Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines

by Nic Sheff

He is someone you want a relationship with and I bet it’s pretty hard having this weight on you.”

“I’m just so embarrassed,” I tell him.

I’ve had therapists in the past denounce how overexposed I was as a child.

I’m not sure whether my father will ever forgive me for the direction my life has taken. I’m not sure if he ever should. I am a disappointment. I have let him down so many times. I guess that’s another reason I don’t want to call my dad. I’m scared of taking on the responsibility of having a relationship with him. I never want to hurt him again by building up his hopes and then smashing them all to pieces. I’ve done that so many times.

I ask God to be with me, to help me hear. I repeat that over and over. It does seem to help, really.

It’s like I need to kill my body with exercise in order to be calm enough to function throughout the rest of the day.

I also have incredible anxiety socializing with people.

mean, if I’m at work, or I’m high, then that’s okay. But sober, going out with people my age, I a...

I always thought a passion like that could keep you sober. I guess that’s stupid. What about

“God,” I say. “Thank you for walking me through this. Thank you for letting me be there for my dad. Thank you for letting me hear him and treat him with humility and kindness. Please guide me, God. I mean, I really need help.”

It feels like he’s weighing every word, just trying to feel out if he should trust me or not. I guess that could all be in my head, though.

Lauren. I close the blinds and lie back down. I try to sleep. My mind is going round and round. I think about my dad, my little brother and sister, my stepmom. I think about Lauren. This image keeps repeating itself in my head—an image of sticking a needle in my arm. I see it so vividly. I see an image of Lauren and me making love. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. I see an image of Gack and I just want my mind to stop—to become completely empty.

My mind is going round and round. I think about my dad, my little brother and sister, my stepmom. I think about Lauren. This image keeps repeating itself in my head—an image of sticking a needle in my arm. I see it so vividly. I see

I just want my mind to stop—to become completely empty.

I try redirecting my thoughts to thoughts of God. It doesn’t work. I lie on my bed for over an hour. My thoughts are just obsessing on everything—my past—my fear of the future. I can’t turn them off. I lie there like that till I fall asleep.

My thoughts are just obsessing on everything—my past—my fear of the future. I can’t turn them off. I lie ther...

And then it comes to me. Without really meaning to, I start singing an old John Lennon song, “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy),” but I change the words, of course, to “Beautiful Girl.” I sing it over and over, at first absently, not really connected to what I’m doing. “Close your eyes

Have no fear The monster’s gone He’s on the run and your daddy’s here.”

Something catches in my throat as I sing this last part. I can see myself, suddenly, a little boy, my dad singing that same s...

“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful Beautiful (girl) Darling, Darling, Darling Darling (Lucy).”

I press my hand against her back and sing—softly, almost whispering the words. And then there are the hot, salty tears streaming down.

But I want to keep singing for some

reason and I choke on the words. “Before you cross the street, take my hand, Life is what happens to you While you’re busy making other plans…”

And that feeling is there, inside me—being small, with all the confusion and worry and longing—but also the peace and safety—being wrapped in a blanket with...

That is so there in her. But it’s also in Spencer, in my dad lying with me as a child on the futon. It’s even in me. Sure, I buried it. I buried it and buried it and turned away

I buried it. I buried it and buried it and turned away from everything light and sweet and delicate and lovely and became so scared and scarred and burdened and fucked up. But that goodness is there, inside—it must be. “Every day, in every way, It’s getting better and better…”

from everything light and sweet and delicate and lovely and became so scared and scarred and burdened and fucked up. But that g...

“Every day, in every way, It’s getting better and better…” I let those words fall, wanting—wan...

I let those words fall, wanting—wanting so bad ...

That makes the tears burn hot in my eyes. “I love you, too,” I say. “You know, I wouldn’t be alive right now if it wasn’t for you guys. You’re the only ones who’ve stood by me.” “Well, we always will. Thank you, Nic.

“You know, I wouldn’t be alive right now if it wasn’t for you guys. You’re the only ones who’ve stood by me.”

It’s strange, but not being able to exercise these last couple days, I feel really crazy in my head. It’s like my thoughts race so fast and I have this underlying anxiety and feeling of hopelessness. It is very acute and I’m not sure what to do but go ride my bike or run ten miles or something. It’s this obsessive-compulsive feeling that never goes away. Even

being here with Lucy, I can’t help

but be somewhat distracted. I just can’t control my s...

Nobody has ever accepted me as purely and selflessly as he has. I’m terrified really, but I try hard not to show it.

The curtains are open and the sun is lighting the room, though somewhat dimly. I think about morphine—or heroin, really. I see the needle going in, the excitement of pulling back the plunger and watching the blood dart up into the syringe—pushing it slowly so it disappears into your arm as if by magic. I think about the tingling numbness creeping up the back of your neck and the euphoric calm that pulses through everything. In a way, I guess, I’m looking at Spencer with a certain amount of envy. Being sick is like a Get Out of Jail Free card. I remember when

I think about morphine—or heroin, really. I see the needle going in, the excitement of pulling back the plunger and watching the blood dart up into the syringe—pushing it slowly so it disappears into your arm as if by magic. I think about the tingling numbness creeping up the back of your neck and the euphoric calm that pulses through everything. In a way, I guess, I’m looking at Spencer with a certain amount of envy. Being sick is like a Get Out of Jail Free card. I

I wonder how easy it would be to get my hands on a bottle of Dilaudid or something. I could go shoot up in the bathroom. With Spencer being in the state he’s in, he probably wouldn’t even notice. But then I think about Lucy and how I would be high, possibly nodding out, while she would just want to play with me, be comforted, be made to feel safe while her daddy is in the hospital.

I just can’t let them down—not now, not ever. My life has become so full, and for the first time ever, I want to take responsibility for myself and the effect I have on others.

My life has become so full, and for the first time ever, I want to take responsibility for myself and...

“They’re giving me my shot now. If you feel uncomfortable, you can step outside, okay?” “Uh…” I have to think for a minute. Part of me wants to see the needle go in so I can just, you know, remember. But I also just feel sort of sick about it all. When it comes down to it, I just don’t even want to get high anymore. Shooting drugs was all about not having to face my life—not having to live in reality. But I don’t want to escape anymore. I don’t want to experience life through a veil of false emotions. I guess I just want to be authentic for a change. So I go out and pace the halls for a minute.

Part of me wants to see the needle go in so I can just, you know, remember. But I also just feel sort of sick about it all. When it comes down to it, I just don’t even want to get high anymore. Shooting drugs was all about not having to face my life—not having to live in reality. But I don’t want to escape anymore. I don’t want to experience life through a veil of false emotions. I guess I just want to be authentic for a change. So I go out and pace the halls for a minute.

It’s hard for me to look at them. It’s as though

all the emptiness inside of all of us—regret about our past and fear about our future—has been physically manifested in these withering bodies. I shudder when I imagine getting old. Up until a few months ago, I didn’t even have hope of surviving past my twenties. Now that I want to live again, all this sickness and decay makes me feel humble and even slightly humiliated. How could I have so willingly thrown my life away when all these people are fighting desperately, every day, to save theirs?

old. Up until a few months ago, I didn’t even have hope of surviving past my twenties. Now that I want to live again, all this sickness and decay makes me feel humble and even slightly humiliated. How could I have so willingly thrown my life away when a...

I feel a twisting inside my belly that must be guilt, or regret, ...

I think about Spencer and the chance he’s given me at a new life—allowing me to have a shred of hope again.

“It feels good,” he says. “But would I give it all up for this high? Would I give up Lucy? Michelle? My career? Our bike

rides together? The friends I

h...