Crystal methamphetamine or "Ice" is a drug which is rising in popularity. It has some pretty horrendous side effects which users may not be aware of, from extreme paranoia, to feeling like bugs are crawling under the skin (which often results in users scratching off their own skin).
In 2005, I got a vivid insight to what Ice can do to not only the user's life, but those around them.
It must have been around June 2005, after returning from a few years overseas, when I was looking for work in Sydney and went to stay on my brother's couch for a couple of days. He had two flatmates, one of whom, named Roger, had recently been fired from his job.
From what I understood, the job had been lost because of poor performance- generally not showing up to work, and acting quite strangely over a period of several months. Add in a few things like forgetting to shower for days on end, and it raised a few eyebrows. Eventually I believe it was quite obvious to a lot of the people there that he was heavily using drugs- could not be relied upon to get the job done any more, and was creating quite a disturbance for others in the company.
The unfortunate part for us was that my brother was also working at the same company. As we later learned, it seems that Roger believed, in his Ice-addled state, that my brother was plotting to ruin his life, and was a key factor in his being fired.
This particular night I was staying there, I had gone out for some drinks with friends, and come back to the apartment at about 2am, at which time I heard music playing in Roger's bedroom and smelled the distinct aroma of weed being smoked. I took up my place on the couch and tried to get some sleep, but with the noise of the music I couldn't drift off.
A while later, Roger emerged from his bedroom wearing a t-shirt, swimming goggles and a beanie... and that was all. No pants. No underpants. Despite the strangeness of this scene, I suppressed a giggle, and tried to ignore him and get some sleep.
For about 10 minutes he wandered around the kitchen, which was attached to the living room and fully visible from where I was lying, mumbling to himself: "Going to the spa, going to the spa... I'm going to the spa... doo doo *humming*. Yes a spa, lovely, going to the spa... going to the spa.." etc ad nauseum. Although it was almost 3am by this point, there was a spa in the complex and it was feasible that he could have accessed it, so my mind was trying to ascribe some semblance of sense to the situation and assume this was what he was intending to do.
Then after pottering around pants-less for a while, he returned to his bedroom. Not long after I smelled something different, unlike marijuana and more chemical in nature.
I must have drifted off to sleep for a few minutes, as next thing I knew he emerged from the room again, but this time he was dressed in full army camouflage uniform, with big black boots and an altogether different demeanour. There was no more humming to himself; no talk of going to the spa.
Roger walked into the kitchen again, and put his hands on the bench, head bent forward, as though serious and thoughtful. Something about his mannerisms made me feel very uncomfortable. He began talking to himself again:
"We are all defined by our actions. What we do defines who we are. Therefore my name is Kill-Mick."... and this he repeated several times.
My brain started racing, tired and trying to find some logic in this incredibly bizarre scene, while at the same time thinking "Oh fuck- my brother's name is Mick."
It was at this point Roger opened one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a large knife, then proceeded to drag it back and forth over the edge of the granite benchtops, sharpening the blade.
He took the knife and marched down the hall towards my brother's bedroom door, and I began to panic. This was a man who was clearly out of his mind, armed and had just stated his intent to kill my brother.
My heart racing, I grabbed the only thing in reach I could possibly use to defend myself should he also come for me- an empty wine bottle which was sitting on the coffee table next to me, and my mobile phone, and went out on to the balcony to call the police. To leave the apartment I would have had to go past Roger and draw attention to myself- and it was clear there'd be nothing I could do to stop him.
As luck would have it, Mick had locked his bedroom door that night. Roger stood there knocking on it and trying to get in for a few minutes, then went back in his room to have another hit of ice.
As I described the situation to the police- man armed with a knife, saying he's going to kill someone, on drugs- presumed to be Ice- I heard the sirens start even before I'd hung up the phone. Full credit to the NSW police here- they were at the apartment within 3 minutes.
My brother had, quite fortunately, slept through the whole incident. He came out of his room bleary eyed, wondering what the noise was about, and why the hell the police were in the apartment.
Despite Roger being taken away by the police, put on overnight lock up, and restraining orders placed so he "couldn't" come back to the apartment or my brother's workplace, it went on for another few years. There were phone messages left for us describing exactly how he'd like to disembowel us and dance around in our entrails, and other such glorious deaths he planned. Several times the apartment was broken into, things were stolen and notes were left, just so we knew he could get us any time he wanted.
Until eventually, after a few years a friend sent us a notice they'd seen in the newspaper- an obituary for Roger. I can't say I even feel bad about celebrating his death, although he was
only 35 years old, as it couldn't have happened to a more deserving individual.
*Some names/ identifying details have been changed.
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