To continue the sorry story…….
So we’d met, we’d slammed, and we had what felt like the most amazing sex. Unfortunately it didn’t stop there, it should have, but it didn’t.
I wanted that feeling again, I wanted the raw passion and lust that meth had given me. He started messaging me more and more, promising that we’d do more, that we would have more times like that night. The compliments flowed, I was encouraged to do more and more, to sink lower and lower. But he made me feel good, he made me want him, and it, more. You see that’s the important word – more, it was all about more, more of the same, more of more.
At the time I didn’t know just how bad that word was, how much it would take over my life. There was always more, there was never enough, more was always knocking at the door, enough never had a chance.
Two weeks later we were in a hotel room, there was no meth this time, this time it was mcat who came to say hello. Let me tell you a little bit about what used to be a “legal high”. When you inject mcat you get an incredible rush, it’s different from meth. It hits you hard, you can taste it in the back of your throat, you can smell it.
When you slam meth, you can keep going for hours, but when you slam mcat, you just want to do it all over again ten minutes later. Mcat blasts you off in a rocket, but no sooner are you in orbit, you start to fall back down again. It’s a very moorish drug, you go through gram after gram in one night.
As you slam more and more, you become dehydrated, each slam gets a little more difficult as your veins contract from dehydration. You sit there for ages, desperately trying to find a vein, you end up with lumps from impatient missed slams, and bruises on your arms that need covering up so nobody sees. I went through a whole summer not wearing short sleeved shirts because my arms were in such a state.
Mcat became the drug of choice for a while, meth was a rare treat.
I can feel that rush now, I can feel the stab of the needle in my flesh, I can smell it in the bag waiting to be mixed for the next slam. I can see that white powder in the syringe waiting for the hot water to mix with it, shaking it so it dissolves.
I can also vividly remember the times it made me sick, one slam too many and I’d have to run to the bathroom and throw up. What’s really disgusting is, a quick swill of mouthwash and it was straight back to it, until I’d throw up again.
What right minded person does that? What sort of idiot thinks it’s okay to throw up during a sex binge, and just carry on ? Seems I thought it was okay, dear reader, it’s not okay, it’s revolting.
As I write I can once again feel the craving, the desire to do it all again, the need to just get wasted and shut reality out. But once again I know if I let it happen, it will keep happening, and chances are I will end up far worse off than I am now.