“Tina and I”, by Charlotte Fine

I watched you turn a Scientist into a hyper manic.

Apparently you’re more addictive than crack.

I used to scowl at the rumours of your chaos in QX Magazine.

The police mugshots of who you claimed.

I watched documentaries where addicts in rehab would “90 percent” relapse.

I had a drug dealer say he was the only dealer with a conscience & refused to let me buy you for any self inflated price.

I approached one of your possessed victims who let me try you, yet she was too far gone to teach me.

That was God doing everything in his power to protect the 17 year old me.

A year later I finally got hold of you.

I’d watched the guys sniffing, smoking & slamming you. You made me spend every penny I ever had on you. Reoccurring adrenaline rush; for now I thought I would forever feel this lush. I only **** ***** so I could fund my obsession for you.

You made me abandon my friends & fight my ex partner. Care for my safety was suddenly beyond my mental capacity.

You made me vulnerable to rape.

I kept quiet about what happened & why… I lived a miserable lie.

My heart almost stopped, you no longer rocked.

My grandparents faces.

I was so mashed from sniffing you I was near death sedated; I continued to involve myself with you. I was no longer ill advised.

I woke up on the bathroom floor knowing I’d barely scraped past accidental suicide.

Gazing out into the night in Wapping, you made Mark & I imagine people were in the bushes dogging.

My infatuation with you meant my peers were copying. I watched you manifest them into something abhorrently shocking.

There is nothing recreational about you, only misuse, abuse & addiction.

You were the topic of reason for me being slated endlessly online. You altered my behaviour, turning me suicidal, angry & ill fated

I was too young to cope with you, I admit it. Still I thought, what’s the big deal about sniffing you? There’s no pins sticking in you.

I compared my bad behaviour to a rebel banker, who you mentally obliterated. I kidded myself into thinking my wreckless actions were standard & at the worst basic.  I graduated to smoking you.

Luke said I became the bad essence of you… you made me sexed up, high risk & I forever lusted after you.

Only just now, am I fixing my relationship with God that you tried to part.

You made me forget him & my family & that will forever break my heart.

In the end you took away all you gave me as I tried to breakaway. You took my confidence, my brain cells & more than I dare say.

You took my bag-of-bones body that was being battered from the inside but now looked ugly on the outside.

My hair fell out in clumps.

My skin was itchy, pimpled & bumped.

My teeth grinded endlessly & hurt.

My vision began failing long term.

My nose bled & stung.

My lips burnt & crusted.

The dreaded Red rash began its unveiling.

Your chemical components stinging every orifice of my body.

You burnt me inside out like a ton of lysergic acid.

My blood pressure was through the roof.

Twitches, palpitations but I was deeply immersed in your orgasmic sensations.

Your too much of not enough; I still cannot step from your hellish party bus.

My circulation had had enough.

Body temperature either sweating or rapidly dropped. Any innocence left had gone to pot.

I didn’t get dressed anymore.

I use to love your distraction from normality. However, you stole my human realm of reality to which I’m unable to fully return to.

This poem may sound like gibberish to those unfamiliar with you. I should have listened & dodged your majestic spell. I spent my days researching; or in chemists trying to counteract your nasty physical cracks.

I alluded myself into thinking I was winning when I was a recluse dying from sinning.

I know I can never fully retrieve my right mind back. You’re like an incurable tumour forever on the attack. People say your worse than smack.

It seems easier to end my life some days. Than live knowing I’ll never have my intellect back, nor natural motivation intact.

 

 

Charlotte Fine is in the early stages of recovery, and has written many poems, stories and bits of prose inspired by her time with methamphetamine. She hopes one day to write a book about her experiences. We’re grateful to Charlotte for  allowing us to share this piece on our Communuty Blog.
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