My Life As a Teenage Meth Head | The Fix
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My Life As a Teenage Meth Head

I’d been warned about heroin but never about meth. For me, it was the most dangerous drug of all.


The monster meth Photo via

By Nic Sheff


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I’m not sure if I was living in a bubble or what, but I’d never even really heard of meth before I first tried it in the spring of 2001, when I was 18 years old.

I remember as a kid being warned about heroin. I’d been told, in school or wherever, that heroin was especially dangerous because you could get addicted to it after only trying it one time. And that scared me.

After all, I already knew I had a fairly addictive personality. I’d been smoking pot every day for years, and doing coke and Ecstasy and acid and mushrooms and all sorts of pills. But I never did heroin because I’d been warned about it.

Crystal meth, though, I’d never heard about. I do remember once reading a comic strip where two rednecks with overalls and no shirts were talking back and forth and the punch line was: “Pass the crystal meth.”

By the time I actually did start doing heroin, it felt like nothing compared to crystal meth.

But that was it.

What my friend told me was that we were getting some “speed.” And speed didn’t sound half as exotic and sinister as crystal meth.

So I did it.

To be fair to my friend, however, I insinuated that I’d done it before. He was acting like he didn’t want to be the one to introduce me to it, but that wasn’t that unusual. The guy I did coke with for the first time had acted the same way. 

He didn’t want to be responsible.

And he wasn’t (actually, he was a groomsman at my wedding last summer—so I definitely don’t blame him). We’d been up all night doing acid. My friend had a vial and we were taking hits straight from the bottle on our tongues just to stay awake. 

To get the speed, we drove to his connect in Oakland.

It was this drug dealer called Madame D who operated out of the back of the Mother’s Cookie Factory near the Oakland Coliseum.

The whole thing was like out of some movie. We had to enter a code to get in the gate and then another code to get into the factory. 

At first, I wasn’t even allowed inside. I had to wait in the car.

Later, I became a regular. I’d go in and sit in the waiting room and watch the big TV. One of the assistants/bouncers would come out and offer me a line—“Coke or meth?” they’d ask. A real high-class operation.

Nothing could have prepared me how genuinely life altering and world shattering that first line of speed would be for me.

We crushed it into a powder on a CD case and I snorted it through a cut plastic straw.

Instantly, right when the drug hit me, it was the most incredible feeling I’d ever known in my whole life. I wrote in my memoir, Tweak, that the first thought I had was, “Goddamn, why couldn’t I have been breastfed on this shit?” It felt like what I’d always been missing. It felt like there’d always been this hole inside me, and this was the only thing that was ever going to fill it.

“What the hell is this?” I asked my friend. “What do you call this?”

And that’s when he told me: “It’s crystal meth.”

Well, I spent the next five or so years chasing that initial high.

And I always looked at crystal meth as my drug.

After getting sober, whenever I’d relapse, it was always crystal that I sought to get back to—no matter what other drug my running buddy was doing.

The really ironic thing being that, by the time I actually did start doing heroin, it felt like nothing compared to crystal meth. Sure, it was good for cutting the come down from the meth but between the two, there was no question which one I’d take—every time.

Who wants to feel all numb and nodding out when you can feel like the superhero, the God of your entire world?

Not me.

Of course, when I started doing crystal, my life unraveled so, so quickly.

The half-life of coke is only 30 minutes. Which means that, 30 minutes after doing a line, the drug was half as powerful as it had been. It went through your system quick. You could spend a night doing coke and the next day you’d be back to normal—if normal was hung over.

But the half-life of crystal meth is 12 hours. So it lasts forever. And a little bit goes a long, long way. Plus, it made me crazy and delusional from not eating and staying up for literally five days at a time. 

Also, I’m pretty sure I was an arrogant asshole on the drug. 

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