This series, Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug, was written a couple of months ago when I was struggling to quit cocaine. After three weeks of writing about my battles, I stopped writing. There was no point anymore. I had failed, and miserably at that. How could I keep writing about doing coke, never ceasing? Even today, as I write this, I’m about to go do my next line.
So why on earth would I share this with the world? For one, to show others who are going through it or have loved ones dealing with cocaine addiction that it isn’t as simple as just deciding you’re done.
But for another, I want to share what is to come. And you can’t have what’s coming up without first knowing the current battles. I will present these to you one week at a time.
The final article will be about the upcoming decision to quit, and the tools I’ve set in place to do so. For now, all I will tell you is that I’m leaving Mexico early. You’ll just have to wait for the finale, but I assure you, it will be a good one.
…it just occurred to me that could be misconstrued as, like, saying I’m committing suicide. NO, GUYS!
Just thought I’d put your mind at ease there. And so on we go, with week 1.
After months on and off of doing cocaine, I hit rock bottom. It was finally time to quit… and this time for good. So I started jotting down something every day. Some days are stories of how it all began. Others are just pure anger and cravings. So here are my confessions of a coke addict, because cocaine is a hell of a drug.
Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug: Confessions of a Coke Addict
Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug: Day 1
I went to bed at 6am after doing my last line, enjoying it to the fullest. I wasn’t going to force sleep upon myself with an anti-anxiety after my last line ever. So I waited, and I loved every last minute.
I woke up at 11 am feeling just awful and so tired. But the sun had me in its grips already. I was awake. I stumbled out of my tent and immediately to the hammock. There I stayed and slept for the next three hours.
Waking up, I grabbed some food (something I rarely get at all) and an energy drink. Somehow I gathered the energy to pull out my computer and do some work.
For the next few hours I distracted myself by working on SEO and technical who-the-fuck-knows-what this means problems (a programmer knows).
The cravings started while I worked away so I just worked harder so as to ignore them. “This was so much easier while on coke,” I thought.
But then I finished everything and I knew what had to happen. I wasn’t about to get coke. No, I hit rock bottom two days ago. I only indulged in coke yesterday to finish what I had. One last hoorah, if you will.
So I did what I did when I “successfully” quit cold turkey three weeks ago for a whole eight days (shock and awe): I smoked a joint.
And in smoking said joint it was decided: I would write daily about my battle as a coke addict. Will I ever share this with the world? Possibly, I am stupid honest.
But not today.
Today I’m stoned and I’m going to sleep in my tent, with my probably coke addicted ants. You see my tent zippers both broke, and now I live with many ants. You may call me Ant Queen.
In any case with so many lines out every single day, surely they’re addicted too. They don’t need as much coke as I do. Yet here I am smoking a joint to stave off cravings, and not hot boxing the tent. So they just have to deal without weed to help the cravings.
Sorry little guys. This is for crawling on me when I tried to nap and for stealing my Monster energy drink.
Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug: Day 2
A new friend and I were smoking a joint – staving off the cravings and all – when a lovely woman from Quebec started talking to us. My friend passed her the joint, but she said in a chipper manner, “Oh no thank you, I’m an addict.”
We immediately asked if she’d like us to move, but she said no, no, I like the smell and the conversation!
So we carried on chatting, and she mentioned in passing that her drug of choice had been cocaine.
Was this a freak coincidence?
Now in her early seventies, she had been to Zipolite way back in 1973. She returned now to see what it was like these days, and it was decided she’d stay several months next year.
Advice from an Addict
We chatted about everything under the sun, but our final conversation stuck hard. “Always listen to that voice inside you,” she said. “Only you know, and you do know.”
I had a flashback to the day I met my narcissistic ex boyfriend. “He’s hot,” I thought at the time. “But not this one. I’m happy right now. Not this one.”
I’d heard the voice yet ignored it. I see myself as someone who follows my instincts and my heart more than most, with my wandering ways. But I had ignored this voice, landing me in an emotionally and – in the end – physically abusive relationship.
She told me how much she respected me for recognizing my problem with coke early on. “Some people can just do a line here and there. If I do I’m doing it constantly,” she uttered my truth.
It felt amazing and stung at once as she told me of her respect for me stopping while still in the honeymoon phase where I loved coke. While honoured to have an addict speak such words to me, all I could think was, “But it’s only day two. Will I make it?” She seemed confident, without speaking a word about it, that I would.
The more we spoke, the more I felt a connection with her: it was as if I was looking at myself forty years down the road.
Her openness about her drug addiction and history of abuse reminded me of my own sincerity about the troubles I face. I spew my life out on the internet, whether discussing my depression, a bad break up, or – eventually – this very blog about my addiction.
We are both cocaine addicts, whether we use or not. We will always be addicts, but we will not let it define us.
Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug: Day 3
Can’t sleep. Been lying in my tent for an hour and a half. Took anti-anxieties. Still can’t sleep. They worked for my coked up self but not sober? Bull shit.
I want a fucking line. To boot, I haven’t had sex in months. This is just affecting me now. So I’m craving coke and dick. Dick and coke. One or the other. Please god.
Tonight sucks. Fuck day 3. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug: Day 4
Anxious anxious anxious. Took half a clonazepam, my anti-anxiety medication. Waiting for it to kick in. Will it? Who the fuck knows. Craving bad. Craving real bad.
I ordered a piña colada after working as much as I possibly could. I needed distraction. But the kitchen is busy as hell so it’s going to take 20 minutes. 20 minutes for a god damn piña colada. I’m going to shoot something. Possibly myself. But I have no gun. They’ll probably forget I ordered it by the time the busy period passes. I want to gulp it down in one sip. I don’t even like being drunk. Just give me a buzz, and fast please.
I meant to do LSD last night. Hallucinogens can help with addiction, and I’ve always had a medicinal relationship with acid. It helps me sort my shit out. Alas, the tabs won’t arrive until Sunday from Mexico City. It’s Friday. I’d been telling myself I just needed to make it to Thursday when I could gain some clarity from the acid.
But noooooo now it’s not until Sunday. So here I am cranky and craving while in a hammock in paradise.
Fuck you, cocaine. Fuck. You.
PS I got my piña colada. It didn’t take 20 minutes. Thank. Fuck. Cocaine is a hell of a drug, and I needed something to calm my god damn nerves.
Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug: Day 5
Today I don’t have the desire to repeatedly bang a chair against a wooden pole while shrieking at the top of my lungs. This must be progress.
I remember all too well that day nearly a year ago. I’d tried coke in the past, don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t my first line. But I’d never much liked the stuff in my youth. It merely made me chatty (and likely annoying to be around). Nah, it wasn’t for me.
I was with a lovely group of six or so people hanging out in a luxury hotel room in Zipolite. We were all drinking and having fun. That’s when the coke came out. I was offered a line, and thought to decline for a moment. Why bother? I didn’t even like the stuff.
Instead I figured why not? I was having such a lovely time, and everyone else was doing some. It’s not like I’d get hooked; I didn’t even like cocaine. It would just wake me up a bit, and keep the party going.
We bought some more after each having a line, as the whole group was doing it. I felt great after my first line. Fantastic. Out of this world.
Within the hour our next bag was gone. I mean, there were six of us, and the bags weren’t big.
But I wanted more. We all did, but more than anyone else, I wanted it. I needed it. It was I who went down to security to ask to buy more. It was I who went back several times to ask, “Are you sure it’s too late? There’s none anywhere at this hour?” Sure the others wanted it, but this urge, this beast, raged within me. They wanted more. I needed more.
Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug: Day 6
It was 6:30 pm. The only tab of acid in all of Zipolite sat in my tent. One tab. I normally do two for a good therapy session, which really only happens once every year or two. To me, LSD is not a drug. It’s a medicine. It helps me work through my problems. And several people had said psychedelics can be a good tool for addiction recovery.
So there sat the one tab in the whole town. And so I waited until everyone went to sleep. Until it was just me, the waves, the hammock, the dark night sky.
And I popped the acid.
And then I waited.
Therapy? Not so much.
Instead of the intense therapy session I had been craving so badly, I got two things: intense anger and a minor body high. This was not acid, or was, but in the tiniest dose imaginable.
I woke up not even having had my morning cigarette to be greeted by the owner telling me I needed to move my tent (and then move it back) so they could clean the sand underneath it. Easy, right? No. It required taking all my splattered shit out from my tent. That’s a month and a half worth of spreading shit everywhere to deal with. It was going to be a pain in the ass in the hot sun.
Yep, first argument the owner and I ever had in five times through three years staying here. I did not want to fucking do it. Least not at 7:30 am when I’d barely woken up from my anger of last night.
Good fucking morning, world.
Come at me. Cause today you’re getting a grumpy bitch who isn’t going to do shit all she doesn’t want to. Had she asked on any other day, or even later in the day, I likely would have begrudgingly complied. Not today.
Come at me. Cocaine is a hell of a drug, and you don’t want to mess with me during recovery. Not today.
Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug: Day 7
It’s first thing in the morning. I’ve just finished my work, and in an hour I’m off to pick up some good friends from the airport. They’re the first ones to arrive for a visit. They’re good pals I’ve known for years – long before my permanent travels began.
Still, they can’t stop me from doing coke if I want to. They’re not close enough to me. But I’ll tell them what’s up anyways. Accountability and all.
In another week the first of my best friends comes to visit, also known as my ex boyfriend from seven years ago. But time heals all and he’s become one of my best friends. If I try to combat him into letting me do coke, he will stop me. I told him to. Even if I’m a bitch about it.
Since days four and five though I’ve felt pretty good. That being said it was on day eight last time that I caved. “One single day will be fine,” I thought. “I’ll quit again tomorrow.” It took three weeks to re-quit. To reach rock bottom… again. I’m determined that won’t happen again. Some people can do it on occasion. I am not one of those people.
So here we go. Finishing week one of no cocaine. I’ve got this, especially with awesome friends to entertain me.
Wish me luck.
Cocaine is a hell of a drug.