Citation: ckhdgm1234. "Flirting With Disaster?: An Experience with Cocaine & Crack (exp74034)". Erowid.org. Jul 13, 2018. erowid.org/exp/74034
||(powder / crystals)
This is a story of my experiences with cocaine. I've completely stopped using and want to write this as a sort of cleansing retrospective of my experiences.
Let me start of by saying that I was never the picture of a raving cokehead. This isn’t the story of a total collapse, or some sob story of an abused/mentally troubled addict. I'm a pretty successful gay marketing professional living in a mid sized Midwestern city. I'm from a small town on the west coast and had a pretty normal high school drug/alcohol experience (booze & pot, tripped once or twice and never really liked it). I had a sedate childhood, no poverty, no addicted abusive father, no painful divorce. Nothing like that.
Anyhow, in college I started to expand my sexual experiences and slowly realized I was 'batting for the other team.' I started to get into the young gay party circles in my new city. I'd always been intoxicated by 'bad guys/girls' and it wasn’t long after a graduated (’04) that I hooked up with a guy at a party and sniffed my first little line of blow. I loved it immediately. I loved the rush, the euphoria, the numbness, even the drip. For me doing coke melded perfectly with the excitement of new and forbidden sexual experiences….and the combination was just exhilarating. I remember leaving this dude's apartment high as a kite on a cold ass night and feeling amazing. Walking for blocks chain smoking, LOVING the cold air, the thought that I was fucked up and nobody knew what I was doing and that I had a half gram stashed in my pocket along with (yay!!) a number for a dealer. Feeling slightly paranoid and invincible at the same time and putting the hood of my coat up while ducking into a doorway for a quick bump. Feeling electric and totally bad ass.
The next weekend I scored a gram for myself the first time. I was nervous as hell waiting for the dealer to show up, but as soon as I got the little bag filled with two or three shiny rocks I was running around my apartment looking for a razor and a plate and a straw to get started. Its amazing how quickly I settled into a routine. Friday night, drinks after work, than rushing home to get high. Cutting up 2 lines at first, than 4, eventually 5 or 6, doing them quick as I could and fuckin’ blasting off. Wearing things I wouldn’t normally wear, doing things I wouldn’t normally do. Heading to a gay bar or hooking up with someone I would meet online. Walking out of my apartment, smoking a cigarette, feeling totally on top of the world, that spun up, speedy running around full of energy feeling, I was totally hooked. It was thrilling to head to a strange guys house coked out of my mind with an 8 ball in my coat pocket, it was thrilling to be doing something totally bad and feeling so awesome. I quickly got to the point of having to order more halfway through the evening, I loved the rush and danger of tracking down my dealer (I soon learned I needed more than one) on a city street somewhere and scoring my next couple of grams to keep me high. I got off on that feeling of leaving someone’s apartment at 5 or 6AM after sex and feinding for another few lines…looking to score in some strange part of town.
Coke is an insidious drug. It crept up on me and grabbed me. I never fell apart, never lost my job or degraded myself to get high. All of a sudden I found myself making excuses to leave Friday happy hour early so I could rush home and get high. When I waited for my dealer my palms would sweat profusely, my heart would pound, my mouth would get dry, shit on more than one occasion I got super sexually aroused thinking about the bag of coke that was on its way. After I did my first lines I’d marvel at how cool I was, how exhilarating it was to be doing this without getting caught, without my “straight” friends every suspecting that when I went home on Friday night I was snorting coke and sucking stranger’s cocks. It was fucking awesome. Of course every Friday night soon began to include Saturday night, than Sunday afternoon, than Thursday night, eventually the occasional Wednesday night. Even the thought that I had a problem turned me on. I didn’t want to stop. I remember my dealer actually calling ME one Monday night to say he was in the ‘hood and had an extra lift ticket. I practically creamed myself out of excitement for the unexpected coke and the thrilling danger inherent in being such a good customer!!!
Finally fall of 05 rolled around, I got caught giving someone a blowjob in a park (thank GOD I’d already blown through my stash that night!!!!!) and I decided to slow down. No withdrawal, no major problems. I’d been on coke for a little over a year and I cut down to twice a month, than cut it out entirely for about 6 months. I had cravings but nothing I couldn’t handle.
Than I discovered crack. Just after the new year in ’06I gave in to my craving and tried to score (my dealer had disappeared…busted? Who knows). I hooked up with a dude at a club who said he partied, we went to his place and he busted out the crack pipe. I practically lunged for it! Took a giant hit and it absolutely blew me away. Crack is a crazy high…I almost couldn’t move. We partied for a while and I of course walked home with a dealer’s number and a spare pipe. I scored as soon as I could the next day (Saturday) and binged until Tuesday morning. Crack was new, different, scary, and fuckin’ amazing. When I would do coke, I’d eventually get to a point where I wanted to stop, granted often after 8 or 9 hours of partying, but there was always a moment when it just wasn’t doing anything anymore and I’d come down. Not crack. Each big hit gets me high. I can just keep on hitting it over and over again. And it isn’t social for me. I lost interest in sex, I just sat in my apartment for 72 hours hitting it and hitting it and hitting it. It was scary. I partied the next weekend than decided this was bad news and had to stop.
Not long after I moved to another city for work. I haven’t gotten high since, though I think about it regularly. Was I addicted? Who knows. But it was fun, and I loved it. But it isn’t sustainable. What frightens me is that I knew I needed to quit, but in the back of my head I couldn’t really ever imagine my life without coke. We’ll see what happens.
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