After 30 hours with no sleep, which included two nights of dancing, drinking, using Ecstasy and “G”, someone slipped me an overdose of God knows what.
In about an hour I was so messed up I couldn’t complete a sentence. Before long I was vomiting. But not just vomiting, I mean VOMITTING. As in the medic said I almost drowned in it.
Within another hour I was in a coma unable to breathe for myself. The medics took me to the local hospital and put me in the ICU (Intensive Care Unit). The doctors told my friends there was a good chance a vessel busted in my brain and I may have incurred brain damage and/or possible brain death. They said the next 6 to 12 hours would be critical. Of course, I have no memories of all this.
About six hours into a coma, I found my way back into consciousness and I was horrified at what I saw: A tube was down my throat breathing for me. I was connected to all kinds of wires and other not so pleasant things like a catheter jammed up my d–k to siphon the urine out.
It’s a miracle that within 48 hours of being taken into the hospital in a coma, being kept alive by a machine, I walked out on my own two feet. But unfortunately, right into PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). I can’t sleep and when I do, I have nightmares that I’m choking. My doc has given me Ambien to sleep and Klonopin to calm me down, which has helped a lot.
For a few weeks, I cried all the time, though that’s getting better too. Needless to say, this near-death experience has changed that part of my life completely. I don’t touch the stuff anymore and I’m telling everyone to stay away from it.
Woody, would you print this letter and tell everyone to flush all their drugs down the toilet? Everyone I know reads your column. Do the responsible thing and tell them how to say no to drugs.
Dear Over it:
You must have me confused with Dear Abby. I don’t give dried-vagina advice.
I will never tell people to stop doing drugs. Our thirst for adventure can’t and shouldn’t be quashed. We just need to be smart about it: Don’t jump out of a plane without a parachute and don’t take drugs until you learn from the experts how to avoid injury or death.
Start with www.dancesafe.org. In future columns I’ll be giving you the 411 so you can avoid the 911.
It’s like you’re admitting you made an awful mistake and now you want everyone else to pay for it. I’m not buying it. Most people who take drugs do it responsibly. You didn’t. You fell off the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.
I know you’re hurting and you genuinely want to help your friends avoid what you went through. But you’re never going to do it by becoming a pain-in-the-a– moralist.
Get therapy. You need to find out how can you use this awful experience, this journey into darkness, into something that will help you and the people around you.
To all my other readers, listen to Sister Kitty Catalyst of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence: “There’s nothing fabulous about a trip to the emergency room. The lighting is bad, the outfits are horrid, and they have no idea what a VIP line is.”