Guest article by Alex Hamilton, whose Facebook and Instagram can be found at Immortal_Explorer.
A word of advice on smoking a two foot long line of crystal meth. Only do it if you’re in a situation where it’s permissible to be purple for the next two hours. Or if you have barely any regard for your own life.
We huddled in the bathroom, the veins on Nick’s temples were bulging like a small but thriving coral reef. My heart was beating like a gazelle that had narrowly escaped a lion. Alex was outside, somehow arranging a taxi.
The part about getting from the bungalow to the taxi is a bit of a blur, but anyway, the next thing I know I’m hurtling towards Phnom Pen at about ninety miles an hour. The roads were undeveloped and dangerous. It was a four hour journey, so naturally I’d had the foresight to stock up on supplies.
As the taxi meandered down the scenic roads of Sihanoukville we casually continued the bender. Alex and I were sat in the back, I looked at him, telepathically hinting at him to get the meth out. I’d brought the tin foil from the apartment. However after a brief discussion we agreed that this wasn’t exactly the time or place. The driver’s window was open so we’d never have gotten the lighter to stay lit. It was a stupid idea, I’d have ended up wasting some. So for the next four hours we were reduced to morphine and diazepam. I’d have murdered someone for some LSD at that point. You can imagine how bored we were. We were going to take the ketamine but we decided to save it so that we’d have some form of anesthetic in the event of a car crash. The empathy I felt for Nick was unparallelled, he was in the passenger seat and so slipping him drugs unnoticed was slightly more difficult. I doubt he was getting more than a few hundred milligrams an hour.
At one point we came to an intersection. There was a shrine to Buddha. Alex suggested we get out and pray for good luck. I wasn’t against the idea. Two minutes later I’m kneeling at the feet of a the statue of guzzling morphine and diazepam like a lunatic, whilst praying for safety. I imagine I took this opportunity to get in a quick hit of meth, but I can’t remember for certain.
Thousands of milligrams later we arrived in Phnom Pen.
The Rose and Parrot Hotel was the lodging of choice. We put our stuff in our rooms and smoked dinner before picking up the first hookers that would have us. To say they were against drugs would be a slight understatement, so we tried to be as discreet as possible. I told her the morphine and diazepam were to help me sleep. I wasn’t lying. However with the meth, well, let’s just say I spent a lot of time in the toilet.
We ignored the ridiculous advice of our lonely planet guide and headed to a ‘Cambodian only’ nightclub. The girls managed to talk them into letting us in. The main dance floor was about half the size of a football pitch and people were passed out left right and center, either dying or dead. As it happened there was an on stage dance contest being held that evening. The girl I was with encouraged me to enter, even though I could barely stand let alone dance at a competitive level. However due to the misfortune of having taken less morphine than me, Nick was up for it.
He clawed his way onto the stage and began the performance, and it was mind blowing. At one point he was moving so quickly that he resembled Shiva. He ended up coming second in the contest. The girls said he’d have won but there’s no way they’d have given first place to a westerner.
The following week would be best described via the means of a list, as opposed to a paragraph. By this point I could no longer stand, I had no desire for food and no ability to sleep. Just a massive desire for drugs, which luckily were in huge supply.
I don’t know exactly how much diazepam I’d graced myself with, but the tub they came in was the same size as one of those massive protein powder ones that body builders use.
As Nick and Alex partied, I spent several days alone in my windowless room, having been thoroughly abandoned by my anti-drug lady friend.
Days passed, my only company were the characters on the seemingly perpetual Cambodian soap opera that was playing on the one TV channel I could get. I consumed an incomprehensible volume of chemicals over this grueling period of the adventure – it was basically glorified gluttony. The quarter full tub of Diazepam was on the bedside table. I lay there, continually shoveling handfuls of them down my throat like you do popcorn at the cinema.
After about a week, I’d had literally thousands of milligrams. The meth was the only thing keeping me alive by this point. My lungs would have certainly stopped working without its assistance.
I lay there, going deeper and deeper into insanity. If it wasn’t for the conference going on in my head I’d have felt like I was in solitary confinement. I considered writing ‘any further’ on the do not disturb sign, but didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention. However what happened next was about to put me well and truly under the spotlight…
To be continued.
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