Pyrros daily usage for almost 4 years.
It all started with APiHP. I’ll never forget the confusion of learning how to use the oil burner for the first time. My boyfriend at the time vomited after just one hit, despite having an extremely high stimulant tolerance.
I was introduced to an entirely different world — ambition, electrifying happiness, overwhelming joy, vivid colors, phenomenal sensitivity to music and sound. Hit after hit, I had no understanding of how deeply this drug would change and consume my life — or, more accurately, how I would let it consume me. At the same time, I kept convincing myself that my self-control was too strong for addiction.
“Functional addict” — that was the image I had of myself.
I became desperate to isolate myself from the outside world: from work, from family, from making new friends or keeping the old ones. Being unemployed and living alone pushed me into MDPHP addiction frighteningly fast.
I remember losing all pleasure in going outside, in enjoying spring, in watching the trees bloom or feeling warm weather on my skin — because I would keep myself awake and locked in my room for days at a time. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Dear God, time flies when you’re smoking pyrros.
The routine never changed. Clean the pipe after the hit. Load the dose again. Take another hit. Hold it in for as long as possible. Exhale. Feel the rush. Lean back for a few seconds — then immediately reach for the pipe again. Over and over. On repeat.
I was constantly paranoid about the windows, terrified that neighbors would see me smoking. I checked endlessly whether the curtains were tightly shut. I locked my doors and stuffed clothes or rags into the gaps underneath them. I burned incense obsessively, spending an extra fifty dollars a month just to hide the unmistakable pyrro smell.
The greatest joy in my day was waking up after a four-day binge and realizing the rush would be stronger because I had managed to sleep for a few hours — usually no more than five or six. I remember taking that first hit and watching my pulse skyrocket on my wristwatch from 60 to 120 BPM within seconds, while I was still holding the smoke in my lungs, nearly fainting from suffocation.
Now, after almost ten months sober, I can say that getting sober has been the hardest and most time-consuming thing I’ve ever done. I still dream about smoking MDPHP — or more accurately, trying to smoke it, but never finding a safe place, never managing to get that hit. The craving in those dreams feels agonizing. It’s pure longing.
My brain transformed those periods of loneliness, worthlessness, and losing myself into something that now feels like nostalgia. That’s what makes it so confusing to live with.
Sometimes life feels even more disorienting now than it did ten months ago. Back then, life was horribly narrow, but it felt focused and simple. Now my mind feels scattered. Troubled.
Sometimes I grieve the fact that I hate being sober.
Sometimes I grieve what this addiction did to my mind.
And sometimes I wonder whether I will ever truly become the person I was before pyrros.
Hiding this sacred secret of mine feels tragically lonely and isolating. I just wanted to share it with somebody.