When I was 14, I smoked pot for the first time. Needless to say, I enjoyed it but didn’t quite have money or connections to do it more often.
One day my brother found a pipe completely clogged with resin and we found some bags that had Spice in the corner.
I didn’t know what was in the pipe and didn’t care, my brother and I were young, and he said he heard you could get high from scraping the resin and the spice.
I eventually became a friend, every four hours at least of the say I had to get my fix.
I remember stealing bags of spice from roommates, he smoked it and cleaned the bowl until my brother, and I finally broke it, I just ended up scraping out the tiniest bit of spice I got.
Later down the road after being a few months clean I tell my roommate about the pipe, and he said he only ever smoked spice out of it, not weed like my brother, and I was so naive to assume.
That was when I realized my habit I was addicted, and that week thinking I had the flu was withdrawn.
I got totally sober after coming off of spice, for at least a year. Then at the time it was the summer between my freshmen to sophomore year of high school, I made friends with my best friend, and he smoked a lot of weed, and I began to follow again and smoke more weed than ever. It was great; I felt many great benefits from it and a pretty nice high. As years go by, though, it gets weaker and weaker; I began to get a tolerance.
After being sheltered by my parents most of my life, by the time I turned 18.
I went buck wild and made some new friends. We were trouble makers, to say the least; I was the only girl in the crew.
We would walk miles and miles through our small town to get our fixes. I began to notice they were smoking spice.
Not the same kind that I was smoking a few years ago that my roommates would buy from the store.
This was made and sold from people’s houses.
Locals, with children, jobs, etc.
I was holding a job waiting tables and money weren’t an issue, but we were all a team, all 8 of us.
Eventually, mid grade weed with eight heads wasn’t getting anyone high anymore; they began to do more and more spice because obviously spice is so much more intense and cheaper, and feels very similar to the high from marijuana.
I always thought I was an all natural girl, kind of like a hippy, I had dreads and walked around barefoot most places.
I relied on the earth and loved it, and I loved myself. Eventually, though, I fell in and joined them with the spice again, it didn’t take long for me to remember just how amazing it felt when I was 14-15. And now at 18, after smoking again, I have reluctantly addicted to spice once again.
We would walk miles in the summer heat to get our spinny. We would go to desperate lengths to get money for our habit.
I didn’t even realize I had a problem at all. My self-esteem started to go downhill. I’ll give myself props that I took a shower every single day, but there was no brushing my teeth, no washing my face, wearing dirty clothes, and living in absolute filth.
I smelt so bad; the house did too. After I had started my senior year, I started going back to my father’s more often.
That was when I became psychotic and sick and unsure why when it was my withdrawal from spice.
My therapist insisted I started medication for my bipolar disorder, so I began doing that and maybe getting my life together.
I went back to the boy’s house, one day when I had been clean from Spice for maybe a week. I took my bong rip and slowly felt my body stop.
I was sitting up straight, but the world looked like I was lying on my side down on the ground.
Everything tightened in my body; I had never felt this way from Spice before. My friends immediately started bringing me water and panicking while I’m putting every ounce of my being on focusing on staying alive. It felt like forever I had to do this until my best friend at the time grabbed my tight and said, “Cox. You’re going to be okay.”
Finally, the feeling left, I could breathe again without trying, I could think again freely, I finally felt some relief.
And then I laugh, I laughed hysterically, the same way I did the first time, I relapsed to spice years after I had quit.
The next morning I was very sick, the only relief I found was eventually in smoking half a blunt with a friend who showed up to the house around 2 AM.
That was when I knew I had to quit. In the process of starting a SSRI called Celexa and going through spice withdraw I was miserable.
My hands would tingle every morning when I would wake up as if I got much sleep. My brain felt rotten; I had no ability to concentrate on anything at all which led to a decline in school.
I would puke in the mornings and barely eat through the days. I cried a lot, shook a lot and felt tingling, chills, and numbness in my arms.
I wanted just to be dead and was hoping the withdraw would just kill me because feeling this terrible wasn’t worth getting better, even if that only took one more minute before they went away.
Eventually, the withdraws stopped, but my brain never quite caught up.
The only reason I graduated high school was that eventually I came clean to my guidance counselor that I had been on drugs and have mentally changed.
Then my hand has held the rest of the year, through almost every assignment, mostly in math.
I graduated, got arrested that night with my at the time girlfriend for possession. At this point, I was clean from Spice for several months.
At this point, in time, I’m looking at about 9-10 months clean from the spice, my ex-girlfriend, and I were made to break up as she’s left for treatment, and we don’t have means to communicate, and I’m not sure if she’ll ever want to talk ever again.
I start college soon, and my brain has still not recovered, and I’m beginning to believe it’s never going to.