Greth Ann Greta Greene

Methamphetamine is a nightmare. Notice I said is, not is like. From it's onset effects like bizarre euphoria it seems tame enough, but, take more than a test drive and learn why the true meaning of "wigged out". And I'm not talking about a real bad headache the next morning what did I do kind of nightmare. Its the kind of nightmare where everything is broken including doorknobs and light switches, everything has this film all over it including your own skin which you will repeatedly try to scratch clean off. Every little detail is scrutinized and every little morsel is squeezed out of every little crevice inside your skull and out. Nobody can give you a ride anywhere you want to go, nobody has anything to smoke not even cigarettes which have burnt a hole in your throat. On the second day you power through happy hour only to learn that the seven pints of cold beer you thought were going to snap you out of this shit now only make you feel weirder and still not sleepy. Still not happy, by the end of the second night you are trying to relax and just chill. You close your eyes but your head won't stop moving you hear German being spoken, you don't know how to speak German, you toss and tumble on the floor the combined hallucinating effect of sleep deprivation combined has taken full hold of your senses turning the most innocent event into horror. You have to keep moving or, you fear, you will die. I search of a cure you make it to a pay phone and avoid the police car parked outside the exxon. You call on the only person you know how to call upon you tell her that if she ever loved you she would have to come and cure this wretched nightmare and talk you down out of the sky. And you hang up you wait for a century she comes dries you off gives you an elixir and some soup out of a can. You'll get sick a day later, from using the pay phone, some one spit right into the receiver