by James Hunt
“Right, I heard about that somewhere. So what are you gonna do?”
“I don't know, how's a man supposed to deal with something like that?”
“Well, I don't think you have to worry about that, seeing as how you aren't real and all.”
“What?! james are you still fucked up? Jesus, man, I WOKE UP IN A POND!”
“Ha, right, at least you got away from that creature!”
“What?”
“The plastic bag, man! You gotta see this shit!” I stuffed another spoonful into my mouth.
“THERE'S NO PLASTIC BAG IN HERE! Can I take a shower?”
“I don't see why not. Can hallucinations get wet?”
“...I woke up in a pond...” he muttered, heading for my bathroom.
“Right! That’s a great story and all.”
“A FUCKIN POND!” he said poking his head out of the bathroom to give me a complex look. I choked a little on my ice cream with laughter. He was obviously still mad on drugs – but the look had assured me he was real. What a bummer. I heard the shower start and by the time he was done I had pretty much sobered up. I regained my concept of reality, left with only strange memories and a weird tingly sensation all over my body, like my skin had worms underneath it.
The conversation we had when he got out included a recap of him completely fucking up everyone's trip the night before, more outbursts about the pond, and many unanswered questions about his scrapes, cuts and bruises. Never before have I heard of acid affecting anyone like this, it's like it completely wiped out his memory of the night, he remembered absolutely nothing of his trip commandment infractions. The only explanation he offered was some bullshit about how he thought life was a game show – he had to win, but couldn't understand why he was losing. Don't mess with mind-altering drugs if your mind can't handle being altered.
Maybe Daniel was right, maybe this creature had too many experiences with the brain-damaging effects of Dex. Not at all unheard of. My best friend Phil was at the time going through a terrible battle with anxiety brought on by the chronic ingestion of our drug of choice. No, I can't think that way, don't be such a Squonk, maintain positive thinking, james. It made me somewhat proud knowing I had been through three separate high dose robo-binges and two people had lost their sanity in the process, but I had held on to mine without any trouble. Poor Phil though, he constantly feared dying from heart attack. He would call me, insisting his time on this planet was over, and I would have to spend hours consoling him back to the harsh reality that he had many more years to endure. Not only did he think he was dying, but he still had his addiction to worry about. His condition pervaded sobriety and intoxication, fueling a cycle of getting high, making it miserable for everyone involved, sobering up, then starting the whole sick process over again.
If I wasn't an addict myself, I would have made him cease his self-destructive cycle, but alas, here lies the major defect in an addicts mind: Even if the signs are painfully obvious to the addicts themselves, one just can't find a reason good enough to stop the behavior. I never felt it was hurting anything. My mind was still intact and I was having more fun than I thought was humanly possible. On top of that, I was famous in my little town for doing crazy amounts of drugs, doing crazy things on the crazy amount of drugs, and making everyone who was with me doing crazy things on crazy amounts of drugs go crazy. I absolutely loved the fact that I was well known for having the inhuman ability to consume more of the “shitty drugs” than anyone thought natural. Everyone looked down on me for it, I was judged, but I didn't care. I loved every minute of it.
It was like the guitarist in that punk rock band you liked in junior high who played a banged up guitar that sounded like shit instead of a shiny new one. It didn't matter if it was shitty, he was the only one who used THAT guitar. He was a shitty guitarist, with a shitty guitar, and I was a shitty druggy with a shitty drug. It was perfection.
Kristal----the Girlfriend----
Oh man, what to say about james... well... I loved him. I really did.
He was the sweetest guy I ever met.
He made me feel really special, he was so nice to me.
He woulda done anything for me, I’m pretty sure.
The first thing that attracted me was how funny he was.
Most people find him annoying,
but he made me laugh a lot.
Oh man... this is hard for me.
He is so difficult, nice, but difficult.
He would over-think almost everything.
This made him very negative about the world.
He is optimistic but in a very pessimistic way...
You'd really just have to know him to understand.
We took each other's virginity.
He was soooo sweet about it.
He made me promise that we would be together forever,
it was so important to him to save himself for “the one.”
He was like that, very proper, very moral.
He yelled at me one time after I tried some of my sister's pina colada.
He said no one should drink until they are of legal age.
He looked like a pothead but, he never did drugs.
I made sure of that when we first started talking.
You would think that he did drugs all the time after you heard of some of the things he did and said.
He could be hyper as hell, then other times very calm and very serious.
He HATED authority;
Always trying to defy it in some way or another.
Grew his hair out.
Wore really tight pants.
Wore ties and dress shirts to school.
He flashed the middle finger constantly.
He mouthed off to anyone and everyone.
He got a lot of death threats from other kids.
One kid even tried to strangle him.
But he never drank or did drugs.
He was just like that... always bucking against “normality”.
He was a strange one... a unique one. I loved that.
He was so unique, and he wanted ME!
That made me feel so special.
I never feel special.
Chapter 7
Concepts of
the Dex-Head,
Rules of
The Demented
Notes from a case study on DXM abusers by Dr. Jerry Musca Domestica:
I believe it necessary to understand the thought processes of the common Dex fiend, to fully understand why they behave in the odd way they do. First and foremost, they believe Dex is always an alternative, never a preference to, “good” drugs. If acid, shrooms, ecstasy, or any other quality psychedelics are available, they will do those first. If one chooses robo over those, they are a disgrace to all drug people, and should kill themselves immediately. You are the worst kind of addict, and everyone hates you.
Side note: robo refers to any product that contains DXM: Tussin, gels, triple C's, Delsyn, Xicam, etc.
That being said, once they've taken the “quality drug,” it is acceptable to them to add robo into the mix. They reason that in some studies, it has been shown that introducing LSD into a robo-trip actually lowers the chances of developing Olney's Lesions, which are holes that develop in the brains of test-rodents. (Olney's Lesions are not proven to exist in human subjects, due to lack of human test subjects. The effects of this type of lesion result in symptoms resembling schizophrenia and/or psychosis including, but not limited to: hallucinations, paranoid delusions, confusion, and deficits in attention, memory and learning.) Mixing with robo is also characteristic of an addict, but is much more socially-acceptable if they justify it, saying it is simply experimenting with how far into the abyss he can go without killing himself.
Second, it is about the experience, not the drug. None of my subjects enjoy the drug in and of itself – at least openly. (Some may crave the discomfort, but that is a sick thought that would naturally be kept to oneself.) Only the thoughts produced under the influe
nce of this strange chemical, or the awkwardly altered perception that is gained from it, are treated with any real respect in the community. The drug itself at high doses produces very weird reactions, to say the least. It appears to shatter the subject's feelings of security and normality. Only at low doses can Dextromethorphan be considered anywhere near comfortable for the user. It induces an intense numbness and a slight dissociation. Most of my subjects seek the ego-shattering and mindlessly self indulgent effects of the drug.
Third, things will not get done when in the depths of a robo-binge. Simple chores like mailing bills, showing up for welfare appointments, and going to school or work seem so vastly complicated and unimportant to the subject. The Dex fiend has no concept of how the world operates or how society functions. He will not participate in something he cannot understand. How does a letter beginning in my hands travel cross-country to get into your hands? Who is in charge of that? Why can something, according to my will, manifest itself somewhere I have never been?
Do not expect a Dex-head to be reliable or to behave in any socially-acceptable fashion. If you ask them of anything do not be surprised if within the very next day, the very next hour, or the next thirty seconds he has no idea of what you are talking about. Do not believe anything a Dex addict says. It is not that he is intentionally lying, it's that he simply cannot stick to any grandiose ideas he comes up with – his perception is so wildly altered that there is no way he could know the true gravity of any situation. You have to find the humor in this if you are to be able to stand a relationship, of any kind, with a chronic robo-consumer.
Thirdly: money. They never have any, simply because they barely work enough to support themselves, if at all. This means they have to steal their drugs from their local pharmacies. In some cases, when the binge is at its climax, they will steal just about anything if they feel they deserve it – and they deserve anything they desire.
Next, robo-trippers might have plots about brainwashing, getting money out of you, or just taking advantage of you in some way. It doesn't appear immoral to them until the trip is over, and even then it simply becomes a testament to just how lost their minds are, a laughing point. Sometimes they plot against you when they are standing right next to you, they probably don't think you can hear their little aside with each other. They just turn away from the conversation and face each other, and feel that this is enough to be removed from the discussion enough to not be heard by anyone else. They believe when they need to discuss something of grave importance with each other that no one can hear their plots, plans, or judgments.
Lastly, language is an obsession. They may come up with some ridiculous connections between words that is not apparent to anyone else, simply based on the sounds the word makes. There is something to the perception altering of sound that makes speech patterns and words an interesting and intellectually stimulating jungle for the DXM junky to wade through. Dex Heads are either very smart or very dumb. There are very few that fall into the average bracket of intelligence.
(+)-3-Methoxy-17-Methyl- (9α,13α,14α)-Morphinan
Dextromethorphan is a white powder in its purest form. The drug acts as a psychoactive hallucinogen and dissociative by behaving as an N-methyl D-aspartate receptor (NMDAR) antagonist. The most common NMDAR antagonists are the anesthetics Ketamine and Phencyclidine (PCP). The NMDAR is inhibited creating a state referred to as a Dissociative Anesthesia. The brain damage received by extensive NDMA inhibitor exposure seems to be most evident in the Cingulate Cortex which extends from the corpus collosum (the myelintated fibers that connect the two hemispheres of the brain) to the Singulate Sulcus above it (the brain fold that separates the frontal and parietal lobes), and the Retrosplenial Cortex (responsible for episodic information retrieval). This type of neurotoxicity is irreversible.
The dissociation experience produced by NDMA receptor antagonists is due to the blocking of the electrical signals between the neurons of the brain and the spinal column.
“Robo-Itches” is the term I have cleverly given the histamine release (allergic reaction) sometimes associated with an overdose of Dextromethorphan. It is very common for an entire room-full of robotrippers to be rolling around on the ground, itching and scratching themselves to almost harmful extremes. Simply introducing an antihistamine such as Diphenhydramine (Benadryl) would alleviate these symptoms (although this could possibly add an unwanted cumulative CNS depressant effect, which will slow down brain activity and changing the feel of the high).
Addiction to Dextromethorphan is said to be at the psychological level rather than a physical dependence. Further study must be made on this subject and will constantly be a subject of great importance in my research.
Once the Dextromethorphan is broken down at the chemical level in the stomach, it is absorbed as Dextrorphan (DXO) into the bloodstream. DXO is the 3-hydroxy derivative of Dextromethorphan. The liver can grow a tolerance to DXO (or any NDMA inhibitor), it will eliminate NDMA receptor antagonists in a shorter time [further insight into DXM tolerance located in the Case Study section]. Duration of the effects and specific properties of the effects can be predicted by the speed of the metabolism of the catalyst known as the cytochrome P450 enzyme (CYP2D6). The slower the metabolic properties of CYP2D6 are in a subject, can lead to up to three times the magnitude of the DXM effects experienced by those who metabolize quickly. Subject codename 'james,' seems to have this unique characteristic and is very affected by the chemical. He has become my most important lead in this study.
The anti-histamine Diphenhydramine, has the possibility of slowing the metabolic effects of CYP2D6 (thus magnifying the 'Dex effect'), but once again, it runs the risk of creating a cumulative DNS depressant effect. There are other metabolism factors present in CYP3A4 and CYP2B6 according to research, but are still mostly unclear.
On April 20, 1954 a patent was granted for the compound labeled Dextromethorphan and was officially approved by the FDA for over-the-counter sales as a cough suppressant in 1958. This proved to be a solution to the high frequency of abuse the former cough suppressant, Codeine, was sustaining, because DXM was not a sedative and not physically addictive. Like all cough suppressants, however, the actual effectiveness of DXM is highly debated and controversial. In the 1960s and 1970s the first signs of abuse were noted which led to halted production of tablets containing Dextromethorphan and syrups were introduced to cut down on abuse. One of my subjects once thought it profound to say, “People been drinkin' cough medicine since cough medicine has been around!”
Recently, new gelatin based pills are an easily abused forms of Dextromethorphan. With this new production the FDA has reported a spike of Dextromethorphan theft and abuse, without a responsible concern. Law in most states regulates DXM, restricting the sales to only two DXM containing products per customer (eighteen or twenty-one years of age or older depending on the state). This generation is doomed to be marked as The Tussin Generation as an umbrella term includimg the massive amount of pharmaceutical drug abuse not seen in previous generations.
Every thought is chemical. Every emotion is chemical. Existence is chemical.
PART TWO
Meet The RoboChildren
“What in the fuck?”
“What?”
“Did you just hear that fucking fly talk to me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“There it is! I'll get it!” I yelled as I grabbed a flyswatter. I leapt to my feet and chased the filthy insect around my living room.
“Dude, I don't see a fly, you're just seeing stuff, calm down!”
I tripped over a couch, falling to the ground, but shot up to continue the hunt. Was I hallucinating? Too early to tell really. I'd have to wait to look back on this moment to decide whether or not I was right in my battle against this cum-farting bastard. He lands on a picture that hangs precariously on the wall. I feel like I'm on to something serious here.
“I've got you now grrgleeminble...JER!” I shouted as I charged the pa
inting. I swung fiercely at it and knocked the painting off the wall, shattering it in the process. The painting exploded with broken glass as it hit the floor. Gary looked at me in horror, he had just witnessed me murder a hallucinated fly. I returned to a calm state, but felt as though something was different. I used my foot to push the broken glass out of the way and got down on my knees and searched for the body. I found it, its mangled form looked to me like a squished and bloody prefrontal cortex of a human brain. I called for Gary to come over and have a look.
“There's nothing there, you're retarded...” he muttered as he returned to his spot on the couch, “need to cut back on this robo shit man... seriously, you're getting nutty!” A tear ran down my cheek and I mourned the loss of the fly whose name I never knew. Nothing seemed right anymore. I felt I had killed not only a fly, but also a part of myself.
Chapter 8
The Beginning of
the End for the
ROboChiLDreN.
“Good god!” I yelled into the phone, “Forty-fucking-five dollars?!”
“You are welcome to try and get them for cheaper..” the voice responded.
“You are fucking me over and you know it!”
“No dude, you will not find it for cheaper, you know how dry this fucking town is!”
“Yeah... I guess you're right about that... fucking fine. Meet me at the skate park and I'll pay you there.”
Daniel and I made our way to the local skate park where the drug-addicted, extreme-sport freaks hung out. Everyone who spent time there were regularly viewed as scum, not that I (or anyone else there) ever considered myself one of them. I didn't skate, and I wasn't “hip.” They're a bunch of kids running around with no parental supervision and nothing better to do than to break bones on skateboards, steal prescription medications, and drink themselves stupid. I never before knew such reckless abandon as I witnessed at the skate park. It was pleasant. I had had a rebellious attitude growing up, but not in any illegal or self-destructive form like these creatures. Sitting in the park where all these true rebels gathered to show off their board-handling skills and laugh at those who injured themselves, I thought about just how different their worlds must have been. Being raised in such a careless environment seriously damaged their concepts of normality – or at least their attention to it. Or maybe it was the drugs. Hard to tell. Do their parents not love them?
