I Just Relapsed on MDMA

What’s it like to relapse? If you’re struggling for your sanity, you’re not alone. Join Glenn as he relates what it’s like and how he plans to make another go of recovery. We’re behind you, Glenn!

minute read

Another Relapse?

Well shucks… I gone done it again.

Not to make light of it, but I’ve just returned from a deceptively nightmarish relapse. Deceptive because in the eye of the storm you don’t realise how fucking bad you should be feeling, due to there being a load of chemicals pumping round your system, designed exactly to hide that feeling from you.

It all started with a badly conceived idea to take a drug that I haven’t taken for at least 8 years, the reason for that being my last experience not being a good one and, like the self-defeating dickhead that I am prone to become now and again, thought time would be a healer. SPOILER ALERT: it isn’t.

I’m speaking of my old (bad) friend, MDMA (or, following a bit of research after the fact, think may actually have been methylone).

A friend and I acquired some from somewhere. Now we weren’t expecting it to be delivered as early as it did (might give you an idea of where it was acquired) and so hadn’t practised normal psychonautical preparation, and got so excited by its arrival that we just dived right in.

Now I put it into myself in a way that I’ve never done before : IV.

Patterns of Use

So, just to recap: My last experience with the stuff was bad, and yet I decided to mainline it this time. What is wrong with people like me? You can’t even call it suicidal behaviour because death and the cessation of existence seems like a better option than getting through some of the bad trips I’ve had to endure.

And what a trip it was, which is why I don’t think it was actually MDMA. Within a minute I said to my mate “I really wish I hadn’t done this.” Not a great mood setting sentence. I could even be accused of “harshing the buzz, dude”.

To set the scene, it was snowing outside and I hadn’t even gone to the chemist for my Subutex and it was 3 in the afternoon. Shit. I have to actually go outside and walk (at Google’s estimate) 2.7 miles whilst coming up on whatever chemical that it actually was in that syringe.

Luckily my mate has his bike with him, which he is prepared to lend me, since he’s also off his head on the same thing, plus Ketamine. It takes me a good half hour to psych myself up for this seemingly massive undertaking. I set off but also learn 10 minutes into the journey that there are no functional brakes on this bicycle and come off the fucking thing and into the snow, with a nice head ricochet off a concrete bollard. I also had to make several stops along the way to try and calm myself down because the task ahead seemed monumental to my unhinged mind.

Didn’t want to do this journey in the first place but can you imagine going through opioid withdrawal on top of having this shit in your veins freaking your head to bits?

So… Finally get to the pharmacy and, God love the guy, I have a very understanding and caring Pharmacist. He goes : “Are you all right mate? You look a bit wired…”

Me: (going to change names for obvious reasons ) “Jeff, I’m not feeling great. Think I’m in withdrawal”. Not a total lie. I just omitted mentioning the dose of narcotics that were giving me an extra bonus hard time.

That’s all I remember about that exchange. And I know I’m not great at making names up but anyway let’s get back to it.

I get into the nearest public toilet that I can find (told you I was relapsing) and injected the dose of Subbys that I “redirected”, as the technical term seems to be…. Boosh! Great! I ‘aint rattling now. Feel a lot better. The (still unsure of actual chemical) stuff can do its work now, unhindered by such a paltry annoyance as opioid withdrawal.

The Funds to Keep it Going

It was benefit payday for me. Which if you live outside of the UK is probably called welfare or something. All the same thing, really: A system that enables addicts to afford drugs without lifting a finger to something like honestly working for a living. So I go to the cash machine (ATM) and my card gets rejected… almost complete preternatural terror begins to descend before I realise that the local branch of my bank is still open at this time.

Great, eh? No. Still have to actually go into the bank and talk to people that aren’t on mind bending chemicals and show my ID and sign my name and give a reason for needing to get at money without going through normal (ATM) channels. That bit’s boring and, thankfully uneventful and successful.

So… Wad of cash in my pocket, I set off home with a quick stop off at the local booze vendor. I buy way more than I normally would but my thoughts were that when I get back to the house, I’m not going anywhere for anything if I can help it.

By this time the (we’ll call it M for ease from now on) M was in it’s full on “Hello! I’m Here! Hope you’re ready for me ‘cos I aint going anywhere for a good long while” mode and I could start to feel an anxiety that I normally get on these “come ups”. Still. Nothing too drastic and my mate was very pleased to see me as he was having some problems with Ketamine time manipulation and thought I’d been gone so long he was thinking of getting the police on the phone, not really his best thinking of the day. I was actually gone less than an hour.

Harm Reduction: Don’t Use Alone

It was also good to be with someone again so I began to enjoy things a little. We did the usual thing of playing some music for the first 30 seconds before thinking of a better tune to replace it with and repeating the cycle. Sticking Youtube on for inspiring music videos and the like and mad skate board stuff, you know, time wasting.

A few hours and a re-dose later: I’m not really enjoying it as much as I thought I would be. Also the dreaded realisation that it may be going down hill went through my mind and that’s the first sign of trouble for me.
I then decided, in my infinite wisdom, to go and buy some crack, thinking that this might perk me up a bit. I was wrong.

Because I wasn’t taking the Ketamine it started turning out that our trips were taking different paths and I started to get very quiet and lethargic and my thoughts were turning to going to bed and trying to ride this thing out in a nicer environment, under a warm duvet.

After a long time convincing my mate that the best thing for me was bed, I managed to get myself under the covers whilst he was still downstairs going through God knows what.

The Next Day

Cut to the next day. I spent most of the morning throwing up and my mate went home (thanks for keeping an eye on me, bro). I now had a good three days of vomiting and having very strange and scary thoughts. I tried drinking heavily to numb/knock myself out. This didn’t go greatly and it took the third day to get some food into me.

And that’s when the relapse began. I started taking loads of crack and Heroin again, drinking like a madman for two weeks and generally behaving like a dickhead. Drinking for me is a very VERY bad idea. I suffer seizures when in withdrawal and have been in hospital at least eleven times for emergency detox. Those are the ones I can count from memory.

I’m lucky enough to have the best mother in the world (it’s not a competition but if it was I would win) and she saw what was happening and intervened. I managed to acquire some Diazepam (I know, I know), my Mum let me stay at her house and I got myself through a week of serious discomfort. But I did get through it. Not in the best way advisable but I managed it.

As an addict it’s such a scary thought when you realize that you’re going to have to get through life without your crutch of choice but it can be done. I was doing great for ages before my relapse and it nearly snapped my heart in two when it happened but you just have to pick yourself up and get back at it.

One last thing: The way I detoxed myself is not the proper way to do things. You need to speak to your doctor or if you are in withdrawal right now then get to an emergency centre/ A and E.

Thanks for reading.

About the author
Glenn writes to us from a homeless hostel in the north of England. He says that he doesn't know what's wrong with him so he's going to write some stuff in an attempt to find out. Hang upon his every word.
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