My life in LA as a meth addict

I’ve spent most of my adult life addicted to amphetamines, including crystal meth. I first tried speed when I was seventeen at a techno party while visiting Germany. I had been struggling with my studies and always found school hard because I was constantly exhausted, sleeping for twelve hours a day and still falling asleep during lessons. I was depressed and sometimes felt like I didn’t want to live any more.

Speed changed all that. For the first time ever, I was motivated, I could concentrate and I felt that I could deal with life. I went from failing school to becoming a straight-A student, and I honestly don’t think I would have graduated without speed. I took it like people drink coffee.

On meth, you feel like you’re having an epiphany every minute. We really did have interesting conversations

But when I finished university, I felt directionless. I met an American man on a dating app who was as addicted as me; I was falling for him and with nothing better to do, I decided to move to California, where meth is far easier to come by.

Both meth and speed are stimulants that give you energy and focus, but meth is generally stronger and has a longer half-life. They say the methyl group is like a VIP pass to the brain. The high from smoking meth lasts at least twice as long as that of other amphetamines, and, crucially, the comedown is vastly longer and feels much worse. The withdrawal from normal amphetamines lasts a day or two, during which time you’re exhausted and it’s hard to function. For methamphetamines, you really can’t do anything but sleep for at least a week, if not two, and even after that it takes a while for your energy levels to return to normal.

For a very long time, I was a functional addict. You couldn’t even tell I was on drugs unless you really knew me. I would have a big meal before getting high because I knew I wouldn’t eat for days. I slept every other night. I also took care of my teeth obsessively, brushing, flossing and using mouthwash to stop the mouth dryness that leads to rotten teeth. I never had a cavity.

I did pick my skin though, often creating sores all over my face and body. Make-up can hide these pretty well. However, when I got a horrible infection on my bottom lip, my family noticed something wasn’t right. My mother was worried I might have caught HIV, since my immune system was so completely shot that every little sore turned into a raging infection that needed antibiotics. The real cause was sleep deprivation and the picking that came from a constant feeling of itchiness caused by meth.

I smoked it constantly. The ritual itself becomes addictive and enjoyable: meth is mild-tasting and easy to smoke. Although, more precisely, you vaporize it in a little glass bubble pipe or a bong with water, which you can either drink afterwards or cook down to reuse the meth that was dissolved during smoking.

Eventually, I began eating it. This is a method that isn’t often spoken about, but it was probably my favorite because the high lasted so long. I loved to get high and spend hours making art. I painted furniture and made digital art and drawings. My boyfriend and I also enjoyed roaming the streets and dumpster-diving for furniture and appliances for our apartment. Most of the time, though, we just talked for hours. On meth, you feel like you’re having an epiphany every minute. Some of it was high nonsense, but we really did have interesting conversations.

Even though I started using meth to be productive, the things I was doing became increasingly pointless. The meth scene in Los Angeles is very different to that in Europe. The level of criminality you become involved in, and the community you enter into, is a lot more dangerous. I lived in an extremely poor neighborhood where the streets were lined with tents. There was gang violence, shootings and prostitution, and I met pimps and all sorts of criminals in order to buy drugs. Some of them became friends. Others tried to force me into sex work, threatened me, stole from me and commandeered my apartment. For some reason, I wasn’t that scared. I was useful to them because I had a job, which meant a little income, and a place to live. I could also fix computers.

The real danger for me was the man I had moved there for. He would hit me and manipulate me so severely that I feared for my life. The meth definitely fueled it. When we were high, things were mostly harmonious, but when we ran out he took his frustration out on me. On several occasions, I called the police. When they came to the apartment and saw all the drug paraphernalia, they completely ignored it. Practically everyone in the neighborhood was using meth.

I was still working as a translator, but I was slowly losing clients because I was missing deadlines. Once, I delivered a job a year late. By then, we couldn’t afford food and I was scrounging for change out in the streets. Our electricity and internet was shut off and I was covered in bruises, infected sores and bites from fleas. There were roaches and mice, too. I tried to keep the place as clean as I could, but in the constant LA heat, it was hard to get rid of the infestations. I felt like I was rotting in that apartment.

We were eventually evicted, my boyfriend was jailed after another beating, and I realized I could escape. I hadn’t left those few Californian streets for years and I was so strung out that I was unable to think a single straight thought. Thankfully, my aunt booked me a flight home.

For the first month, I couldn’t do much but sleep, and even after a year I still felt unnaturally tired and depressed. And I still occasionally wanted drugs. Luckily, I met a new man and his family would cook for me. Since then, I’ve found a new job, have learned to drive and have a whole new life. It’s been three years since I last took meth and I am quietly but determinedly happy.

This article was originally published in The Spectator’s UK magazine. Subscribe to the World edition here.