Citation: bmanh. "The Unrelenting Monster: An Experience with Alprazolam (exp110574)". Erowid.org. May 14, 2020. erowid.org/exp/110574
I started taking Xanax midway through my senior year of high school. I have bipolar disorder and I was going through a difficult time in life, so an escape seemed absolutely necessary. I had smoked my share of weed, but it tended to make me feel anxious and think too hard about my life, spiraling into a deep depression.
'Bars' were the big deal at the school I attended, so getting a hold of them was not difficult in the least. My friend was able to hook me up with plenty of pills for a cheap price. Before even taking any of the pills, I imagined selling many of them at a much higher price, maybe eventually becoming the Walter White of Xanax bars ('I am the one who knocks!') Needless to say, this drug got an icy grip on me long before I could make this dream a reality.
My first experience with Xanax took place the night after I bought them. I took a 1 mg dose, smoked a bowl, and listened to Pink Floyd's 'The Wall.' While the marijuana effects were immediate, the effects of the Xanax were slower and more subtle. About an hour after taking the dose, I realized I felt... happy. Suddenly, nothing else mattered in the world except me, my bed, and my music. I remember thinking (maybe I even muttered aloud) 'I think I've found my new favorite drug...' before blissfully drifting off into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning felt for lack of a better word, 'fuzzy.' I felt slightly distanced from reality and it seemed that a small monster was gnawing at my stomach, like the depression in me had physically come to life and started to eat at me. Luckily, I had a new friend that could make me forget my sadness whenever I needed: Xanax. I took 1 mg again and life became blissful. I floated through school on a cloud, with a grin on my face and a spring in my step. The effects wore off by the time school was over, and by the time I got home I felt incredibly sad again. I took another 1 mg dose and slept for 15 hours.
Xanax quickly became a routine for me; sneaking in a bar (2 mgs) every few hours. It was an emotional rollercoaster, and the thing eating away inside me seemed to be getting stronger. The stronger it got, the more Xanax I would take. Still, I never had taken enough to 'blackout' until about two weeks after I started to take the drug. My friend and I skipped school to go to the park and smoke a few bowls. After smoking more than I was normally accustomed, I pulled out my bag of magic pills and popped one. And then two. And then three. And then four. I remember listening to music, which sounded more beautiful than ever, and telling my friend how much I loved him. Everything was so beautiful, and I wondered if this is what heaven feels like. We were both really craving Burger King so we started walking towards the car to pick some up when I remembered 'Oh shit! I can't drive like this!' I turned around and told him neither of us should be driving on such a high dose of Xanax and he shrugged and said: 'we'll be fine.' All sense of judgment has completely left my brain at this point so I grinned and told him I'd drive.
Driving while intoxicated, tripping, or extremely sleep deprived is dangerous and irresponsible because it endangers other people. Don't do it!]
I don't remember the drive. I remember VERY small parts of it, like trying to remember a dream. An image of another driver flipping us off remains solidified in my mind, though I have absolutely no recollection of what I did to warrant this gesture. I remember multiple cars honking at us. And I remember sitting in my friend's house eating Burger King. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in my own apartment the next morning. I had almost no recollection of the previous 18 hours. I stood up and found a cup next to my bed, full of vomit (presumably my own).
The thing eating away inside of me was quiet. I checked my phone, laughing at texts I had sent my friends that I had no recollection of. I was in a great mood for the remainder of the day. I was good, life was good, Xanax was good.
That night, my female friend visited me shortly after I had taken at least three bars. I opened the door and immediately tried to kiss her. She shoved me off of her and I'll never forget the look in her eyes as she stared at me, scared and surprised at what I had done. I don't remember the rest of the night, except that she told me I needed to get help and I cried.
The next week was 4/20. My friends and I had a sort-of 4/20 'pregame' the day before, in which we smoked all day and popped more bars than I could count. The rest of the day remains a mystery, but I know for a fact I was the driver for the day.
I woke up in my own room to a text from my friend the next day (4/20, the holiest of all days) that said something along the lines of 'we fucked up.' I immediately called him and he told me one of our friends was in jail. Neither of us knew what had happened, and it was that very lack of knowledge that scared me the most. I hung up and immediately threw up on myself. The thing inside me squeezed tighter than ever. I couldn't breathe. I called another one of my friends and cried into the phone ďI think Iím addicted to Xanax.Ē
The rest of the month is a blur. The school found out from my friend and immediately called my parents. I tried to quit cold-turkey, only to pass out in the middle of Spanish class two days later. I went to the hospital, where I was given pills that I had to take non-orally (THROUGH MY FREAKING ASS) for a number of weeks. I was more depressed than ever and nothing sounded better than offing myself and being done with it. I would wake up, cry, sleep, repeat. Eventually, however, I was done with Xanax and life had meaning again. The monster receded back into its cave with a defeated hiss.
Weed is great. Psychedelics are awesome. Most drugs, in moderation, can be life-changing and fun. Itís a nice way to relax, but it can be a slippery slope.
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