Citation: Samsa. "A Question of Trust: An Experience with Methamphetamine, LSD, Tramadol, Cyclobenziprize, Carisoprodol & Alcohol (exp80451)". Erowid.org. Oct 27, 2013. erowid.org/exp/80451
The summer was long and unyielding. Recent events had me at an unusual amount of stress and the scorching summer certainly was not helping. My sister had just moved to San Francisco and I wanted to pay her a visit, so I jumped at the chance of taking a vacation to there for a week of binging.
Accumulating all the drugs we could find, the Secretary and I planned a fun week in the bay far in advance. Our plans caught a bit of a snag when I got hired on at some arms manufacturing place just weeks before our scheduled vacation. We decided to shorten the five day binge into a three day bender. We traveled lightly, with nothing but a pair of sleeping bags and a suitcase full of drugs.
After leaving work on Thursday I had a someone pick the Secretary and I up and drop us off at the train station. Neither of us wanted to drive and we figured plane tickets were too pricey, so we took decided to ride the rails. Little did we know a straight shoot train from LA to SF didn't exist, so we had to take buses between train stations. The result was a fifteen hour ordeal, only made tolerable by 600mg tramadol and 20mg cyclobenziprine between the Secretary and I. We had a few shots of liquor while waiting for the trains to arrive which synergized with the tramadol nicely, putting us in a silly and chatty mood. In addition, this combination made for some quality sleep.
It seemed like ages, but we finally arrived Friday afternoon in downtown San Francisco mostly sober. We were both starving at this point, so when the Secretary pointed out a restaurant called Sinbad's, a nickname of hers, we literally jumped off of the bus to dine there. The place was completely empty, but regardless we took a seat and grabbed a bite. The food was sub-par, but the coffee was quite refreshing. They just kept filling our glasses and we kept emptying them until finally we had about six cups each. We paid out bill and were out on the street again.
Growing tired of sobriety we wondered what to binge on first. Since it was still early and our supply of stimulants were limited at best we decided on the methamphetamine. We found a public restroom that quickly became too crowded to discretely do drugs in, not to mention the fact that I was in a lady's restroom at all raised some eyebrows, so we ventured to a port-a-potty where I racked us up each a line. The remainder I put inside a water bottle and we sipped, favoring a long lasting oral dose with a heavy hitting nasal one.
We sat on the warm grass and talked about many things. The euphoria perfect, not too much nor too little. Eventually we decided to check out some of the local modern art. Not matter what my degree of insobriety I can never manage to appreciate modern art.
My acid connection was supposed to meet us in town but ended up not being able to make it, so the two of us hit the streets in search of a vendor. The destination was hippy hill on Ashburry and Haight, on the exact opposite side of the city from where we presently were. But we were spun out and up for the sightseeing, so we took the shoelace express.
We saw amazing things and met astonishing people on this walk, stopping a few times so that I could catch my breath and once to change in an alley. The hike was grueling and we became exhausted, but as the density of homeless grew we knew we were close. At last we reached our destination, which was conveniently next to an Amoeba record store. Of course we went inside and browsed the music. I made futile attempts to flirt with the locals but was too tweaked out to manage much success. I started to crash pretty hard and at last went outside to get some fresh air.
My inquiries of LSD led me to a man named Lobo, short for lowlife hobo I would later find out. While he didn't have acid I convinced him to trade some DMT for my ether. We traveled across the street to hippie hill to make the transaction. I was looking forward to enjoying some ether later on, but DMT was just too rare to pass up.
We continued our acid investigation until we met three other very young kids looking for the same. We combined our efforts and in not much time found a man who would sell us doses. $10 a tab, it was a rip off but it would have been wonderful to experience presently. We paid the outrageous price and the Secretary and I each dropped one.
The secretary and I had been on a side quest ever since arriving in town to find someone with a piece to smoke her marijuana with. When we encountered Lobo again I asked if we would mind getting smoked out. He did not hesitate to withdraw his pipe.
The secretary packed a bowl and Lobo began to hit it. As the pipe made its was around we were joined by three other hippies who decided it necessary to join us. One of them was a fellow I had asked earlier about the LSD but replied that, 'I got it, but I don't know you and wouldn't go out of my way to get you high.' The other was a female who I asked for directions to Market street, where we had come from, and gave me a long winded explanation which was clearly inaccurate.
While the pipe made its second and final circle, the Secretary pointed out that I had almost sat on a needle under some brush. Lobo says that it belongs to him and asks if we use needles. I reply that I don't because it crossed a level of health dangers for me, to which he mocks us.
This entire encounter with these burnouts was uncomfortable at best. Their demeanor towards us, fellow drug abusers, was wholly disrespectful. It was almost as if they looked down on us for not being as low as they were. This eye opening experience gave new meaning to the term 'rock bottom'. Earlier the Secretary told me she wanted to try intravenous heroin if she had the chance, so as we parted ways with these burnouts I taunted the Secretary that she would be like that in five years. She was not pleased with this.
While walking back I saw a few spots within my field of vision and color distortions. I thought the acid was coming on but this was the climax of my hallucinations. We had been ripped off. With spirits low, we decide to pan handle for a bit while we rested. I had gotten us tickets to an Offspring show but we couldn't find a way to bring our stuff inside and were damned if we were to leaving it in the streets. So we sat on the ground, dejected and coming down, we decide day one of our binge is about over and move on to try and find a decent place to sleep.
At this point the Secretary declared that she was done with drugs. I told her that she was just having a bad come down and that I felt the same way and the feeling would pass, but she assured me she meant it. I said that I tried to limit my drug use to enhancing events and the such and she told me she didn't want to do even that. She acknowledged the fact that she would still have the cravings, probably for the rest of her life, but that the recreational use of drugs was something she could do without. I humored her that I supported this decision, but pointed out that she shouldn't be making decisions while on drugs anyway.
First we tried the BART subway system, both of us thinking it to be a stereotypical bum hotel. After hearing the news of a BART security guard executing an innocent unarmed man I was a little apprehensive about lingering down there but the whole time I only saw one cop, who happened to be on the phone. We sat and rested for a little bit but couldn't manage to get comfortable. I took a soma and flexeril which didn't seem to do a whole lot. The idea of a guard murdering us in our sleep kept creeping into the front of my mind until at last I could stand it no longer and had to leave.
We made way to the hospital, thinking the emergency room had to be open 24/7 and they wouldn't dare kick us out. Another grueling walk away we found it. The lobby was completely vacant so we curled up in some chairs in the corner. This seemed cozy and warm and in fact I even managed to drift in and out of slumber, but the entire time people kept walking in and out and opening and closing doors and being awfully noisy until at last my paranoia begged me to leave.
We tried to sleep at some Laundromats, of all places, but alas they closed up in the later hours.
We spotted a parking structure and at last knew our bed. Climbing to the fifth and top floor we finally found an excellent spot to rest. Several old men on roller skates roamed around the area making a very awkward scene. They meant us no harm and were clearly in no authoritative position and any normal situation would call for befriending them and getting some shut eye, but this damned paranoia wouldn't let up. I wondered for a moment why anyone would ever do meth as I cursed it under my breath. I used to be a tweaker with with a weekly habit for about a year and I abhorred that life. That was maybe two years ago, but the comedown was so intense now I couldn't stand it.
At 1am we gave up and at last journeyed to my sister's apartment in Union City via the BART. She greeted the Secretary and I with open arms and we immediately passed out in their guest room. By passed out I more accurately mean lay in bed without sleeping. Ugh.
The next morning I made some breakfast. The Secretary still had no appetite. We loafed around the apartment the majority of the two days while I snuck somas, kava, and shots of liquor to myself. The Secretary suck by her no drug policy for the remainder of the trip.
On Sunday afternoon the Secretary and I bid my sister and her husband farewell and began our long way home. It was even less enjoyable then the way up, with stops in places that were literal ghost towns. I ended up losing the tickets on one of the buses and having to buy another pair, silly me. Although I slept most of the way home I felt completely exhausted by the time I got to my own bed.
Substances that went unused during this trip were nitrous oxide, oxycontin, 2C-I, and Viagra. The DMT was later found to be no good.
The next day the thought of sobriety lingered in my head. Back in the day I had made an effort to quit everything about once every other month but had since not even bothered. I couldn't shake it for some reason, it was a different feeling then those other times. For the first time in a long while I sat down and completely revised my drug habits. I had more then my share of experiences at 22, more then most people could say they have done in a lifetime. What I really wanted most in my life was success and my three goals of a Chemist, a Writer, and a Father, and I finally realized that recreational drug use would in no way aid me. Now that I realize it I feel like it was so obvious and I was so blind. There was a lot of talk about denial during our trip and this is what it took for me to see my own dissent.
It was a fun trip, that youth, but I no longer have any use for recreational drugs. Although I long ago accepted that I would be addicted for life I figured with my new awareness it shouldn't be hard to parley my drug use into self-medication, which had already been a budding habit of mine. A reader may think that this sort of justification can only lead to relapse, but rest assured it is different this time. This time I actually want it.
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