In high school, I once went into my local target, and as usual, located the triple C boxes (dxm). I got like 6-8 boxes who fucking knows, and like normal, took them to the bathroom to dismantle, fold and throw away the boxes, and take the pills to conceal it all easier. Welp, I was high, and fucking forgot to lock the bathroom door.

So, here I am, sitting on the toilet, with my pants actually down cuz I figured I’d sit and take a piss while I did this ya know? Efficiency purposes. Well, I hear the door open. I look up, and it’s a young woman, older than me at the time but no older than 25 at the very most. She looks me in the face, looks down at my lap, back up at my face, and says “I… I am sorry”. I reply “no problem at all!” with a casual tone and a smile I assumed was charming at the time but probably looked absolutely insane, especially considering I was sitting on the toilet with a bunch of packets of pills sitting on my bare thighs.

Couple seconds later, my brain caught up with the situation and realized just how fucked this was. So, I get up with my pants around my ankles, lock the door, and continue with my business. Put all the boxes into the trash, folded up and wrapped in toilet paper so they weren’t very easy to identify at first glance, and got on out of there. On my way out the store, I turned into an aisle and almost ran directly into the woman who found me. The look she gave me was pure FEAR. It was at this moment I truly realized what a goddamn fucking crackhead I was.

But that didn’t stop me. I was well into what was essentially a DXM bender. I had no consistent access to anything else, and I was so fucking fried from the shit all the time I just completely disassociated myself from my crimes. I was doing DXM in the morning, afternoon and LATE into the night and next morning. Every. Day. At school, on field trips, on dates with my girlfriend at the time (who had no fucking clue, yes, really) along with cannabis whenever I could get my hands on it. This consistent use lasted over two months. When I stopped? I dry heaved once or twice a day for a couple days, and otherwise had zero withdrawals. Part of the reason the whole thing lasted so long was because I was terrified of the withdrawals, but for some reason they didn’t exist, making the whole thing feel even more worthless, self destructive, and utterly depraved. I have more stories from this era, but this is probably the dumbest. Not the most embarrassing that’s for sure.