Sniff

Getting into coke was easy, in fact it was far too easy. I was at Uni and had a huge amount of work on my plate. Everyone was using, at least 30 percent of the  Uni were on something, it just seemed natural to start. My drug of choice is Cocaine and I'm a sniffer. 

People talk about peer pressure and it simply wasn't that way at all with me, I just gravitated towards it naturally and liked the way it made me feel. There's your sign! I just decided one day to try it because everyone was into eccies and coke. I guess I didnt want to miss out on what I could see happening around me, but there was no pressure from anyone, in fact I had to do some arm twisting to get on at first.

The rather ironic thing about sniff is that it gets better the more times you take it; that's to say the first few times you do it, it has virtually no effect. So when my fellow sniffers informed me of this, I did what most stupid teenagers in my position would have done – did more and more so the high would get better. 

The benefits of sniff are that it gives you boundless energy and confidence. Basically that's why it's a yuppie drug. Doctors, Stockbrokers and Lawyers and people with high pressure jobs need that extra edge, but all knives have two sides to every blade, the affects of too much coke are to say the least  easy to see. By the time I left Uni I had lost 20 kilos and looked like a concentration camp victim. My mum was horrified and thought I had AIDS. Eventually things broke down at home and I became homeless, first moving in with my friends, then eventually the streets or a convenient squat.

I've heard of orgies with cocaine, but my experience is most people simply don't go into that sort of thing. It's not everyone's cup of tea, but I have had some wild sex while using. the good thing with sniff is that most people dont cross culture with heroin or speed users, so there is less Aids and Hep C, though I do know some people who inject it. I can't see much point in injecting it though, you get off just by sniffing it. Also injecting brands you in a way that you cant hide, you have track marks that are visable, you cant do that in business. 

Obviously every action has an equal and opposite re-action and I was a drug addict, living on the streets and unable to support myself because my addiction had left telltale scars. not on my arms but on my brain, I had taken it all too far and was using a gram a day, the result is I turned into a drooling idiot who just lay there shaking and occasionally moaning out a word or two. Then get up and find/steal the money for the next fix. I had given it complete control of my life. Surrendered myself completely to the drug. Needless to say the downside ended in incarceration and thankfully sobrietry.

I'll spare you the shakes and the little green men on the curtains, needless to say detox was bad, but possibly worse because they simply don't see a lot of it here. Coke is still a bit of a designer drug and isn't huge here yet. But it's growing daily. I cried a lot, must have looked like a scared kid, skinny and crying. I got off easy and only did 300 hours community service but I learned my lesson.

Looking back I am now working in my profession and I still use sniff occasionally. It's not an everyday thing with me anymore. It can't be, but it's a fine line walking between having the intellectual enhancement that I feel when I'm using.  My mind is more focused and I feel more in control and  have less doubts about myself. I now control the drug and my use and it doesn't control me.

Hunter S Thompson

I used to know Hunter S Thompson, and I talked to him the night we died. My husband introduced us online. Only Hunter would go into a chatroom with the nick Dr Hunter S Thompson. It fitted in with is particular sense of humour. My husband  told him who he was ( or used to be known as) asked him what he and  Hunter did on the night they were on the Cilla Black show together and why they were late. Hunter and my husband were shooting up in the mensroom of course. Only three people knew that story until now, Hunter, My Husband and the production assistant who was bitching at them for being late for the great Cilla Black and of course me!

So anyways his identity confirmed as the genuine Hunter and not some crazed fan. Hunter and I became fast friends for years. We often chatted about this and that. Mainly about my writting, he liked some of my stories and  gave me pointers. Philosophy, Religion and assorted crap, life the universe and everything. Nice Bloke. Anyways this is about him not me and the night he died.

We were both going through some personal shit. His problem was with all his money and fame and power and position, he was a sad and lonely guy. No one loved him for him, my problem is  hubby and I had had one of our not so rare splits. So here I was loving this hopeless ex rock and roll junkie with all my heart and soul and here was Hunter, who had everything society tells you is important but not a single soul who even wanted to know who he really was inside and loved him for him. Sure everyone wanted a piece of him, but no one wanted the package. They didnt want his pain and hurt, they just wanted his money and position. Everyone needs to love and be loved, it's a human neccessity, for rock stars and book authors and every single human being.

Anyways we sat in this depression chatroom on msn. We talked for hours and hours.  I cried, he cried and we realised the plight we were both in was sad and pathetic  I loved too much, him too little and both hurting so we ended up working each other up rather than calming each other down. The chat room got pissed at us for being so  depressed and kicked us both from the chat. Hunter put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. I took all my pills.

How could I be writting this story? Because Hunter and I had online friends in common, he told them what I was up to online, he thought I had everything to live for, and they knew or found out enough about me collectively to call an ambulance in Australia from America. The police traced my phone number from a common friend in America and broke into my house 20 shots of narcane (I read my chart) and two days later I came to in the psych ward and Hunter was dead on the radio.

And that Ladies and Gentleman is how the great Hunter S Thompson died. He was my friend.

Rage 
I live on a small island of the coast. Even in such a remote place as my island there is cocaine and it reached out and touched me while I was still living in my mothers home. I was the rager and was doing lines at my mother's kitchen table behind her back. 
Now somewhere in your drug indiced state the insanity hits you and you think your invincible and you do things you are not only not proud of, but disgusted by. My "friend" and I were so far gone that we robbed a children's charity for our next hit. In a small place like where I come from, that's a bad idea, and you guessed it, we thought it was a GREAT idea and did the job. 
Well, we were of course seen by someone commiting the crime,we didn't care at the time because we were off our tits. It was only a matter of time before we went out in public and ominously a crowd milled. A man stepped forward and said "I saw you. I saw you take the children's welfare money. Hundreds of children went hungry and didnt get immunised because of you." 
Crowds can get ugly, there as no sympathy in this crowd. Thier eyes were hard. My friend and I were beaten up unmercifully. My mate died of his head injuries. I moved to the mainland with my colostomy bag and my wheelchair. There were never any charges laid for the robbery or the death of my friend or for my injuries. The police didn't even ask any questions. 
I now have constant pain. I empty my own colostomy bag and wonder at this tragic life that was bought and paid for by a drug fuelled insanity. I have paid for my crimes over and over. It wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth this. We treated the system with contempt and wore the consequences. In my more depressed moments I think my friend was the lucky one. 
If you think you are all that and then some, smart and above or beyond the law, then before you go taking cocaine and blowing your minds, ask yourself if you are prepared to wear the consequences of your actions? 

Easy Money
Down these civilised streets of society must go a man who is no longer part of said society. Morning, Sydney's garish sunlight was the colour of a junkies urine tests was not warming me up. The Asian dealer in front of me even Helen Keller could see was hanging out and planning to rip me off. He said if you have the money I'll give you the dope, I did and he did. happens every now and again, you just never know with these clowns. The gear was so good it would make John Howard rear up on his hind quarters and howl at the moon. Good but no legs. It hold's me a few hour's then I have to go back out.
Walking into the harsh sunlight, I put on my (stolen) Ray Ban's. I had a hole in my shoe and was greeted immediately by a puddle. This is a common occurance when you are hanging out, everything pains you. I'm in Newtown, I'm wearing clothes any teenager who was hip would have been proud to wear circa fifteen years ago, as a thirty year old it was pathetic. A home made haircut looks great when you are seventeen, when you are over twenty four it looks pathetic.
The streets of Newtown were bustling with a life of their own. Thai cooking smells assaulted my sensitive nose, which was dripping so badly I had a line of clear snot from nose to knee. I arrived at the dealers door and hurt my knuckles knocking. Everything hurts when you are hanging. He is a white dealer, a rarity in sydeny since the Asians took over from the Rumanians- he was a methodonian who dealt and joy banged occasionally.
Everyone thinks their dealer is their 'freind' - a 'nice bloke'- everyone hates their dealer" Fucking cunt wouldn't give me credit!" After all the dollars I have given him over the past few years. He says "Try telling Woolworth's you have spent thousands and deserve credit" Get my point? He's about as sympathetic as a pawnbroker's heart. I am just indifferent to it all. I'll try anything once.
Arriving back at my terrace house one of my flatmates is making herself coffee, it is going on eleven in the morning- I don't say hello to her as I don't go into the kitchen to get a spoon. I have done this mornign run before.... once or twice... and even though 'they know', I dont wish to rub it into their collective faces. Using in a house with non users is as private as masturbation, am I right or am I right ?
The stairs are yet another thing keeping me from my shot. they are thin and narrow and creak as badly as my legs do coming off methadone. I shut the door behind me and in one fluid motion, take out my works and lay them on a desk that overlooks the back lane and what passes for a backyard. Directly accross from me is a window, I have lace curtians. Shot cooked carefully, I have spilt it before. I have wept before, this morning I dont. I am the fastest gun int he west, it's away and the works out of sight in the blink of an eye.
Downstairs I make coffee in a Bialetti. I eat at the Krsna's. I roll cigarette butts from ashtrays. I do enjoy good coffee, my only expenditure other than rent that isnt on junk. Every man is an island, every junkie is a country at war with itself and every country around it. Junkies don't make friends, they make shaky alliances, that always end in tears.
I go out for a walk. I felt like walking. If the money for my next shot should mysteriously appear before my eyes, I am always the opportunist. I have no concerns about tomorrow. I only live for the here and now. I walk to the city and watch the citizens milling around like bleating lambs being led to the slaughter. I go into the bar and nod to the barkeeper. I am a regular and he brings me a beer. I pay him with a crumpeled up twenty dollar bill and sigh, my last bill. The bar has a few shabby regulars and a couple of sharp eyed junkies. There's a couple of citizens there too. I watch them when they leave the bar, hoping someone leaves thier wallet laying around to be "found" by an industrious fellow like myself.
A young yuppie type buys a few rounds and disgraces himself by leaving his mobile phone and his wallet laying on the bar. I slowly brush them into my inside jacket pocket, nod to the barkeep and stroll into the mensroom. The barkeep keeps the change, a small price for his silence. I calmly take the wallet out of my pocket and pull out the money, about three hundred. I take a couple of cards and slip them into my shoe, I can get rid of them to a man who deals in such items for fifty bucks apiece. I leave the wallet in the mensroom rubbish bin and walk out calmly into the street. The yuppie wont miss them for a few rounds until it's his shout.
I don't consider it stealing, this is what I would call a tax on the stupid. Easy pickings. I head back home and pay my share of the rent and make myself another cup of coffee. I plan on spending the afternoon napping waiting for the street lights to come on so I can descend into the steamy underworld of Newtown at night. It takes about five hundred a day to cover my expenses. I should make the rest tonight doing a bit of this an that. Selling of the cards and mobile phone. A nice relaxed easy day for me. 
I lay back on my single bed sipping my coffee and smoking a cigerette. I smoke american marlboroughs, a cigerette should taste like a cigarette. I blow cigarette rings. I pull out an old Micky Spillane novel and slowly drift of the sleep without a care in the world.

Indentifying your child as a drug user!
Mums and Dads are total novices when it comes to drug users and the effects and visible signs of drug use and or addiction so I thought to identify the bigies and give typical responses to them. 
Maryjuana, the most common drug used in australia gives the most expected response. Eyes narrow to slits and often are red and glassy in appearance. The intoxicated or stoned user will often laugh or joke about nothing that makes sense to those who aren't similarily stoned. The aroma of Maryjuana is unmistakable and smell similar to burning oregeno ( try burning some oregano in your kitchen to identify the smell). The smell on clothing and in enclosed rooms such as bedrooms is often covered up by the use of incense and or joss sticks. Usually smoked in a bong made out of juice bottles and a cone made of aliminium cans. Often the user will create a new home made bong regularily, so one of the signs of regular marijuana use in your home is a fast disappearing garden hose. Comercial bongs and pipes are are available at most tobacconists. The smoker can also roll a joint using tobbacco papers purchased from a tobacconist. Maryjuana is a dried green leaf and quite distincly different to cigarette tobacco. 
Heroin is the big bad, according to most people. Someone who is stoned on opiates ( morphine codiene heroin methadone etc) will typically have pinned and unresponsive pupils. They will be slower and often fall asleep or go on the "nod". Most users will fail to eat due to lack of appetite and tend to be thin and often gaunt. Most but not all heroin users inject, so your likely to find track marks on the user, usually around the forearms and hands/wrists. Thier works or kit to use with are likely to be 1 ml syringes, spoons, water, a belt or torniquet of some kind, a lighter and or candle and a bright yellow sharps safe kit. Some smoke it or snort it and use comercial pipes available in some tobaconists. Withdrawal creates nausea, vomiting, sneezing and will often be written of as a cold and or flu. Heroin is a white crystal powder. 
Cocaine users are quite remarkably different, they will have abnormally large pupils, ie dialated. They will move quickly and display great burst of energy. They will experience rapid pulse and heartbeat. Crack Cocaine, the problem pandemic in America and Europe doesn't seem to be a huge problem in Australia. Most end users either snort of inject it. Injectors will have a kit or works similar to a heroin users works.Withdrawal will show inability to sleep, and flu like symptoms including vomiting. A snorter will often have a small demetase spoon, straws or rolled up dollar billls, a mirror and a safety razor to cut it into lines. Cocaine is a white crystal powder. 
Ice or Speed, Crystal Meth is the current newsworthy drug of choice and the most popular hard drug used in Australia.Similar to Cocaine in presentation, most users have wide dialeted pupils and are likely to have an racing heartbeat, sweat profusely and rapid pulse. They are more likely to exhibit aggresive tendancies, and do repetitive things like chew madly on chewing gum. The high, unlike cocaine ( 20 minutes to an hour) last hours and sometimes days. Highly addictive, cheap and easily purchased everywhere in Australia. It can be injected, or it can be disolved under your tongue or shoved into your vagina or anus, that is accepted rapidly through the mucas membranes of your body. A party drug that has approx 16 percent of Australians 14 -40 addicted to it. Someone who is shooting up speed will have a kit including syringes such as used by heroin addicts. Once again a white crystaline powder, but the crystals look larger, more like kitchen rock salt. 
So thing you might ignore but are often signs your child might be using drugs are: your garden hose slowly disappearing, black soot marks on carpets and furniture, desert spoons disappearing, incense being used in bedrooms, lighters disappearing, lack of sleep, lack of apetite and rapid and sudden mood swings and of course the finding of drug parephenelia and the drugs themselves. Of course active drug addiction often means they sell things of yours to pay for thier drug habits, or money missing in purses and wallets from various members of the family. 
So how do you dispose of these items safely? Powdered drugs can be safely disposed of by flushing them down your toilet ( please for the sake of your pipes take them out of any plastic bags). Maryjuana can be simply composted and dug into your soil. Bongs and smoking articles can be disposed of in rubbish bins once disassembled. Syringes need to be put into a safe sharps container or if you dont have one a strong plastic container that has a screw top lid and then turned into a needle exchange ( most public hospitals can advise you where to dispose of syringes). 
I'm not going to go into the ethics of whether you are entitled to search your child's room. That's entirely your business and would vary depending upon the age of the child and the rules in your home and of course how many reasons you have been given to search because of behavioural problems or missing items in your home. Good luck with your teen :)