It was about forty yards to the gallows. I watched the bare brown back of the prisoner marching in front of me. He walked clumsily with his bound arms, but quite steadily, with that bobbing gait of the Indian who never straightens his knees. At each step his muscles slid neatly into place, the lock of hair on his scalp danced up and down, his feet printed themselves on the wet gravel. And once, in spite of the men who gripped him by each shoulder, he stepped slightly aside to avoid a puddle on the path.
It is curious, but till that moment I had never realized what it means to destroy a healthy, conscious man. When I saw the prisoner step aside to avoid the puddle, I saw the mystery, the unspeakable wrongness, of cutting a life short when it is in full tide. This man was not dying, he was alive just as we were alive. All the organs of his body were working - bowels digesting food, skin renewing itself, nails growing, tissues forming - all toiling away in solemn foolery. His nails would still be growing when he stood on the drop, when he was falling through the air with a tenth of a second to live. His eyes saw the yellow gravel and the grey walls, and his brain still remembered, foresaw, reasoned - reasoned even about puddles. He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden snap, one of us would be gone - one mind less, one world less.
- George Orwell, The Hanging
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If you respect yourself and everyone in your life, please stay away from meth. It’s not something to be fucked with and will rob you of all your dreams, aspirations, sanity and happiness. Friends don’t let friends drive drunk and friends certainly don’t let friends do meth. Please pass the word on and watch this video and read this testimony.
I spent two years addicted to meth. I broke the addiction cold turkey. It was fucking horrible, I was seeing shards and pipes EVERYWHERE (hallucinating).
I was never as bad as the video, but I was about four months away from that. I had lost so much weight that the callouses on my hand would shift when I gripped the steering wheel. I lost so much weight that when I bent down, my belt buckle would jab me under the ribs, painfully. One time when I came down from a tweakend, I slept for 30 hours straight.
It killed my best friend, twice. We had been friends for eight years when he robbed me, and then two years after that he killed himself (accidentally).
My wake up moment was when I took a look at my surroundings. I was in a trailer with five guys, none of us had taken a bath in five days, it was 3 in the morning. One of them had a crater on his forehead, where he’d been picking at a zit (and picking and picking and picking…), another was telling me about how he sucked dick in jail, and just… I knew I didn’t belong there. I left. I never went back to that life. The withdrawal was cruel, and I didn’t have a friend in the world anymore (when you’re a tweaker, all your friends are tweakers too… funny how that works out).
There are things you lose, that you can never get back, when you suffer from an addiction. I can’t remember the last time I was happy. I can find amusement in life, but it’s no replacement for -joy-.
I should clarify. I used meth for five years. For two of them, it was the only drug I was on. The only time that I wasn’t using was when I was asleep, or at work, and I would only sleep two days out of the week. I made enough money, and it was cheap enough, that I was never without.
The guy who robbed me wasn’t the friend I grew up with. He wasn’t my high school friend who came to hang out with me from 2am to 6am one night when I was feeling depressed. He wasn’t the same guy that helped me spend time with my first high school love. He wasn’t the same, awesome, best friend that I knew. Meth killed that friend of mine. Turned him into a scumbag that broke into my house while I was at work, and stole my computer and a big jar of loose change.
Two years after he robbed me, he accidentally hung himself (auto-erotic asphyxiation gone wrong). I had suspected him of the theft, but had confirmation after his death through a mutual friend. He bragged about how he stole from me.