Dan and I were skulking around a few nights ago when we came across this young fellow lurking behind a dumpster in the lane behind Insite. High on crystal meth and in some kind of drug psychosis, he was picking the scabs from his gaunt face and swollen hands
We stopped to ask what he was doing. He said he was picking the crank bugs that were burrowed under his skin. He was convinced the bugs were crawling all over him. I explained there were no bugs and that he was in the middle of drug psychosis. He didn’t believe me.
I used my little point-and-shoot to take pictures of his hands and face so I could prove there were in fact no bugs. He still wasn’t convinced.
We started talking about life and about addiction. He seemed like such a decent kid. He explained how his addiction started after years of childhood trauma and abuse, including a revolving door of foster homes. He explained how be began smoking pot, which eventually took him in search of bigger and better ways to get high. For him, marijuana was most definitely a gateway drug.
We parted ways and wished him luck. I hope I never see him again. Sadly, I know I probably will.