Surprising Survey Results About Drug Dealing

Out of sheer curiosity, I posted a survey on my PNN front page about a year ago asking, “If you found out that your courteous, quiet neighbors were actually drug dealers would you turn them in?”

The results surprised me. You may view them here.
(About 44% said “Yes,” another 44% said “No,” and 11% were not sure.)

I am not sure what that says for the survey takers, anyone have any comments on the matter?

Methadone Maintenance: The Cure for Opiate Addiction?

Years ago, I believed that I could not give up my little pain pill habit. Lortab, Lorcet, Tylox, whatever opioid pill I could con out of a doctor or buy for about $4 a pill on the streets, I usually took no more than eight in a twenty-four hour period, and had "weaned" down to about five a day when I decided I needed to get help. That was years ago, when I truly did not understand what a drug addiction could tragically become.

Entire Article Here

"Let the Dead Bury the Dead."

So I have a business partner who is afraid to clean out a rental house with me because the previous owner, a woman in her 40's, committed suicide in the bedroom.

Okay, I understand people get the heeby-jeebies.

But when going to the house today in order to see just what needed to be done - and evidently on my own, at that - I encountered neighbors who dissected and studied the dead woman's life in an attempt to understand the incident.

Fairly normal, I suppose.

The thing is, now that she is dead, the woman is receiving a large amount of attention. Of course, the stories of her struggles and here-and-there remarkables and some downright heroic actions that these neighbors apparently will remember until the day they die their own deaths lead me to ask the obvious: why did she do it, then, when she had friends such as these?

Oh, but they only spoke in passing. Sometimes they exchanged Christmas cards by walking a few to each others' mailboxes.

Is it just that it was an interesting get-together on an otherwise dull, cold Friday, then? Why even bother to gather at her home and exchange stories of her hopeful times now?!? A little late well-intended fellowship, I'm afraid.

Because what I saw in the bedroom and indeed the entire home was extreme loneliness.

Be good to someone this weekend, people. Don't wait until it's too late to fill a few moments with something more interesting happening on the block than watching Judge Judy.

We Have Changed

Twista wonders where the love is, grandparents speak of a friendlier, more respectful day when others could depend on their neighbors, and I even remember a time when I actually knew who my neighbors were! And I knew the names of their children, and even the names of their pets!

I have yet to meet any of my neighbors where we moved a month ago, and am not sure we will meet any time soon. maybe in the spring time when everyone is out taking care of the lawn. Maybe we will speak then.

The point is, our country has changed. Yes, it has. We are not very dependant on our fellow man any longer in this new technological age. Who would be when a voice command can make a vehicle call for aid or an elderly woman can click a button on her necklace and alert  medical personnel to the fact that she has fallen and cannot get back up again?

Is this the way, then? Are we destined to be loners talking to machines who seem to wince when another human comes into view? 

Find Something Strange In Junior's Room?

 
Maybe it is something a careless druggie friend dropped. But then you remember the extreme mood swings . . . the missing money . . . a couple of nights when you are absolutely certain that your kid didn't get a wink of sleep and was still going strong the next morning . . . falling grades . . . losing interest in things he once enjoyed . . . . Well, what else can you look for?

Here's Some Paraphernalia For Thought

Methamphetamine, Crystal Meth, Meth, Ice, Cheeba, Chicken, Glass:

If Junior is experimenting with meth, he is either snorting, smoking, eating, or banging (intravenously using) it.

Snorting
Look for pieces of cut up drinking straws or even rolled up dollar bills used to snort. Also look for razor blades or even residue/traces of powder on his license or hard plastic ID card, as those are used to "chop" the drug into a finer powder.

Smoking
If he is smoking meth, look for either a glass pipe with a round bowl at the end or aluminum foil with burnt residue tracks on the dull side and/or black soot on the  shiny side. Also look for black sooty stains on the fingertips and clothes. This will most likely happen with both the pipe and tin foil, unless he is using a glass pipe with a butane torch (in which case, you can possible find his equipment faster than he can throw away the aluminum foil). 

You can also identify meth on aluminum foil or in a pipe - it will be brown to white with a sparkly, crystallized shine like flecks of tiny diamonds.

Banging
If he's shooting up meth, look for syringes, small bottles/cups of water and/or bleach, burnt spoons which may have been bent for more steady control above the lighter flame.

My Sober Halloween Treat

Tonight being Halloween, my eldest daughter, Monica, was anxious to get little 15-month-old Lexi dressed in her Alabama Crimson Tide cheerleader costume and out into the night to trick-or-treat for just a little bit. Yeah, yeah, I know she's just barely over 1 year old, but I remember the utter joy I felt when first taking Monica trick-or-treating at an extremely young age (13 months, ha-ha!) I saw that joy in her tonight and it just - I don't know - completed me. Does that make any sense? The total enrapture of witnessing the radiance when she beamed at my granddaughter was better than any high I could have instead partook tonight. Yes, I really do mean that. Oh, believe me, I do not say often that I'd rather do anything other than an OC-40 and a couple bowls of really good meth. I guess my priorities are realigning again :)

Veronica Scores a Gram

          

     This is Veronica.  A couple of years ago, if she had just known what crystal meth was really all about, she would have never found herself sitting alone there, trying to live through a shrieking moment of the
"WHAT THE F**K DID I JUST DO FOR THAT GRAM?!?"
realization.



Maybe the next time she sleeps with someone to get high it will be easier for her to cope with afterward. And then the next time after that, and the next time. . . Hell, pretty soon, there won't be much Veronica left anyway, so it'll probably be smooth sailing for her conscious from here.

Besides, now Veronica has that little baggie and it's screaming her name - only this time, she dreads the new realization that she doesn't seem to be looking forward to getting high as much as she did this morning. This time, the escape will have to help get her through the new way she acquires an escape.

Too bad she didn't get some info about meth years ago. Too bad she didn't

find the answers. . .


                                 

                                          



Enter Text Here

Breaking Hearts On Meth??

Pulling No Punches When Fighting to Get the Word Out About Methamphetamine

So you can finally squeeze your ass in those size 5 jeans, huh? Think you look pretty hot since you've been on the Stem Fast Diet?


I remember believing that I looked so damn good when I was strung out on crystal meth.

WHY??

Little things you tell yourself, I suppose. The "PROs" or "advantages" of being on methamphetamine and ignoring the fact that you are slowly becoming just a skeleton.

What a crock, man!



So if you have that slim, trim meth physique and if you are steadily losing cup sizes in the chest area as well as your hips, don't think you'll break hearts, Baby.

Get sober and think rationally.

Is Your Kid Getting High?

Signs Your Kid May Be Using Drugs:

Does not want anyone to go into their room or bother belongings.

Skipping school or grades falling.

They seem to avoid you more and more.

Conversations with buddies take a strange turn: they seem to be speaking in code or are very private with phone conversations.

They acquire buddies, maybe someone they normally would not have anything in common with.

They seem sad, depressed or do not want to get out of bed sometimes, as if there’s no reason.

Their appearance changes.

It seems like they may be inhaling something, such as hairspray or spray paint? Have either turned up on their clothing or skin?

Using air freshener or perfume to hide smoke or smells.

They constantly use or request eye drops, which may be used to brighten the eyes or hide dilated pupils.

They use mouthwash or breath fresheners more.

Borrows more money than usual.

There is missing prescription medications from your medicine cabinet – especially pain killers or downers, such as Xanax or Valium.

They are very moody.

They no longer enjoy former activities or relationships they once did.

Drug paraphernalia found, such as small bags, pipes, rolling papers, straws for snorting, razor blades (many addicts who snort use their ID or Driver’s License to “chop” powder more finely for smoking – has either turned up in strange places or have either been left on a flat surface or mirror and perhaps have powder on them?)

What Was That Drug Addict THINKING?

Dorothy has a daughter who is not trusted in her home, even when accompanied by her family. "If Tiffany leaves a room, I know she is looking for something to steal so she can get drugs. If she wants to use our bathroom, I have to watch to make sure she doesn't take a detour into one of the bedrooms."

Dorothy has attempted to manage the sad relationship with her youngest daughter for many years. Her daughter is addicted to K-4's. She is an intravenous user. K-4 is the street name for the drug Dilaudid, a serious narcotic.

Like all opioids used for analgesia, hydromorphone (Dilaudid) is potentially habit-forming. It is listed in Schedule II of the United States' Controlled Substances Act of 1970, and is listed in the Single Convention On Narcotic Drugs.

Epiphany of a Recovering Drug Addict

I did not want to be a high grandmother. Although the courts gave me added incentive to be compliant with a treatment plan, it has been solely my own choice to not use methamphetamine since August of 2007.

My granddaughter is almost six months old now, and I am certain that when she reaches the age of five years old, I will be able to say "I have been clean for five years." The extreme difference between the person I am on methamphetamine and the sober person I am today can be clearly seen. I am gainfully employed and no longer using or dealing drugs.

Entire Article Here

Why Don't You Get Dressed and Come Down?

Meth Blog Straight From the Stem

So, my connections hit a temporary "drought" of sorts, due to a huge bust that had been making its way into Alabama from Texas. We'd be down for about a week and a half, probably, they had said. There was no meth to be found anywhere, and the gnawing in the pit of my stomach spelled out a fear that, for me, was every bit as frightful as a fear some people experience when faced with losing everything they own or even when first hearing that our nation is going to war.

Withdrawals were coming. I could taste them, smell them, and dread them in a way one dreads entering a courtroom in order to be sentenced after a guilty verdict. I didn’t want to go through it. I didn’t want to stop using. The routine had become second nature to me. I was definitely a meth junkie, and though shameful of the fact many times, escaping into that little glass bowl at the end of my pipe wiped away all the guilt and anxiety of neglected parenthood.

But this time it wouldn’t matter. Everyone was out. A strange and complete drought had come to Alabama, and I had never been one who was able to “put back for a rainy day.” Oh, I had tried to before, just for times like this, but I always ended up smoking it, wanting to be higher, wanting more and more until finally I ruined relationships further due to meth psychosis and having been up way too many days without sleep.

The meth I had just ran out of was pretty strong, and it carried me throughout the night and into the next morning while I picked through the carpet in the floors of the rooms I had smoked in, searching for just another crumb, another decently sized shard of crystallized peace. The cravings for more had set in hard. If I didn’t crash soon, I would find myself hysterically crying and cursing, throwing a fit that could not be justifiably termed "emotional breakdown." I searched for a pill, anything to placate the gnawing fear of being without. It’s so incredibly unbearable. I wanted to be knocked out, but my body was not tired yet. And there was a faint hope that someone somewhere would find some more for me to buy or deal out in order to have some of my own. I remained in this state for about half a day. Then I dropped.

When crashing after a four or five day stretch with no sleep, it’s as if I am in a coma. Nothing really wakes me at all. If I am aroused, it is only to a slightly coherent state where nothing makes sense to me. “Mama, the house is on fire,” would be answered with “Okay, sweetie, but not for too long because you have homework to finish.” That deep crashing sleep lasts, for me, about 12 to 15 hours. After that, there is a period of normal sleep, lasting about 2 to 4 days. I can wake normally, eat, understand things during that 2 to 4 day sleep time, but I am so drained and drowsy that I want to do nothing more than sleep. And of course, faced with the knowledge that I have no dope, sleep is preferred to being awake.

About the fifth or sixth day without crystal meth, I abruptly awake in the middle of the night, my kidneys burning, perhaps because I am dehydrated, perhaps because I have laid on them for five days without getting up and moving around much. My spine is tingling with an uncomfortable twisting sensation and every hair on my body is standing on end. I just want to go back to sleep, but cannot. I’m awake. And nothing helps.

I need a sleep aid. I search the house for something, anything, and come up with a nighttime allergy medication that helps induce sleep. I take as many as I can find, about 6 or 7, and wait for the blissful waves of sleep to engulf me and save me from the twisting grip something has on my spine. Cold sweats grip down into my bones, it seems, and I try not to think about anything because the anxiety and outright fear creates monsters of problems within my worrying mind out of anything I dwell upon for very long. Faces of people who love me and want me to love them again flood my mind and before I drift off to sleep to be free from this wave of withdrawals, I cry hard and long for my children. I think about how they must feel. I  think about the time I have wasted, the looks on their faces when they want me to spend time with them but I am too busy looking for my next high. After the long cry, I am off to dream about the same things, though now they are horribly twisted into unreal pictures in my dream world, pictures of my daughters drowning and me not being able to save them.

I have always believed in God. I have known Him from the very earliest memories I have in life. I have known Him in a personal, friendly, Fatherly way for as long as I can remember. And His enemy knows this. His enemy loves to plague me with things, and I suppose I make it easy for him to, considering the ways I choose to live my life. So, interspersed with the “my kids are dying and I sit helpless” dreams, come the occasional “there’s something evil in the room it must be Satan he is here growling and holding you down” dreams.

About five hours into the allergy medication induced sleep, the dreams have made me wake up fully, and I cannot get back to sleep. Kidneys burning, no position comfortable, spine screaming and twisting, mind racing. Just a few more days, I pray. Just a few more. What then - the depression? Will the cravings end? How long will this go on? I know enough about withdrawals to know that some doctors mark the length of post acute methamphetamine withdrawal at anywhere up to two years. Did I dream that? No, it is so, as crazy as it sounds.

My God, why did I ever start this horrible, wonderfully pleasant, frightfully terrible relationship with crystal meth? What on earth could I have been thinking? I start to blame everyone from the President on down to the mayor of our little town for allowing such a horrible epidemic to find its way to our country. Still, I know I am the one to blame for having tried it. I know it is my fault that I am in the uncomfortable, strange, frightening, sad, hopeless, sick position I am in. And I know it is going to get worse. I know that very soon, I will feel displaced, out of my own skin, and fully awake to enjoy every hideous moment.

And if the person who had originally handed me the straw to snort a try of it years and years ago could have instead shown me this day, I would have ran away screaming “No!" And I would have never searched for an escape from the beautifully welcoming small problems I once believed I could not handle sober.

Nicotine Addictions

Addiction

By JConstance

I sneak around
Seeking out the places I hid my paraphernalia
Away from family
Away from my friends
An ashtray
The lighter that caught my eye in the store
Just a day ago I confessed I had quit
And that I had gained the willpower to simply ignore the cravings
Obsessively doing things
Trying to keep busy
As I complete my daily tasks
I pass by my purse
The sewn fabric that holds just enough to buy a pack....

Entire Poem Here

101 Ways to Hurt Your Loved Ones

A Day in the Life of a Methamphetamine Addict

Beneath the Ice: My War with Methamphetamine Addiction

What need is there for alarm clocks when we never slept anyway? My day would usually begin around 72 hours before the morning light became noticed, and I was routinely surprised by the site of it: "My God, is it morning?" The revelation would then create cause to "burn one," yet again, as did almost any event occurring in my environment, perceived environment or actual environment, I should say.

Hell, if the phone rings, burn one; tie my shoes, burn one; returning from the store, burn one; receive bad news, burn one; receive good news, burn one! Any event of just an average day in methamphetamine addiction became a reason, an excuse, to continue using.

I believe I have heard it said before, though I am drawing a mental blank about who may have coined the adage, "You are the last thing that I thought of, and the first thing on my mind." Simply put, Methamphetamine was my god, and I was unknowingly dancing with the devil himself. Methamphetamine addiction stripped me of my very person, changed my personality to an unrecognizable degree, and created scars throughout my family and deep into my friends . . . scars that may never fully heal.

All that I am and all that I have left to give after Methamphetamine addiction is a story of completely grave disappointment, exhaustive pain, mental collapse, and a scream in my heart that will not be stifled. Hopefully, what is left of me can be used to better aid others' decisions regarding which dance requests to decline in life.

Entire Article Here

Personal Experience at the Hannah Home In Alabama

Homeless Shelters Are Not Necessarily "Rock Bottom"



Ordinarily, women's shelters are established for a variety of reasons. For the battered and abused women and children of our society, these homes can mean a safe and secure place to live, sleep, and begin a new, productive life. For those who are displaced, or have no home of their own, the shelters meet the many needs for a woman and her children, as well as for single women.

For me, it meant an alternative to prison while attending counseling for drug addiction in 2001. What I found in the surprisingly warm, attentive atmosphere are things I will never forget.

When first hearing of the alternative plan for my sentence, I was happy to be able to leave jail, and of course ready to be just about anywhere authorities would allow me to be instead of behind bars. But I viewed a woman's shelter quite differently than they in fact are. Upon entering the group home in a county to the north of my own here in Alabama, I met smiling faces and warm reassurances that everything would be okay.

Entire Article Here

I Discovered the Pit!

I cannot truly explain in earth-sown manner
How revolting this hole is - so, I guess, rather,
When taking you with me in unknown plight
I'll show what I can of that dark pit's night.
The dread of surfacing into conscious thought
Every morning I woke, ensnared and just caught;
The panic that filled me, the symbols of time,
The crude and imbalanced and murderous shine.
The fiends and ogres who fed on my smiles -
The ones who stepped harder while stomping my trials.
The bags that soon emptied, the screams to be filled,
There, void crawled the walls in the pit where I lived.

-Jeanne Sparks-Carreker
         December, 2007