The shadows come to visit in the still of the night, just as sleep begins to take hold. He’s there again, demonic in nature, morphing before my very eyes into a disfigured, disjointed presence. As viscous as ever, a sinister reminder of the first time we met years ago. I forget why I was trying to sleep; maybe just one more hit of the pipe and we can find a better time for this little Tango.
This demon isn’t mine alone; he lurks in the depths of every user, often taking on unique forms. Some call him sleep paralysis, the Boogie Man, El Chupacabra, or just that dark, misshapen pile of clothes you forgot to fold in the corner – but he’s never easy to shake off. And procrastination sometimes gets the best of us. His trickery is quite often relentless, luring you into a vicious cycle of use, reuse, relent, repent, and (hopefully) rinse and (but really, who am I kidding) just repeat again and again until it’s too late. What we often don’t like to talk about, even sometimes hide from ourselves, are the dreams —or should I say the nightmares.
Meth’s grip on some is extremely powerful and ruins so many otherwise normal lives by, reinforcing itself in the most twisted ways. It’s the nature of the beast, sometimes even rewarding itself in an endless loop. Often it’s a labyrinth of reason after excuse after lie, sometimes even emotion that leads us here. When the high finally fades, reality bleeds into dreams, sometimes violently so. I recall a time, battling one of the demon’s forms in what I thought was a dream. Channeling my warrior, I lashed out, only to wake up to a hole in my headboard. A stark, but very physical reminder of my struggle, not just with meth but with a GHB dependency that prompted it. That night, back in February, anyway, I managed to kick at least one of them to the curb.
But, beware, the worst drug isn’t methamphetamine; it’s bad methamphetamine. The kind that deceives you into thinking it’s the best methamphetamine. But really, it’s something masquerading as methamphetamine but really isn’t even close. Some would say “Oh but that comes with the territory” and they’re almost right, but when the journey ends for some, that’s also where the journey begins for others. It’s not about how deep the rabbit hole goes, how deep you are willing to travel in hopes to find that silly rabbit. You managed to dodge the bad high, trying to reconnect with the main rush, all while hoping you don’t end up in a real-life nightmare – or become one which is too often in the headlines.
This new meth – let’s just say it’s a different breed. It’s not the kind you remember dancing to. It now leaves you irritable, craving solitude, and not even a sexual lick. Some would argue, so what is even the point? It’s a weird kind of high, almost like half of your brain is disassociated while the other half simply remains confused. It’s a weird kind which induces weird leg spasms when you doze off and just as your eyes roll back a sudden jolt as your brain reboots you back into existence. A harsh reminder that there are multiple forces at work. A doctor’s visit might be wise if you frequent these.
So, as you read this, remember the clock’s ticking. If you’re thinking of hitting that pipe again, hoping it’ll jog your memory, remember my words. Maybe you’ll find your room key this one time, or maybe you’ll find your phone hidden in the microwave the next time, but please don’t make searching for the pipe the last thing you do.
