What I know about PCP.
I don't know why I'm answering this question. I haven't checked up on this blog in a really long time due to a lot of things going on in my life. I get so busy sometimes, and I really wish i could write more, because in reality I actually have a lot of things to say.
Well anyway, to answer this question posed by livejournal and the one and only MTV, I DO know someone who has struggled with addiction in a very peculiar way. This summer, when I went home to NY for college, I started hanging around the guy I was dating there and his cousin Billy. Whenever I'm home, i do a lot of drugs, primarily pot, but this summer things got a little different. I started smoking PCP a lot. Like every day a lot. I know a lot of you reading this think it's really bad, but the truth is the drug isn't as awful as everyone makes it out to be, IN MODERATION. I feel that some of the most spiritual experiences I've ever had were the result of PCP. It effects everyone differently, so you may not feel this if you try it, but everything suddenly collided into one. Yes and No suddenly meant the same thing, and what was so weird about it was I could explain why they were the same. This was especially true for the concepts of good and evil. I figured out there really is no such thing as good and evil, there's only motivation, which is propelled by some need inside. And for everything we label "bad" there's something good, and vise versa. Whatever. My understanding of time was also askew. 5 minutes felt like 2 hours, it was so weird. I felt like I was sinking, my body turned into water, I could feel the sofa i was lying on, the carpet underneath it. I slipped down through the vent and could hear Billy playing his guitar downstairs, i was closer than i could have been in real life. It confused me though, because I was still in my same place on the couch, unable to get up or move, but the world was more alive and real than it ever had been. When I finally got up, my legs were carrying me along, but I couldn't connect them to my brian; I felt like I was floating. My boyfriend got super strong, he could pick me up and twirl me around in one hand above his head. It scared me a little bit because his motor skills were clearly impaired, and he could have dropped me, but he didn't. I don't know why I'm rambling on this subject, as it's unimportant.
I don't feel that i was every physically addicted to this drug, but my mind started to crave it, crave the way it transformed the world. Even though I never went searching for it, I could never say no when it presented itself to me. Right now, talking about it, I feel the impulse to pick up a black bag and burn it down with some weed. It'd be lovely.
Anyway, my friend Billy, Ernie's cousin, started to do it more than just everyday. Honestly, I don't exactly know how often he smoked the stuff, but it soon became apparent he had a serious problem. He would find any excuse to do it, and he would beg and beg and beg until you agreed, and it was hard to say no anyway. He started talking about the strangest things, believing he was the devil and god all in one. He kept saying there were aliens in his head, and the government was out to get him because of his drug use. I felt like Ernie and I fed into his problem by constantly allowing it.
One night, he got weirder than usual. We all smoked PCP, ernie, me and this guy named Jut who became semi retarded when he was stabbed 29 times. On his long walk home, Jut called Billy, for god knows why, and Billy kept saying "come to me, I want you, I need you, come to me" over and over again. When we asked him to whom he was speaking and he replied "God."
This was really weird, but we ignored it because we didn't want to tick him off, and lately he had become increasingly irritable. Ernie and I both felt uncomfortable, and sat there in silence. Eventually Billy started pacing back and forth, and then he went into the bathroom for a while, and he started chanting to certain Gods whom he believed were going to help him. When he came out of the bathroom, half an hour later, he told us all how he spoke to the gods and they told him he had to fix the windows (it was his job to fix windows, as he was a glaicer.) That night, Ernie and I decided we were gonna stop doing PCP, and I'd love to say we stuck to it, but we didn't. After a few days, we gave into Billy's pleading and just started smoking the stuff again. Eventually, Billy got so crazy we had to stop. A few days later, he painted his red car black to stop the cops/government officials from following him. I could keep going, and I'm sure that you are all getting bored to bits with this, so I'm going to get straight to the point. After bouncing on his mother's car (he's 32 btw) screaming "I'm going to kill my dadddy" repeatedly, he drove off to his own house and drove his car through the French doors of his basement. And yeah. Off to the loony bin, and he's been in a paranoid schitzophrenic state ever since. Very sad, actually. He was, at one point, reasonably intelligent, and he liked to talk about the world and what it is comprised of. He had a wife who left about a year prior to this, and a daughter, who he's lost custody of. I feel terrible, but this is what it has done.
As for myself, I do not remember the last time I did PCP, but around the time Billy's mental state became apparent to the rest of the world we stopped. We knew it was the drugs that put his mind that way, and we wanted to avoid it. I'd be lying though if I said I don't ever crave it, in fact, I crave it all the time. Some days, i'd love nothing more than to snuggle up with a blunt of PCP, and write my poetry. Never again will i do this, but I am answering this question honestly, this is what addiction does, addiction of this drug anyway.
I haven't spoken to Billy in months, and nor has his cousin Ernie. We can't, he got too crazy for us, and we had a falling out. I wish him well, but I know he played a terrible role in my life, I'm thankful I got out when I did, before any serious problems arose because of it. I feel that my life now has not been affected in any way by the drug. Maybe I would have been fine, because I never felt anything such as this pyschosis coming on, but you never know. This is not shit to be messed with, and I'm thankful it's no longer a part of my life.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
prettyladygrace's journal
