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...presents... Casual User: The Rise and Fall of a Meth Head
by Myxilplyc Cylplixym
4/25/2000-#371
__///////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\\__
\\\\\\\/ Everything You Need Since 1984 \///////
___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___
|___heal_the_sick___raise_the_dead___cleanse_the_lepers___cast_out_demons___|
I was a fairly successful guy. All district football player in high
school. Got through high school without studying too much, had a low B
average. Not too bad. Good future loomed on the horizon.
Then I found crystal meth. This "fairly successful guy" turned into Superman,
zipping through engineering school while holding down a full time job that
required travel 4 months out of the year. Got my weight down to a trim 187
lbs. Chicks dug me; getting girls was easy, because I had such confidence. Oh
yes, I was GOD, all right. Nothing could stop me. The meth was everywhere, I
never went without, so I made it a part of my life. The months went by.
Connection after connection got busted, leaving me dry occasionally at first,
then for long spells at a time. Depression set in. When I couldn't get speed,
I slept, sometimes for days at a time. The "I don't feel well today, I won't
be in" excuse wore thin with work, and so did all the others I managed to come
up with. I managed to finish engineering school, but just barely, and only by
scraping up enough meth to study at test time. When I was dry, my appetite
came back, and so did the weight I had lost.
The downward spiral continued. The girl I had met and who swore she loved me,
now decided I wasn't worth her time, so she left me. Work issued an ultimatum:
get your personal life straight or you're out of here. I was depressed most of
the time, contemplated suicide on many occasions, only attempted it once, and
then only half-heartedly. Didn't have the guts, I guess. Still, I swore that
if I could only get enough meth to get everything straight, things would be
okay. Time after time I used the credit card (via cash advance) to buy eight
balls and half ounces, and the debt mounted. The depression spun out of
control. After having perfect credit just two years before, creditors were
stuffing my mailbox with lawsuit threats. I needed a roommate, so I moved in
one of my street level dealers to help with the bills. One by one my "friends"
walked away from me.
Then, in January, 1995, with one swift blow, it all changed.
Several months earlier, in another county, COMPLETELY without my knowledge, my
roommate had sold to a narc, then a few weeks later, had sold to him again.
Two counts of sale of methamphetamine. I had no idea. I thought I knew to whom
he sold and to whom he didn't. But I was the user, he was the dealer, and no
dealer worth his salt tells ANYONE the details of his business.
So, affidavits were issued, warrants for arrest were issued, and then the
waiting game began. We were under surveillance the whole time, and they were
just waiting till they thought we had dope in the house to come bust him,
which. of course, entitled them to search the house in the process.20
Then one night, the inevitable happened.
We were sitting around the kitchen one night, my new girlfriend and I, and
another friend of ours, just shooting the shit. I had been on a binge for the
past 2 or 3 days, so I had plans to sleep that night. My stash was stowed
safely away.
All of the sudden, from the living room, I hear "WHAM-CRASH!! EVERYBODY DOWN!!
EVERYBODY DOWN!!" Before I had time to think, I saw the Glock 9mm, then I saw
the cop who swiftly followed it around the kitchen doorframe. It took a second
to hit me, but then the clarification came: This was a bust. And quick as a
flash, all three of us were on the floor, handcuffed, and frisked for weapons.
My roommate had been asleep in his room, and he (who had also been on a binge)
was handcuffed before he even woke up. What a fucking wake up call. I looked
over at my girlfriend, who was lying directly beside me on the floor, and I
will never, NEVER forget the look of terror in her eyes, the look of "Oh my
FUCKING GOD!
We were lifted off the floor, and sat at the table, still handcuffed. The
detectives followed the task force into the house, one bearing the search
warrant to search for just about any drug you could imagine. Doing the tough
cop act, they really laid it on thick. "Where's the dope?" "Tell us where the
dope is or we'll tear this house apart." "You fucking lowlife, you better
talk, or we'll get the dogs in here" All their typical cop bullshit. Still, I
couldn't figure out why they were there, they had nothing that
I knew of, no reason to get a judge to give them a search warrant.
Wrong.
My roommate's sale charges. Jesus fuck.
Nobody was dumb enough to talk, so they tore the house apart. My
roommate had assorted empty baggies in his room, which of course had residue,
so he got a possession charge on top of the two sale charges. "The drug-
sniffing dogs will never find my dope," I thought. "It's well hidden."
Wrong again.
Off to jail we BOTH went. The girls got to leave the scene, because the only
thing I DID say was that they weren't involved in anything, they were just
visitors. I'll be damned if I'll take the innocent down with me.
I had the good fortune of knowing one of the arresting officers personally (it
was my hometown, and it was a SMALL hometown), so I got a bail of $1000, which
cost me $100 to bail out. I returned home to my destroyed life, along with my
possession of methamphetamine charge. It took me days to set the house
straight again, and to either repair or throw away everything they had broken
on purpose, lamps, a table, a fan, shit they had no reason to break. Guess
they wanted to teach me a lesson. Fucking bastards. Ask me how much I like
cops now.
That night was rock bottom for me. I got off the dope, which, of course, I
couldn't get anymore anyway. Why? Let me let you in on a little secret: When
you get busted, every dealer you know suddenly doesn't even know your name
anymore. Even the ones you've done good business with, they all get paranoid
that you're gonna narc on them, and they scatter like fucking mice. Survival
of the fittest, I'd call it.
It's taken a long time to get to where I am today. I haven't done meth in
about three years. I plead guilty to felony possession and got probation,
which I had transferred with me to where I am now. I've rebuilt my life, but
not without learning an extremely fucking hard lesson in the process. I'm a
hell of a long way from that "Superman" I was in the first few months of my
meth use.
Myxilplyc
THE METHAMPHETAMINE RESPONDS:
I don't understand why we can't still be friends. I know the affair is over,
but that doesn't mean we have to avoid each other all the time.
Whenever we both show up at the same party, you leave. Or if you don't leave,
you just pretend that I'm not even there. You have never even come over just
to say hello.
It's just so childish. Some of your old buddies were and are our mutual
friends. We bump into each other all the time. And you always pretend I'm
invisible.
And I know you've been badmouthing me BEHIND MY BACK. Which I do NOT
appreciate. One of the things you know about me is that I have a problem with
my reputation. You have taken this knowledge and used it against me in a
malicious manner.
Now I come to hear that you have described the sordid details of our
relationship to some of your computer-geek friends. That's low, even for you.
I am willing to give our friendship another chance, if you will start treating
me with an ounce of respect.
Best Wishes,
Crystal
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