Every Sunday morning I see ghosts. Crystal meth ghosts.
Every Sunday, I get up and head out on the subway to go do physio training for my EDS.
And every Sunday morning, on my way to the gym, I see at least one young woman strung out on meth. Still riding a high from a Saturday night party.
They’re always talking at the speed of light. They’re always trying to connect with someone, with anyone.Their eyes are wild. They can’t sit still.
Depending on how long they’ve been using, their skin is picked apart, their teeth are shattered, their hair pulled. I know in my head they’re in their 20’s but they look so much older, so much harder.
The young woman today, she had the things you have when someone cares about you. A nice coat. Winter boots. A backpack. But her teeth were brown, worn shards, her skin full of sores and her clothes were falling off her tiny frame.
She had the most beautiful voice- she was singing in between her jabbered talking. She wanted to share a sandwich someone had given her. There was still a flicker of who she was, who she used to be, but she’s clearly dying.
I’ve been around long enough to see lots of drugs and lots of users. This isn’t like cocaine or heroin or even crack. Don’t even try it, not once. If you’re taking it, stop. If you can’t stop, get help.
I don’t know much about addiction - I’m just not set up for it, I guess. But I see this every Sunday morning, I see this drug chewing young women apart from the inside.
And I can see what they were, I can see them thinking hey, once isn’t going to kill me.
And then they become ghosts, riding the subway on a Sunday morning.