Psychosis, Paralysis, And Pants Shitting: My Experience With Synthetic Marijuana

I saw in my Bing news feed that “Spice” has finally killed a bunch of people. Truth be told, Im really surprised it took this long. I know that in my writing I tend to take a non-mainstream stance on a number of topics, but trust me on this one. If you follow the link I’ve provided, everything they say about that nasty shit is true.

It looks like… Spice

Spice, or Synthetic Pot, or JWH-(???), or K-2 is essentially lawn clippings harvested by a brown or yellow person with a bunch of designer drugs sprayed all over it. A regular hipster bukkakke. They package it in different sized tin foil baggies, and sell it as incense in head shops. Buuuut, you don’t burn it as incense… oh no… You smoke that shit, in a pipe, like a bunch of other awesome drugs I’ve heard about. At the time I was messing with it, you could buy anywhere from 1 gram, to 8 ounces in a single bag. There are several advantages to Spice. Its about 10 times as strong as regular Pot in its effects. Its about one quarter the price of real weed. The high only lasts for about 15 minutes, but is cumulative in its stupefying effects throughout the day. Last but not least, you won’t fail a drug test if you smoke it.

In my former employment, I was subjected to urine tests. Spice was the logical decision. (duh) A brand called “Bizzarro” was my favorite flavor. You would think that being at a high risk/high performance job that my co-workers would have noticed immediately that I was a fucking stoner. Nope. By the time I started smoking that nasty crap my work had become second nature to me. I was experienced enough that nothing threw me, and stoned enough that the uncomfortable working conditions didn’t phase me. I was on top of my shit and generally amicable. Nobody suspected a thing. It was pretty easy to get addicted. When I wasn’t in a work environment people started to notice. I was retarded. If you get addicted to spice… It makes you retarded. Theres no rationalizing it. I guess you could consider this my warning. I know a lot of you young gents like to party it up, and one hit won’t kill you despite what the media says. (Fuck, I probably smoked pounds of the shit) Heed these words. Never buy your own bag of the stuff. It is so powerful that regular weed won’t get you high anymore. But, you’re a big boy, do what you want. Ill tell you what its like to smoke so you can make your own decisions.

At first it was a miracle. Cheap, and strong, and not long lasting. I would buy one gram bags and go for cruises in the mountains. It tastes better than weed and I can smoke it without having a coughing fit. Music was amazing. I would turn my pair of Boston 12″s on full blast, drink an energy drink, and be ready for the bars when night rolled around. I would have half a bag left to blow my friends away when they got drunk enough to try it.

I moved up to the four gram bags. My nine hour commute to work felt like 20 minutes. I literally couldn’t remember anything.

I started smoking it all the time. I hated my job, and hated my lot in life. It was my own personal morphine. The days would go by in a blur. I didn’t care. I had money, and booze, and music. I didn’t need anything else. My friends told me they were worried about me. I didn’t care.

My buddy dave had a talk with me… I still remember it clear as day…

“If you keep this up man, you are gonna die. If you keep driving fucked up… You are gonna die man.”

I didn’t listen to any of them. I kept smoking. I withdrew to my crib and would smoke, drink, and listen to tunes for hours. Its how I wanted to spend my life. I would smoke so much that I was unable to move for 30 minutes at a time.

The wake up call was pretty abrupt. I was listening to this song.

I had taken a big old rip and had finished my whiskey and coke. A stick of real incense was burning on the coffee table… I watched the smoke curl up, and around, and hang there… I was tranced to passing out.

I was driving my pickup. The black modded beast would roar around dirt corners. I looked to the passenger seat to see an old room mate… He looked me in the eye and said “Well you wanted this…” The truck couldn’t handle the turn. We flew off the road at what must have been 85 miles an hour. We flipped a dozen times and I remember hitting the ceiling and every window in my pickup. Then… Everything went black… But not black… Red… I panicked. The most severe panic in the world. “Thats It! Im dead… ohfuckohfuckohfuck… As I retained consciousness, I realized that if I could continue to exist after death that it wouldn’t be so bad after all… The red… I was looking at the inside of my own eyelids.

I went cold turkey. Every drug I’ve had to give up has been a struggle. But now I’m done with them. For good.

Oh and if you still feel like trying it just remember.

Take the worst, most crippling diarrhea in the world…

And multiply it by five.

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One thought on “Psychosis, Paralysis, And Pants Shitting: My Experience With Synthetic Marijuana

  1. Pingback: The Bastard Spawn Chronicles: Chapter 5 Pearls Before Swine | IMGrody

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