12. Methanpheta Cream Pie
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 bowl, or sucking aluminum through a straw disgusted me – or so I thought….
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 Anonymous 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.
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