Sorry about grammar, I am not an English speaker.
My story started with regular marijuana.
Around 3.5 – 4 years ago, I smoked a lot consistently, stopped sleeping, started hallucinating and totally lost touch with reality.
I ended chained to the bed in the closed section of a psychiatric institution.
(If you have larval psychosis or depression they can make it active, a lot of this stories say it is benign, but there are risks)
They diagnosed me with the mild form of schizophrenia and so started terrible year of awful antipsychotics.
Around this time I heard about legal grass, so for testing, I bought a packet.
I loved the strength of the thrip, so it becomes a regular thing.
Not much later I stopped sleeping and had an episode.
My girl took me to the psychiatric hospital while I confabulated about space ships and twitched.
It was ended for us that day; we stayed together for few months but that day it was lower.
She stayed with me the first time I ended in the hospital, but I guess she couldn’t look anymore as I slowly killed myself.
That relationship was the only positive thing I had in my life and the only real emotional thing I had in my life.
Without it, the reality of my condition quickly put me in a deep depression.
I was an unfinished student of philosophy without the day of work experience and almost 30 years, who dreamed about a writing career but was half literate talentless hack.
It sounds stupid, but the grayness of the world compared to the peak of psychosis was intolerable.
With the maniacal grin, I went and bought a bag.
My usage spiraled out of control rather quickly.
It didn’t help that I soon found a kiosk that even sold doses for euro and half.
I always smoked by myself, indeed, alienated from anyone.
My days became 40-kilometer travel in each direction, so I could buy and find ways to get money; borrowing without intent for repaying, stealing from family – even dying grandma and sick baby brother.
I pawned my book collection and even father’s wedding ring.
My days became travel, walking high for hours and sickness when I couldn’t find any money.
First, I checked the floor for anything that resembled spice, then re-walking my routes so I could find all bags to scrape, then obsessive checking parks and benches in front of discotheques for anything that resembled a bud, picking it almost entirely smoked and dropped with some saliva and putting it in my mouth.
Even after the rain when they are all muddy or smelled like dog’s piss.
There were a lot of different blends: incense X, Galaxy, rainbow, zombie, Mary Jane, vertex, laminated… I remember that one day woman who worked in smart shop confronted me for buying so often – smart shop I was going in rarely because they opened latterly and their blends were usually weaker.
I had more bad trips than I care to remember, puking furiously just to roll another one-half an hour later; I will not even talk about mental stuff.
I even started enjoying and began to crave that feeling of total paranoia, losses, and pain.
”Good paranoid and hurtful!”
Last summer here in Croatia, blends were outlawed after the media outrage following some kid’s death.
I stopped smoking for 2-3 months, because it was moved off the streets and then I found a dealer, anguish when he didn’t answer his phone, panic when the bar that used as a front wasn’t opened at a time.
Once while I rolled wind blew it away; I started sobbing, that was the first time I cried in a long time.
All this time I was medicated, there is half an hour between my injection and checkup with a doctor so of course I should lose the cigar just a little.
I couldn’t take it anymore; I lost all and every will to live.
The night before New Year, I made a knot, tied it to the balcony and jumped.
Obviously, I survived, I already lost the concise sense, wake up on the floor, the rope untied, probably YouTube video is not a reliable source of information when it comes to notes and for once my incompetence come in handy.
I fell into shock, and it couldn’t untangle it from supporting beam, so I gave up.
To answer any question my last thoughts as I drifted away were:
”This hurts tremendously, Bravely, This will be over soon” (As rope tightens it rips the skin and goes limp for weeks to come)
I continued to smoke even after that.
The trick is that trip is the terrible experience.
The worst feeling I know, as I am aware it is the worst feeling in the Universe.
After you fell into the trap that you forget how awful it is, your craving takes the better of you.
Your desire wins.
I didn’t take for six days, the last time I used I remember clearly the intense mental and psychical nausea, suicidal thoughts and much, much more.
Before that moment, I didn’t take for two and a half weeks.
I feel like shit; it is hard for me to kick it.
I know that I did this to myself, but I will like if you will say something to me, anything, and this is a first time I told my story to anyone.
I need to believe there is something in this world that is worst than it.