Monday, Feb. 20, 2006 - 8:57 p.m.
I did crack today for the first time in more than three weeks; it's actually probably closer to a month. I was with the person who usually smokes me up and his son and they got a lot- like an 8 ball and a gram. [I know that's a weird situation, personally I would feel really fucking weird doing that shit with my parent. I think the son felt really weird, he said his dad's odd behavior was cracking him up but I think he was just saying that to cover for the totally fuckedness of the situation] They had smoked a lot before I got there but I got a good amount. The first hit was heaven and a half but after that I just had too much in too short a span of time. I hadn't eaten and it was the middle of the day plus I was dehydrated so I was shaking like a leaf. It was horrible.
What happened next is something that I will probably never forget. The guy's son had a seizure. At first I thought he was faking, that's the first thought that came into my head. We were talking about if he was ready enough to drive me home or not and I'm pretty sure he was saying he thought he might be able to and all of a sudden he just flops down onto the floor [like really fucking hard too] and starts shaking. Then he keeps on going and his dad finally rushes for him and I knew it was real. Way too fucking real. I didn't know what to do at first and then I remembered that you're supposed to put a cold washcloth on someone's head when they're having a seizure. I remembered this because it's what they did for me when I had a seizure after taking such a big hit. That's why this hit so fucking close to home. I didn't remember anything from when it happened to me, I could've denied it happened if there hadn't been so many people there -- fuck I smoked again the next day, though people sure were wary about giving me any and watched me like a hawk. Anyway- I am rambling. So dude's shaking on the floor, and he starts foaming at the mouth. I was waiting for that to happen, I know it does, but it just totally added to the seriousness of the situation cuz it was foamy spit mixed with blood. He didn't go back to normal for like 5 minutes and I was so scared he was going to die. His dad wanted to call an ambulance and I told him not to. I feel guilty for that. He wanted to get him real medical attention and I was afraid of us all getting busted. Eventually he came back and was okay -- kinda. We started asking him questions like if he knew who we were; he didn't know. Didn't know who his fucking father was. That's sad. I can only imagine what that situation is like but I can't say much because maybe he just wasn't ready to know anything because then we asked him what day it was and he didn't know that either. After that I was pushing water on him, trying the rehydrate him, get him in a cool room and all of that. He didn't remember he had a seizure afterwards, all he knew was he felt real geeked and like he wanted to puke, yet he wanted to smoke more. The worst part was his dad kept right on smoking the rest [actually he was just hitting the screens trying to get the very end of the residue, which is when you know you're getting bad] and he wanted to get another bag. I was pretty pissed about that. I couldn't even fathom smoking after that and for a father to watch his son go into a seizure after smoking tons of crack and then go straight to the pipe just eats and my heart. It's a horrible fucking drug. I told him if he got any more I would kick his fucking ass.
The dumbest part about the whole thing was that I had to work and I had partly forgotten, because I was so fucked up and because of all the craziness that went down. I missed my ride and was late, and then when I got there I was all fucking shaky and still geeked. Everyone knew something was up with me and I felt so stupid and just out of place. Like this is not normal. People don't just do this shit all the time. I try and delude myself into thinking that drugs aren't bad, a lot more people do the shit I do than I think but no, they really don't. I can't fool myself anymore. Not after today. He could have died. I could have died [when it happened to me] It was fucking scary.
I don't know how to deal with this. I don't know who to go to with this -- I can't keep it inside. It's gonna eat me alive. I keep seeing his eyes, the foam and blood running down his chin, the goofy look on his face and how he couldn't string a sentence together when he came back to. It's gonna fucking haunt me for a while. I want to cut, I want to not eat for a while. I haven't eaten because I've been drinking this weekend and then I was hungover, and today I didn't eat until like 5:30 when I was so weak and shakey I just had to try to eat something. All I've had in two days was a chicken enchilada, a half cup of chicken soup, a cup of tomato soup, and some pasta that got purged because it didn't want to sit right in my hungover stomach. Way too rich. I've lost like 4 pounds and I'm scared. I don't know what to do. I know I need to quit -- I'm totally fucking going to quit crack after today. There's no way I can deny the dangers to myself anymore. I always think to myself before doing it that the first hit is the only good part of the high and I'm always right. But after seeing that there's absolutely no way I could ever put a pipe to my lips and not see those eyes so fucking close to death again. Because my eyes were that fucking close at one point too and I could have died. I could have fucking died just like he could have died. Right there on the fucking floor foaming at the mouth like a fucking animal. That's not how I want to die.
