On Meth

On Meth.

Instead of the usual kind of Sociyology post, this one will be quite personal and entirely serious. To be honest, I’m still not sure if I should be writing this, much less post it.  But I think it’s important. And it seems that I can no longer talk about the topic without becoming too sad to proceed. So a post on meth it is.

Before we begin please note the following things:

  1. This is not a post against drugs in general – just the evil one: for meth has proven to be a definitive resident evil in my relatively sheltered life.
  2. (Seeing as I mentioned generality) I am fully aware that some people can indulge both regularly and inconspicuously and still function just fine. After all, your “tired” co-worker may have secretly been awake for three days and still be a more decent and thoughtful person compared to the sober stiff next door.
  3. This is not a scholarly or statistical or  scientific post. It’s merely anecdotal.
  4. I have never done meth, and never ever will.

So here we go. I’ll try to keep it short.

Meth has ruined the lives and life chances of too many people that I care about. I’ve watched it happen to friends who were once promised and promised in turn the honour of grooms-mate and best-man: guys with whom the word “bro” took on a truly heartfelt meaning, but who have now disappeared.

It was before hitting year 10 that kids at my high school started to smoke crystal methamphetamine. Kids not yet 15 years old would arrive at school midway through the week and tell each other that they “still haven’t slept yet”. Many more people that I know have taken it up since, and many of these people have since struggled to put it down.


Being awake for a five day bender has a way of making some people “become psychotic”.
I’ve seen the vanilla psychotic, whereby every neutral face becomes a scowl and every passing word in the shopping aisle or on the radio becomes a secret threat. I’ve also seen the more serious kind, which reduces a whole person to a flickering brain struggling to pilot a twitching and unpredictable body that it’s scary to be around. Like watching someone you care about getting glassed in the face or slipping into an unprecedented fit, it’s one of those super real things that you have to be a part of to fully appreciate (and which no government advertisements ever seem to capture the humanity of).

And I continue to see this drug in fresh hands all over town.

I respect the fact that people are (for the most part) adults and thus supposedly able to make their own decisions – though I have also seen how the ability to make responsible decisions can deteriorate and leave in its place the conditions and consequences of a wretched life.

Thankfully, I continue to hear about it too.

Twice in the last month I have heard that “drug addicts have to want to quit”. While I am grateful for the distance from the drug that such a belief indicates, such views often depend on a privileged position that is far removed from this world and its inhabitants: No one wants to come to terms with a level of self-control that is “indescribably shameful”. No one sets out desiring the strange sort of self-inflicted (“shameful, so shameful”) Stockholm syndrome that makes it easier to accept this sense of self and say “fuck it” right before a relapse. No one wants to no longer be allowed in the family home.

I’ll conclude with these few thoughts:

  1. If you are a moderate user then more power to you, but don’t assume that other fresh users will have the same constitution.
  2. “There but for the grace of God go I” is one of the most beautiful misquotes I know off.
  3. I want my bros back. I’m sorry for not intervening. I hope you do better.
    ernst_europe after the rain II_1940

    (Ernst – 1941)


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