As I indicated in A Week From Today, this is the first of a three part series detailing my personal experience with the drug crystal methamphetamine.  It was my first, and my last experience with crystal meth. I've tried to be honest in regard to both the negative consequences, as well as the very appealing aspects of this drug. And let's face it, for this to be the problem it has currently become in our culture, there must be appealing aspects for people to return to use.

Originally published on the private site of blueAlto, I have decided to bite put my money where my mouth is and post it on the front page. Why? Because this is an issue that has for a long time needed more aggressive and consistent attention than it is currently being given. Similar to HIV, no one wants to be the one to bring this issue up, or even enter into a real discussion about it. For the sake of the community and those in it (and that would be us if you haven't guessed), we need to start.

I'll post part two next Sunday, where I'll attempt to show exactly how powerful this chemical is, in it's ability to alter perception, as well as behavior. Alterations that both surprised and scared me, ultimately forcing me take inventory of exactly what was, and what wasn't of worth in my life.

***

July, 1997

Entering the sunshine from the arrivals terminal at LAX, D and I were relieved to finally be there. A three hour wait on the tarmac in Toronto threatened to stall our plans, since we had a connection in Chicago. Lucky for us, the UA desk agent was more than helpful, getting us on the next LA bound flight, baggage surprisingly intact.

We were in Los Angeles for the National Paramedic Certification exams, held annually at UCLA for students in the final year of their BS or MS paramedical programs. As alumni of the MS program with excellent standing, D and I had been asked to instruct a two day prep session for the students taking the exams. This would mark the beginning of part time UCLA instructor status for both of us, positions which continue to this day. At the time, neither D or I realized how dangerously close we came to ensuring that those positions would never be offered.

In a way it was inevitable. Two gay men in their mid to late twenties, considered attractive by many, sexually active, with a full weekend to enjoy before a week of teaching. Not that the experience was new to us; we had lived in LA for three years during grad school in the mid nineties. What was different, was that our host for the weekend, Paul, had planned the events.

This is the part both D and I have discussed many times. We were two men with, for lack of a better term, their shit firmly together. Gainfully employed, highly educated, socially aware, active and extroverted, all peppered with a healthy dose of confidence. And with no recent, or previous history of drug use. Ever. D thinks it was curiosity. I tend to think curiosity as well, though for me it's more. Ironically, a healthy dose of skepticism. The heavily touted, "you'll have the best mind blowing sex you've ever had", was such a common line, it was fast becoming a mantra, referencing the enhancement to virility that meth was said to offer its users. I had never really believed it, instead thinking it was just another rationalization users would offer to justify their drug habit.

For whatever reason, curiosity or otherwise, it was just after seven pm when Paul, D, and myself sat down in Paul's Silverlake living room, and did several lines of meth. D and Paul went first. Having been an occasional user for some time, Paul seemed to perform this expertly. With no cough or grimace, he made it seem as if he had just pounded back a shot of tequila. D on the other hand, let out a yelp, left eye tearing up, as he repeatedly cried, "Fuck, holy FUCK"!

I waited a few moments to make sure D didn't reenact Uma Thurman's famous heroin up the nose overdose scene from Pulp Fiction, then went ahead and snorted a generous line from the table. What I recall to this day, was the white hot pain in my nostrils and behind my right eye. The same eye that moments later teared up. Then, as the pain decreased, a warm rush seemed to flow slowly from head to toe. One that felt really, really fucking good.

The only way I can describe the initial sensation, is an analogy with Christmas morning. Do you remember being nine or ten, it's six or seven on Christmas morning, and you've been awake for hours? Your parents enter the room and tell you that "it's time". That complete rush of happiness, so large you don't know whether to run, jump or scream? That was my first experience of meth. One that would be repeated many, many times that weekend.

Update on Jun 2, 2008 by alto

As my friend that I reference in this piece is currently unable to respond to comments on this entry, I have changed his name to simply "D" in this and any subsequent articles. Part ~ II is now posted.