Meth: a Ticking Timebomb Gone Viral

Another Boring Saturday Night in Hua Hin

It's funny how things change, yet stay the same. Boredom used to be my worst enemy, but now, it has become my best friend.

Saturday night was always a hard night to face sober. This fact stems from the very beginning of my journey into addiction when my friends and I would take drugs and go out to raves (or clubs). Then, during the night and early into the morning, we would take more drugs, before heading home as the sun rose. And as time went by, despite having to work Mondays, I would continue taking drugs even after I got home.

Nowadays, Saturday night doesn't trigger me quite as much, and as I sit here writing this post, I feel pretty content that that part of my life is in my past. I cannot afford, however, to think that just because I am no longer hooked on meth, that I don't still have a problem with it. The truth is that I am still very much addicted, and I still get that familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever my mind drifts off to remember 'the good old days'.

It wasn't just the rush of dopamine that I loved when I ingested meth. From the moment I picked up my phone to call my dealer, to the drive to score (and even more so, the drive home, with the baggie of crystal safely secured on my person and knowing what was coming) where I was under the influence of another drug...adrenalin. Adrenalin was the precursor to every relapse I ever had.

There are as many triggers/excuses as there are junkies. For some, it's music, and once upon a time, music was a trigger for me. Being bored, happy or sad, broke or wealthy, craving or coming off a long abstinence. It never mattered if it was a chance meeting with an old drug buddy or a deliberately planned 'big one'. Drugs (and the dealers who sell them) don't care why we need them, only that we do.

I know that unless I took the action I did...sell everything and move to another country, I would, if I survived, still be in the cycle of using meth until I could no longer deal with the outcome of psychosis. Then going to the hospital to get Valium so I could finally get some sleep. And later, once the withdrawals had passed, I would lie to myself (and anyone who would listen), swearing I would never touch meth again. And within three months, relapse...all on a downward cycle towards a certain death.

These 'demons', who arrived in the latter and most dangerous phase of my drug use, I cannot help but think were a manifestation of my sick mind doing the only thing possible to save my life. The TV show, Scared Straight, is not an exaggeration of what happened to me during those last few months before I packed my bags and left for Thailand. I believe if not for the hallucinations terrifying me whenever I was coming down, I would be dead now.

So, even though I still see and communicate with my imaginary 'friends' (they hate it when I call them friends, but I believe, understand my appreciation), my life is a lot less dramatic now. And even though there are times when life is boring, it's a hell of a lot better than it was before.