I came by Spice the same way most others seem to; it was suggested as a “safe,” legal alternative to cannabis.
At the time I first tried it, and throughout my two-year addiction, it was readily available at two convenience stores less than a block from my house.
It wasn’t legal for that full time, but oh yeah, it was available. One of the stores ran out for about a month, and I couldn’t get it.
They stopped getting it when I told them I’d quit because I’d become their only customer. The other store changed owners, so I lost both my suppliers. If that hadn’t happened, I’d probably have never quit.
I wasn’t your typical “addict.” I’ve never done anything harder than X, and even that only a few times. I smoked weed, and that was it.
I was also married, in my 30s, and had three growing kids. I have zero criminal records, and I’ve always been proud of that and eager to keep it that way.
Being arrested or exposed as an addict or some other shameful thing is my absolute worst nightmare next to losing someone I love.
At the time I started smoking Spice, it had already been around for a little while. (I live in a very small southern town, so we get every fad late).
I’d heard all about how awesome it was but had heard nothing of the potential dangers. I tried it once, and I liked it. It was not the same as a pot high, but good in its way.
I got my spouse to try it once, shortly after I’d started, and they didn’t have such a nice time. They sat on the bathroom floor, paranoid and hallucinating, for almost 2 hours.
They swore never to touch it again but wished me well. If only I’d had that kind of reaction. I let a friend try it, and they got nothing from it.
Another friend tried it one night when we were all drinking heavily, and they immediately projective vomited and were sick for the rest of the night.
I vomited out of the blue one night while I was smoking, but it didn’t deter me in the least.
I remember one night I’d been smoking for hours, sitting at my computer playing games, and my entire body suddenly felt like a limb does when it falls asleep.
It terrified me. I dragged myself from my computer to my couch, convinced my spouse or kids would find me dead the next morning. When I woke up okay the next morning, I started smoking again.
For me, the high lasted maybe 30 minutes, less once the addiction got worse, and the come-down was an intense craving for more.
During part of my addiction, I had a part-time job.100% of my meager salary went to my addiction, plus plenty more. At my worst, I was spending $60-$90 a day just not to feel like shit.
At my job I had a lot of downtime and was often alone, so I would sneak to the bathroom during my shift and take a hit. My pipe was always on me.
Always, I would surreptitiously take a hit throughout the day, no matter where I was.
I ended up losing about 40 lbs during my worst because when I was out of Spice, I constantly walked. I couldn’t stay home.
I would walk the streets looking for dropped money, or furiously thinking of someone I could borrow money from. I borrowed money from everyone. I stole money from many.
I pawned, and lost, things my family still doesn’t know I lost. I almost got us evicted from our home. I turned into a completely different person.
Nothing mattered as much as having a pack of Spice. Not the bills, not food in the house, nothing.
It took me a few tries to quit. The first time, I gave my pipe to my spouse and told them to throw it away. I’d already thrown it away myself in a dumpster, and then fished it out.
I lasted less than a week, and secretly bought another pack and rolling papers. I’ve never been as ashamed in my life as I was when my spouse found it.
I told them it was just too hard. I had to have it. Without it, I couldn’t sleep. I was constantly drenched in sweat and nervous.
Every time I ran out, I would swear never to touch it again. Then I’d break down and buy more because I just couldn’t think of anything else but getting high.
I would immediately feel ashamed, weak, paranoid, and worthless as soon as the high set in. Ten minutes later I’d have “rationalized” myself out of the shame and be ready for another hit.
And the cycle would continue. I smoked regularly. My pipe and the stash were hidden on my bedside table, and I’d secretly hit it when no one was in the room or looking the other way.
Smoking Spice was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Quitting Spice was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I read forums online while I was going through the withdrawals, and saw it likened to quitting heroin or crack. I felt like a crack head. I was a crack head, but Spice was my crack.
I’m a smoker, but I almost quit while I was on Spice. I couldn’t take a drag of a cigarette without feeling like I was going to die.
A drag of Spice felt like heaven, and a drag of cigarettes felt like hell. I stopped smoking weed completely, bc it had no effect anymore.
I coughed constantly. I coughed up gray globs of crud, and I still do, 3 or 4 years later. I ruined my lungs worse in 2 years of smoking Spice than I did in 20 years of smoking cigarettes and 10 of smoking weed.
I’m pretty sure I have COPD now, and it’s not from cigarettes. I have flashbacks of the fucked up thought patterns I had when I was high. I had “memories” that I’m still unsure of the truth of.
I saw every human interaction as a farce, act, artificial. I had angry outbursts for no reason. I became a horrible spouse and parent.
I would tell anyone who’s thinking of trying Spice, to run as fast as they can the other way.
It’s not weed. It’s nothing like weed. If it doesn’t kill you, it will make you want to die. It will ruin your life.
If you’re addicted to Spice now, stop. Just stop. Cut off your suppliers. Commit to it by telling them not to sell to you. Involve those you love and trust to help.
Make yourself accountable. I’m not going to sugar coat it; its absolute fucking HELL, but if I can do it, anyone can. Seek professional help if you can.
I don’t have any experience with that, but I know it would’ve helped me. I was too stubborn and proud to tell anyone but my spouse that I even had a problem, but I should’ve sought help.
It would have been so much easier and less traumatic.
Well, that’s my story, long winded though it may be, and my advice. I hope it helps someone.
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