Tag: methamphetamine addiction

  • Meth 2.0: How Marijuana Legalization Set the Stage for a Newer, Stronger Methamphetamine

    Meth 2.0: How Marijuana Legalization Set the Stage for a Newer, Stronger Methamphetamine

    When people think of methamphetamine, they think of the old-fashioned meth lab and they’re not aware of the dangerous, highly addictive meth that we’re dealing with now.

    What’s known as methamphetamine, crystal meth, or meth has always been prevalent in America’s drug underworld, we just don’t hear about it as much in the mainstream media due to the opioid crisis being front and center on the nightly news. But in the 1990s, meth was public enemy number one. The rise of the Internet made recipes readily available for anyone who wanted to cook it up and reporters had a field day covering the resulting explosions in homes and mobile labs. Domestic production was especially prevalent in Missouri, which came to be known as the meth capital of the United States.

    Very Pure and Relatively Cheap

    But the meth scene that everyone had grown accustomed to slowly declined over the last 20 years, with explosions and arrests in Missouri dropping to almost none. At the same time, Mexican-based methamphetamine imports increased dramatically. Today, almost 90% of the methamphetamine in the United States comes from Mexican super labs and is primarily manufactured by the cartels. The biggest differences between domestic and foreign-made meth are the potency level, price point, and accessibility.

    “It’s a lot like Breaking Bad,” Tim Lohmar, the St. Charles County Prosecuting Attorney, tells The Fix. “And if you’re familiar with that show, you know that the purity of the methamphetamine and the ease of the mass production is what made it so addictive and relatively cheap. These Mexican labs are making a very pure methamphetamine. It’s almost night and day different than your old-fashioned basement meth lab sort of thing. They can mass produce the meth and distribute it at a reduced price, which consequently has led to a rise in local consumption.”

    William Callahan, Special Agent-in-Charge of the DEA St. Louis Division, says that according to the 2018 National Drug Threat Assessment, “Methamphetamine sampled through the DEA profiling program is almost 97% pure, while prices remain low and stable.” There are still some of the small shake-and-bake style labs across the state, but the vast majority of the methamphetamines coming into Missouri are from south of the border.

    Psychosis and Overdoses on the Rise

    The new improved drug contributed to almost 30 deaths last year, a jump from 7 the year before. Overdoses are on the rise.

    “It’s a lot stronger, so we’re seeing a lot more psychosis, but we’re also seeing it being tainted with fentanyl, which is leading to more deaths.” Brandon Costerison, project manager of the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Abuse (NCADA) in St. Louis, tells The Fix. “They’re making speedballs, like people used to do with cocaine and heroin in the ‘80s.”

    Lohmar thinks that most of the overdoses, especially ones that result in death, occur when people combine meth with something else like fentanyl or heroin. “A lot of the local suppliers will try to break down the methamphetamine, the pure methamphetamine, and put a filler in there,” he says. “And the person who’s ingesting it doesn’t even know what they’re ingesting, and that’s how we get a lot of these overdose situations.”

    With opioids killing people at an unprecedented rate, meth has been viewed as less risky and lower priority… Until recently.

    “Methamphetamine takes years, typically, to kill someone, whereas opioids can kill you the first time.” Costerison says. “When we’re looking at death tolls, opioids by far are leading, but we do see a lot of people dying either directly from methamphetamines or from complications associated with methamphetamine use.”

    Lohmar says that while we still have an opioid crisis, he thinks “it’s starting to plateau a little bit. I don’t know that the overdoses are decreasing, but I don’t think they’re increasing at the same rate they have been over the last handful of years. Seven, eight years ago, very few people knew about the opioid crisis, and nowadays everybody knows about it. Meanwhile, I think, when people think of methamphetamine, they think of the old-fashioned meth lab and they’re not aware of the dangerous, highly addictive meth that we’re dealing with now.”

    Despite the opioid epidemic taking center stage, “Meth has never flown under the radar at DEA.” Callahan tells The Fix. “Our agents work relentlessly to identify those involved in meth distribution domestically and internationally. Meth may not kill as many people; however continuous meth use does result in significant health issues.”

    Obstacles in Treating Methamphetamine Addiction

    Adults are using more meth than young people. “Folks tend to get into [meth] after the age of 18, though some do start using earlier,” Costerison says. “The biggest struggle with methamphetamine is that there’s not really any medications that help with the treatment. With opioids, we have methadone, Suboxone, Vivitrol. But when it comes to treating methamphetamine addiction there’s really no medication to help with the withdrawals and cravings.” The lack of medication-assisted treatment is a major obstacle for Missouri health officials who try to get people into long-term recovery.

    “There’s a lot of different things that we see when somebody starts withdrawing.” Costerison says. “At first, there’s the itchiness, irritability, and cravings. [Then] there’s depression, hallucinations, paranoia, and anxiety. After that [initial] crash, the cravings really kick up. But in the third stage the cravings start to subside. That can last 30 weeks or longer, depending on how much somebody’s been using.”

    The meth market has also been impacted by the legalization of marijuana, which has meant less income for the cartels. “The cartels were the major suppliers and producers of marijuana, historically, over the last 30-40 years,” Lohmar says. “And now that a lot of states have legalized marijuana, whether it’s recreational or medicinal, that’s cut into their market. That’s when they turned to heroin first, and now they’re turning to crystal methamphetamine. They’re always trying to stay one step ahead of the game.”

    The cartels can get the precursor ingredients for meth easily in Mexico and set up big super labs, allowing them to make a very high-potency, pure methamphetamine à la Walter White. With meth flooding Missouri, local law enforcement has ramped up their efforts to stop the flow. But since the distributors typically reside out of state, a lot of local efforts to climb the food chain end up turning into federal investigations.

    “Identifying meth suppliers has always been a top priority for the Drug Enforcement Administration.” Callahan tells The Fix. “We work closely with local and state law enforcement to identify violators and interdict drugs before they hit the street for retail sales. [We conduct] a thorough investigation aimed at dismantling the entire organization, including everyone from the kingpin to the money launderers, transporters, and dealers. The DEA also investigates the diversion of chemicals intended for the use of producing meth.”

    At the state level, “the goal is to try and find a small-time user and get them to supply information to move up the food chain and get the big players in the distribution networks,” Lohmar says. “We’ve got our undercover drug task force. We’ve got our highway interdiction team to intercept the traffickers coming through the state via the interstate highways. We’ve got a really good working relationship not just with the DEA, but with the U.S. Attorney’s office. There’s been a much bigger emphasis on meth, just because there’s a lot more out there.”

    Treating Addiction as a Health Issue, Not a Crime

    But as the drug war has proved unwinnable, authorities are starting to look at the problems here in Missouri as more of a health issue instead of a criminal one, at least in the lower echelons of the drug trade. As methamphetamine has moved out of the trailer parks and into the suburbs and inner cities, there has been a substantial increase of meth users entering treatment facilities. Lohmar says that locally, most of St. Charles County’s attention is spent dealing with the consumers rather than the distributors.

    “Our position now, really, across the board, but especially with somebody who’s an addict, is that we want to give them every opportunity to stay out of jail,” Lohmar says. “And sometimes they don’t take advantage of those opportunities, but the ones who do, I think, those are some good success stories. I think that’s a positive breakthrough.”

    Lohman says that the drug war era of harsh mandatory sentences is being replaced with a more humane view of drug addiction.

    “I’ve been in office for seven years and ever since I’ve been here and probably even a little bit before that, we’re looking at it more as an addiction issue as opposed to a criminal problem. Now, obviously, it’s a crime, but we also know that a lot of these folks who are addicted wouldn’t be committing crimes had it not been for their addictions.

    “We’re trying to use things like the treatment courts as alternative sentences, or alternative programs,” he says. “We’re giving people the chance to complete the program, and if they do, in some cases their charges are dismissed, or in other cases they don’t spend a day in jail, or things like that. So, we try to incentivize the treatments to give them a chance to improve their lives, and it’s been pretty successful.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Meth And Opioids: Exploring The Dual Addiction

    Meth And Opioids: Exploring The Dual Addiction

    Researchers speculate that meth has become a more viable option as the price of heroin has risen and opioid painkillers are harder to get.

    The number of people who are addicted to both opioids and methamphetamine is rising, particularly in the West of the country, complicating recovery efforts and leaving users even more at risk. 

    “You’re like a chemist with your own body,” said Kim, a former meth and heroin user who spoke to NPR. “You’re balancing, trying to figure out your own prescription to how to make you feel good.”

    Kim has been in recovery for a year, and her experience of trying to get off both heroin and meth is becoming more common. In San Francisco, 22% of people who use heroin starting rehab said they also had a problem with meth; that’s up from 14% in 2014. 

    University of California professor Dr. Dan Ciccarone, who teaches family community medicine, said that is a very high rate. 

    “That’s alarming and new and intriguing and needs to be explored,” he said. 

    While heroin and cocaine — a speedball — is traditionally a more common drug combination, using meth and opioids is an odd choice, he said. 

    “Methamphetamine and heroin are an unusual combination” that makes people feel “a little bit silly and a little bit blissful,” he said. 

    For Amelia, who has also been in recovery from heroin and meth addiction for a year, using both drugs was a matter of survival. She started using heroin to keep up with work. When that became too expensive, she turned to meth

    “The heroin was the most expensive part. That was $200 a day at one point. And the meth was $150 a week,” she said. 

    A study published in December 2018 found that 34% of heroin users said they also use meth. In 2011, only 19% of heroin users took meth as well. Researchers speculated that as opioids became harder to come by and heroin more expensive, drug users turned to meth, which is cheaper and more readily available, especially in the west. Meth — an upper — can also help people feel and function more normally despite using opioids. 

    “Methamphetamine served as an opioid substitute, provided a synergistic high, and balanced out the effects of opioids so one could function ‘normally,’” study authors wrote. 

    However, for Kim, the progression went from meth to heroin, not the other way. 

    “I thought, ‘Oh, heroin’s great. I don’t do speed anymore.’ To me, it saved me from the tweaker-ness,” she said. 

    No matter which drug comes first, the San Francisco Department of Public Healths’ Director of Substance Use Research, Dr. Phillip Coffin, said there is certainly a connection between opioid and methamphetamine use. 

    “There is absolutely an association,” he said. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Mother Interrupted

    Mother Interrupted

    We would go to Disneyland, attend little league games, and participate in the school bake sales. What set us apart from other parents? We were smoking copious amounts of methamphetamine.

    The following is excerpted with permission from Mother Load: A Memoir of Addiction, Gun Violence and Finding a Life of Purpose, from Rothco Press. Copyright 2019 by Wendy Adamson. All rights reserved.

    A mother’s body against a child’s body makes a place. It says you are here…. Without this body against you, there is no place. The absence of a body against my body created a gap, a hole, a hunger. That hunger determined my life. -Eve Ensler

    When I looked out the peephole of my front door, Kim, a twenty-four-year-old tweaker, was standing in a cropped t-shirt and skintight jeans, her blond hair covering one eye, peek-a-boo style. She had scored earlier that day and was back for more. It was obvious that she was doing a shit load of meth. But who was I to judge? It was the early nineties and my husband Max and I were living the so-called American Dream. We had two boys and managed apartment complexes with a swimming pool in a quiet suburb outside of Los Angeles. We would go to Disneyland, attend little league games, participate in the school bake sales and enjoy an occasional Sunday Bar-B-Q. What set us apart from other parents? We were smoking copious amounts of methamphetamine.

    Opening the door a crack, I looked over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed. “Come on in,” I said, quickly shutting the door behind her. Our nine-year-old son Rikki had fallen asleep in his room, while my sixteen-year-old, Jerry, was staying at his friend’s house a few blocks away. I hadn’t gotten any real sleep in days and I was exhausted. I was just about to call it a night when she knocked.

    A fringed leather purse bounced off her hip as she sashayed to the couch.
    “I like your purse,” I said. “Very sixties.”
    Kim sat down and fondled it like it was a puppy, “Oh this thing? I got it for ten bucks.” “Ten bucks?” I was struck with envy.
    “Yes ma’am.”

    Why does this bimbo refer to me as a ma’am? Is she trying to imply I’m old? How about I smack you upside the head with your puppy purse, you blond dimwit? I flashed her a phony smile.

    Just then, Max walked in, shirtless, rubbing his jet-black curly hair with a towel. “Yo, what’s happening Kim?”

    “Hi Max,” she giggled. “I came by to see if it’s too late to score a gram?”
    The dealer, wanting to cut down on foot traffic, had assigned Max as the middle man and for his efforts he’d get a cut of whatever he bought.

    “Giiirrrrlll, you know speed freaks don’t sleep,” he wagged his finger. “It’s never too late to score from a meth connection.”

    Kim laughed, while I blankly stared off in space. I had heard the recycled-speed-freak jokes before, just like I had heard all of Max’s jokes. I figured that’s just what happens when you’re married to someone for twenty years. Everything ends up being old recycled news.

    Within minutes Max and Kim headed out the front door to the connections across town. When I was sure the coast was clear, I rushed to the master bedroom and pulled out a stash I had tucked away earlier that day. Due to my increasing paranoia, I had convinced myself Max was doing speed behind my back. So, why not beat him at his own game?

    I poured a generous line of the white, glassy powder onto the crease of six-inch-squared- off tinfoil. With a straw gripped in my teeth, I held a flame a few inches underneath. The powder began to smolder and a metallic smoke spiraled upward. I sucked it in like a human vacuum cleaner, determined not to let any of it get away. I held the smoke in my lungs until they felt they might explode.

    As I set the foil down my heart was pounding like a drum. I gripped the edge of the mattress, riding the rush of adrenaline like a racecar driver hugging the wall of a sharp turn. The ceiling fan spun overhead. A dog barked somewhere in the neighborhood. The neurons fired in my brain like it was the Fourth of July.

    I was as jumpy as a lab rat and wanted to direct the frenetic energy in a constructive manner so, I went to the kitchen, sat on the sticky linoleum floor and started emptying the cabinets of all its pots and pans around me. I was trying to scale back because I had way too much ‘stuff’. I mean who needs three cheese graters when I barely use one?

    I looked down at the soles of my feet. They were filthy! Deep cracks ran along the edges of my heels. I made a mental note to take a shower but quickly dismissed the idea. The meth always made the water feel like tiny needles shooting all over my body. I shoved a nostril in my arm pit. It smelled like old meat. Maybe I’d take a bath later on?

    It was hard for me to stay focused on meth. One minute I would want to attend to house- wifey chores and the next I would feel a creative impulse come on. When inspiration hit me there was just no stopping it. I pushed myself up and rushed to the hallway cabinet where I kept my craft supplies. I had everything from dried flowers, beads and embroidery thread to ceramics, paintbrushes, and crayons. When I opened the cabinet a roll of gold ribbon fell to the floor and spun down the hall.

    As I stood my brain released an enormous cascade of creative ideas. I felt like such a visionary who could craft anything with my nimble hands. Eventually, I decided to make a colorful Easter bonnet, even though I had an aversion to anything churchy since being kicked out of Catholic school in the ninth grade. I grabbed my trusty glue gun, a batch of yellow silk flowers and a wide brimmed straw hat. With my arms full of supplies I went to the living room to set up a work station.

    I spread everything out on the floor when it occurred to me that the Johnny Carson Show was on. Geez. Was it that late already? Looking at the clock I saw it was now past midnight. Holy shit, Max had been gone for over two hours. Drug dealers may not have the best customer service skills, but normally it wouldn’t take so longWorried, I began flipping through worst- case scenarios in my head. What if he had gotten in a car wreck and he’s in the emergency room somewhere? Or what if they got busted, and he was sitting in the back of a police car? What then? I didn’t have the money to bail him out.

    Then it hit me. Call it a hunch, women’s intuition or instinct, but I knew down to the marrow of my tweaking bones that Max was cheating on me. In a flash everything slotted into place and made perfect sense. The way Kim giggled at his stupid jokes, the countless trips to the dealer they made, and the way she looked at him when he walked into the room. Why hadn’t I seen it sooner? How could I have been so fucking stupid!

    A tightness gripped my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to throw something, hit something with my fist. I wanted to scream at him, “You can’t do this to me you fucking asshole!” Instead, I went to the bedroom and smoked more speed. My hands shook as I sucked the spiraling metallic smoke into my lungs. My jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder my molars didn’t turn to dust. How could he do this me? Hadn’t I given him children as well as the best years of my life? In this moment it never occurred to me that I could leave him or kick him out of the house. Instead, I thought, maybe if I scared the shit out of him he’d think twice about ever cheating on me again. So, I had a plan as I slipped into the closet and stood on my tippy-toes, reaching around until I found the gun at the back of the shelf. My fingers gripped the hard steel of the .38 Smith & Wesson as I pulled it out. Max and I bought the gun a while back from a tweaker who was in need of cash. We somehow convinced ourselves it was a good idea to have around for protection in case anyone tried to break into our home.

    I went to the living room and placed the .38 on top of the armoire. Waiting, I paced back and forth like a feral cat. Images of Max and Kim fucking in the back of her El Camino played inside my brain like bad porno. Mother fucker! my head screamed, you can’t do this to meI cooked your food. I washed your dirty drawers. For what? To be discarded like some old coat you don’t want anymore? No fucking way. I won’t have it!

    I pushed the screen door, stepped onto the front porch but there was still no sign of them. My thoughts were coming at me like the rapid fire of an AK-47. He said he would always be there for me. He said he would never leave me. We made a promise to each other twenty years before that we’d grow old together. He can’t do this to me.

    My heart hammered against my chest. Sweat dripped down my back. I had managed to work myself up into an eyeball-boiling rage when I looked out the door again, I saw them. Max was driving Kim’s white El Camino, looking for a parking space. I grabbed the .38, barreled through the screen door and ran into the middle of the street. Taking a military stance, behind them, I extended both my arms, with the gun in a two-fisted grip, I aimed above the car and pulled the trigger.

    POW!

    The sound felt like it reverberated through my chest. The noise was so piercing it’s a wonder I didn’t give myself permanent hearing damage. The car didn’t stop so I ran after it with both my knees and arms pumping away. I distinctly remember seeing my neighbor, Mrs. Brown, peering out her large bay window with her head bobbing back and forth.

    Mind your own business you nosy bitch. This is a domestic affair.

    When they turned the corner I darted in between two parked vehicles and caught my foot on the curb. I fell onto the wet grass but popped back up like one of those blow up dolls that won’t stay down. When I turned the corner I was shocked to find the El Camino sitting in the middle of the street. I rushed over like a deranged special ops commando and hurled my torso across the still warm hood. My chest heaved. I was panting like a dog in heat. Kim was sitting shot gun with her jaw unhinged. I pointed the gun directly at Max’s face. His big brown eyes were filled with terror. It was a look I’d never seen before. Those were the same soulful eyes I’d fallen in love with at sixteen years old. He was the love of my life. My best friend. The father of my children.

    In an instant it felt like I slipped out of my body and was staring down at myself sprawled out across the hood of the car. I heard a voice reason inside my head say, “You know, Wendy, if someone were to see you right now they might think you were crazy.” And they would have been absolutely right. I was in the middle of a drug-induced psychotic break. Sleep deprived and smoking way too much methamphetamine for any human being to consume, I had snapped. I had lost my mind just like my mother had years before.

    Then Max must have come to his senses because he stepped on the gas. As the car moved forward I slid off the hood and landed solidly on my feet. Pointing the gun downward so I wouldn’t hit anybody, I fired another round. As I did Kim’s face contorted before they drove off. Oh shit! Did I hit her? No way! The gun was pointed down.

    I stood there out of breath and watched as the taillights disappeared with the weapon dangling by my side. That was not the result I had in mind when I picked up the gun. In some strange way I thought he wouldn’t leave me if I showed him I meant business. My next thought was to change my clothes so no one could identify me in a lineup if the cops happened to show up.

    I ran back to the house but before I went inside, I shoved the gun under a pile of dead leaves by the back porch.

    Once inside I checked on Rikki, who was still asleep. As I stood watching him breath one would think his pure innocence might penetrate my drug-induced state but that was not the case. It was as if the meth, a diuretic, had not only leached my sanity, but drained my maternal instincts as well.

    I headed for the bedroom where I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. My breath nearly jackknifed. My brown hair was disheveled, the bones in my face were all sharp edges and I was hunched over. My eyes were like two dead, vacant pools and my skin was a sallow gray. It was jarring how much I looked like my mother had when she had gone insane.

    A familiar darkness grabbed me like fingers around my throat. I wanted to stop the madness but had no idea how.

    I flinched when I heard something outside the window. I opened the front door and when I stepped onto the porch I was blinded by a dozen spotlights, pointing at me like fingers of accusation. “Hands in the air!” a disembodied voice yelled from beyond the glare.

    The Catholic girl still inside me did exactly what she was told as a stampede of Lomita sheriffs surrounded me. It all happened fast after that. One of them cuffed my hands while another patted me down and others rushed inside the apartment.

    My legs shook like a high-strung Chihuahua. A scruffy-looking cop slipped plastic baggies over my hands and manila envelopes over that.

    “What’s going on? What, what what are you doing?” I asked, feigning innocence.

    A young cop, who looked barely out of high school wrapped duct tape around the envelopes secured the envelopes at my wrists.

    “My son is asleep in there…”
    A cop yelled inches from my face. “SHUT UP!”
    I flinched. I felt like I might pass out.
    When they were done, it looked like I had two flippers where my hands were supposed to be.

    A young sheriff led me by my arm, shoved me into the back seat of his squad car and slammed the door. I leaned my forehead against the window and watched as cops scurried in and out of my apartment. Where was Max? Why hadn’t he come back to see what was going on? What was going to happen to me? I needed a cigarette so fucking bad.

    I looked down at the strange appendages resting on my lap. I realized the cops were trying to keep the gunpowder intact on my hands as evidence. I gripped the corner of the envelope with my teeth and began ripping, tearing, spitting the scraps of paper on the floor. Ripping, tearing, biting, and spitting like a trapped animal determined to get free. Finally, I broke through the plastic baggies and started licking my hand and fingers. I was no dummy. I knew how to outsmart those cops. I was in a frenzy when the front door of the squad car flew open. A good-looking cop peered through the thick mesh screen.

    “Look, Wendy.” He paused. “Why don’t you just tell me where you put the gun? It will be easier for you if you cooperate with us.”

    “Under the leaves by the back porch.” The words just rolled right off my tongue. You clearly wouldn’t want to drop me behind enemy lines. He ran off like a school kid picked for the winning team. When I thought about Jerry and Rikki my heart sank to my feet.

    Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God oh shit shit shit. My poor, poor boys. What the fuck have I done? What have I done?



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    View the original article at thefix.com