the party's over!
Steven (28)
I thought I knew better when I started using speed. I worked in a popular nightclub at the time and I was familiar with the regulars who came to my bar week after week sweaty, over stimulated, and dehydrated. There was something almost desperate in their eyes. I told myself..."That's not going to be me".
I started using speed for fun. I worked until 3 am and sometimes I liked to stay out a little longer and dance with my friends. A bump kept me going. I liked it instantly; I liked the rush. Soon I was accepting offers of the "White Lady" at cocktail parties and other social events outside of work, and before work. I liked my new sense of confidence and how much more clever and interesting I sounded. At least, it seemed that way to me. As my fun increased, my intake increased and my values changed. I was having a lot of hot and sometimes risky sex. But I was overextending myself, too. It was apparent to my co-workers and managers that I was speeded out. I'd stay up all weekend and by Sunday I would be exhausted and see trails. I lost my temper; I was bitchy. I had dark circles and I'd be sweating drugs from my pores. It was not attractive. After work I'd finally pass out, not call in, and miss work on Monday. Or I'd just say "fuck it!" and call in sick.
I stopped caring. My speed use escalated to daily use when I started smoking it. I lost my jobs. Soon I disassociated with my party friends who were weekend users and started running with a new set which consisted of "all the time tweakers," drug dealers, club freaks and perpetual messes that kept my perspective skewed from fact. We lived in a world we created, with illusory values and one ultimate goal- the pursuit and consumption of speed. My life was full of drama. Up for 4 days, down for 3 with depression and blackouts for 2 of those 3 days. I'd screw guys I wasn't even attracted to because they were holding. Most often I was miserable, but I was hooked. I loved speed more at that time than I loved myself. So I stayed where I was, on a spiraling slide downward.
People were talking about me...perhaps not as often as my paranoid mind imagined. My real friends that I'd abandoned were very worried. I was too thin, unhealthy, and my skin was gray. I was having emotional breakdowns and fantasies of self-destruction. In the end I stopped hanging out with people all together, after all, I was sketching them out anyway. The bottom for me was spent in isolation, emotions all cried out, all screamed out. The feeling of hollow emptiness and apathy terrified me. So I scraped up the last of my courage, having lost all my pride - and I sought help.