking my car so I got out and took off running. I ran two blocks through a busy town flip flopping my feet as I thought people were taking pictures of me and my nikes would be the thing that gave me away in those pictures. I collapsed behind a bar and was sure this was it.
An unknown amount of time passed by and what do you know, I was still alive. Out of breath but still alive. I was pissed. I walked back to my car having the worst chest pains ever and drove 120 back to my parents house with no license plates. I was positive they had caused all of this paranoia so I kicked out one of the house windows to repay them, they repaid me by calling the cops.
This was my moment. I thought about running but I knew from my previous 2 block run, that I would run to my certain death. It’s crazy how one minute I wanted to die, one minute I wanted to live. I needed this and I knew it so I laid down in the gravel driveway and waited for the cops to come. This was the only time I can recall breathing a sigh of relief, it was all over and I got into the cop car with a smile. The paramedics were called and they were amazed by my vitals that I wasn’t already dead. I may have only spent the past 6 months in an active addiction, but I went harder than anyone I knew in those 6 months.
I spent 3 days detoxing in jail, I was freezing cold yet sweat poured from every pore of my body with a foul odor under the 3 blankets I had wrapped around me. They told me I was going to rehab and I was ready…..finally. They said they had been watching me for the past month but couldn’t catch me doing anything wrong, so it was a blessing in disguise despite all the pain I had put my parents through.
So here I am today telling you my story clean and sober and still having chest pains a few times a day but not near as bad as before. Monday I go see the Dr and get these checked out, as well as for all the sugar I’ve been peeing out. I have caused central nerve damage, short term memory loss, and a broken hearted family, but you know what else I’ve caused through all of this damage? Freedom from an addiction that I’ve faced for 9 years. I had to bottom out hard to come back, and to anyone in an addiction, I am here if you ever need anything. Please think twice about what you are doing before you get too far like I did and feel that suicide is the only way out because it’s not, recovery is the way out my friend. Don’t ever think you can’t beat it, because it’s never too late.
This is only the tip of the iceberg as well, there are hundreds of other events I’ve experienced that I couldn’t figure out where they tied in in my story due to memory problems somewhat. I love you guys and thanks for reading
In memory of my former addiction
Note the bluish colored lips, This was after shooting then feeling tired immediately afterwards. It was death knocking on my door.