The Ice Age

by Luke Williams

  So what’s going on here? Are official government surveys failing to capture a group of transient, paranoid users who never seek help, lack the self-awareness to answer research groups properly, and lie about whether or not they are using meth (let alone whether or not it is causing them harm or psychosis)? Or are these surveys not even reaching the population group — such as the homeless, the mentally ill, and prisoners — who are statistically more likely to take meth?

  This seems to be a controversial issue. The National Drug and Alcohol Research Centre (NDARC) declined to provide a person to be interviewed on whether the NDSHS figures were accurate, although a spokesperson conceded that their research doesn’t cover homeless or imprisoned populations. Indeed, slightly different research cohorts might be part of the confusing impressions left in the media. An NDARC spokesperson, Lucy Burns, told The Guardian Australia that:

  The AIHW [the NDSHS] was a general population survey — which means they don’t concentrate on people who might actually be in the drug market.

  Perhaps, though, the answer is both simpler and more nuanced than it first seems. If you look more closely at the NDSHS data, you’ll see that while meth use per capita isn’t increasing, there has been a significant increase in the proportion of users taking it daily or weekly (from 9.3 per cent to 15.5 per cent), particularly among ice users (from 12.4 per cent to 25.3 per cent) between 2010 and 2013. What’s more, it also shows that use of the less potent meth powder decreased significantly from 51 per cent to 29 per cent, while the use of ice (or crystal methamphetamine) more than doubled, from 22 per cent in 2010 to 50 per cent in 2013. From this, it can be concluded that while crystal meth is not taking over the community in ‘pandemic proportions’, many existing drug users — who once had hold of their drug use — are slipping into potentially addictive behaviour because a more potent drug is on the market. The fact that amphetamine users are using methamphetamine more often could also explain why there is more harm being caused. Crystal meth isn’t ‘recruiting’ people with no drug history; instead, casual users of powdered meth — often referred to as ‘speed’ or just ‘meth’ — and ecstasy have found themselves taking a more powerful and far more addictive version of the class of drugs that they had thus far been able to use in moderation (although this may change as younger generations come through without prior experience of any other drugs, and find that crystal meth is available in the same way ecstasy or powdered meth has been for previous generations who eventually graduated to crystal-meth use). In this regard, we can say that while crystal meth is a significant social problem, there isn’t really a ‘meth epidemic’ — at least not if we define ‘epidemic’ as a thing that spreads through the general community like an infectious disease — because it’s pre-existing amphetamine users (not the population at large) who are being affected, albeit often very seriously.

  In February 2016, NDARC released a report conducted by a research team that went beyond population surveys and instead measured data on treatment episodes for amphetamines, including people seeking counselling, rehabilitation, detoxification, and hospitalisation. The team, led by Professor Louisa Degenhardt, concluded that ‘the number of regular methamphetamine users has almost tripled from 90,000 in 2009–2010 to 268,000 in 2013–2014’. Noting that their figures provided us with the first ‘quantitative estimate of the scale of the problem of methamphetamine use in Australia’, the study warned that methamphetamine dependence had more than doubled in people aged between fifteen and twenty-four between 2009–10 and 2013–14: ‘Worryingly 1.14 per cent of young people aged 15–24 are estimated to be dependent on the drug compared with only 0.4 per cent in 2009–2010’ the report, published in The Medical Journal of Australia, said.

  ACC figures indicate that methamphetamine purity has risen, in Victoria, from approximately 20 per cent in the 2010–11 reporting period to more than 75 per cent in the 2012–13 period. In New South Wales, it rose over the same period from 9.5 per cent purity to 68 per cent; in Queensland, from 13 per cent to 52 per cent; in South Australia, from 31 per cent to 54 per cent; in West Australia, from 32 per cent to 50 per cent; and in Tasmania, from 9 per cent to 64 per cent.

  Why is this purity rising? Over the last four years there has been far more methamphetamine coming into Australia from developing countries, particularly through the postal system via airmail. While we used to have powdered meth, the crystallised form is now far more common, and this form of the drug is far more potent (although, to confuse matters, they are both referred to as just ‘meth’ in street slang). Powdered meth and crystal meth are made the same way, with the same ingredients; it’s just that ‘crystallising’ the ‘base’ involves a few more steps in the process.

  The vast majority of the 500,000 Australians who used meth in the last twelve months are not dependent on it (though this does not necessarily mean that meth isn’t having a negative impact on their lives). Dependence is a slippery concept in meth, but generally — if we accept that the official statistics are accurate — most meth users use occasionally, and most (although I remain suspicious of this self-reporting statistic, for reasons already stated) do not report harms such as psychosis, or commit crimes. Australia Bureau of Statistics drug-market modellers have calculated that there are approximately ten times more ‘occasional’ users of methamphetamine than there are ‘heavy users’. This is not the case with heroin, where they estimate ‘heavy users’ outnumber ‘occasional users’. Rebecca McKetin, a fellow at ANU’s College of Medicine, Biology and Environment, estimates that there are around 100,000 addicts, or about 20 per cent of this number. (Addict’ refers to someone who is using more than once a week.)

  In his presentation to the Victorian parliamentary committee on methamphetamine use, addiction specialist Dr David Jacka agreed, for the most part, that a combination of media reporting and a misunderstanding of the true nature of addiction has contributed to a perception that methamphetamine results in more serious dependency problems than is the case, at least compared to other drugs. Dr Jacka said:

  The vast majority of people never go beyond functional use. They never go beyond recreational use. It [meth] is nowhere near as addictive as cigarettes, nicotine … Crack cocaine is a really good example of something that is much more addictive. Heroin is much more addictive. Methamphetamine, crack and ice are perhaps more addictive than ordinary amphetamines, but it is still of the order of 15 to 20 per cent of people who use the drug habitually will become dependent. It is not the majority by any means.

  One of the key risks is that by focusing on the ‘hard end’ of drug use, we may miss opportunities to take a more preventative approach and address important but less severe issues among users. It is important not to accept without reservation accounts suggesting all users behave in a violent or psychotic manner, particularly after only occasional or short-term episodes of using the drug.

  I do know one guy, a journalist, who says he uses meth every time he needs to move house, and finds the drug incredibly useful. I also know a woman who works as a drug counsellor who uses the drug just once a year — on New Year’s Eve. Then there are the club bunnies — I’ve known many private-school kids who revel in the edginess of meth use, while still maintaining all the things that make them privileged. The meth use seemed to enhance their image; these were good-looking kids who loved extended after-parties, and saying things like, ‘Oh no, a bit of three-thirty-itis’ before smoking their crack pipe in the middle of the day. I’ve stayed in contact with many of them, and as far as I can tell they never lost their jobs, or jeopardised their education — as they got older, they simply gave up the drug, and now lead fairly safe and steady lives.

  I am reminded of a passage from William Burroughs’ Naked Lunch, where a middle-use opiate user assumes the narrator’s role to tell us that in the futuristic dystopian world:

  How low the other junkies, whereas we — WE have this tent and this lamp, and this tent and this lamp and this ten
t and nice and warm in here and warm nice and IN HERE … IT’S COLD OUTSIDE where the dross eaters and the needle boys won’t last two years … But WE SIT HERE and we never increase the DOSE never-never increase the dose, except TONIGHT is a SPECIAL OCCASION.

  I have gotten to know one user, while researching this book, who appears to have her life absolutely together — she is articulate, confident, and introspective — and yet she uses meth nearly every weekend. She gets paid very well in a Sydney corporate marketing job, and told me that she uses frequently, sometimes weekly, but has never missed a day of work, doesn’t get depressed, and, all-in-all, her usage doesn’t have a negative impact on her life. And I believed her — I often had conversations with her online when she was using, and it often took me a long time to notice she was off her face. She was very friendly and very happy when she was using, and although her thoughts moved more quickly than they normally did, she perhaps wasn’t quite as sharp as her usual self. She had a tendency to take things very literally, but generally her mind seemed to operate as usual — perhaps even a bit better.

  ‘So why don’t you think it’s problematic for you?’ I asked her.

  ‘Control,’ she replied. ‘I always take my dose on a Friday. It keeps me awake for two nights, and then I fall asleep on Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘How do you manage to fall asleep on it?’

  ‘My anti-anxiety medication: I don’t come down, I float down.’

  Her long sleep from Sunday afternoon to Monday morning mitigated the nights she stayed awake. During those two days, she not only had fun, but also cleaned her house, and came up with many new ideas that she would later implement to enhance both her working and leisure life.

  I wasn’t around Smithy and Beck when they started using crystallised meth during the summer of 2011–12. But I was there when they first got together in 2007, and I lived with them from 2009 to 2011, when they were using speed each week. What I’d noticed about Smithy was that, during the week, if he didn’t have any pot when he was coming down off speed, he would just lie in bed, in a catatonic state, and stare at the walls. If his mood was slightly more elevated than this, he would whinge, complain about everything, and not greet you when you walked in the door. Then ‘Smithy Super Saturday’ would come again, and he would be in your face, saying, ‘I used to think you were just Beck’s friend, but now I know you and I are friends — fucking great friends, too. Do you want another line?’

  As for their relationship, it was never particularly good. Over time, their arguments became a bi-weekly phenomenon. I had also lived with them for a period of just over a year, about six months into their relationship. I remember getting up in the middle of the night to eat some Nutella; all the lights were off, and Smithy was bedded down in the lounge room (like he always did) while Beck was lying down in bed. They were just winding down from an argument.

  Randomly, almost as if he was talking in his sleep, Smithy yelled out, ‘You stupid, dirty fucking slap—’

  Without taking a breath, Beck responded, ‘You worthless, dole-bludging, lazy, drug-fucked fucking piece of turd—’

  ‘Fucking oxygen thief,’ he said after a 30-second pause.

  I took the Nutella jar, and tiptoed back to my bedroom.

  Over time, I got tired of Smithy’s sleaziness when he was off his face, as well as of his passive-aggression when he was coming down. Beck, too, could be extremely trying during the week, screaming at her kids first thing in the morning, and going into crying fits over (apparently) nothing. One day, Smithy and I got into an argument that ended in a physical fight; after that, I didn’t see them for another two years. This was the 2011–13 period, when they started using meth. Once they started using, Smithy began committing crimes, his moods became intolerably chaotic, his breath turned rancid and a front tooth fell out, and their arguing got worse. One night, he and Beck had an altercation, during which, according to Beck, she hit him first with her fists and then with a toaster. Smithy had a restraining order issued against her. She got her own place just around the corner, and they started talking again. They were using meth daily by this point — unlike their use of speed, which had been weekly.

  Eventually, I started talking to Beck again, and then Smithy. The first night I saw him after our long break (and after he’d started taking crystal meth), he looked noticeably different — he’d gone from looking like a knockabout, ‘you beaut’, working-class bloke to a grubby criminal. He wore black clothes, had spots on his face, and that prominent missing front tooth. We never mentioned what happened between us the day of the fight — ‘blokes get over things, blokes don’t hold grudges’ — and we managed to form a new friendship, stronger than the one we had before.

  I tell this story to demonstrate that although Beck and Smithy weren’t a clean, nice, problem-free couple, meth did ramp up the extent to which their worst sides featured in their lives. Beck became more moody and more verbally abusive to her kids; her tantrums shifted up a gear from yelling to violent outbursts. Smithy’s sleaziness became a full-time obsession; his threats to punch me, and others, in the face were almost constant. His paranoia about being ripped off slipped into psychosis at times. Once he started taking meth, he ended up taking so many days off work that his boss told him he should take a permanent vacation. When he went into Centrelink to apply for the dole, they took one look at him and suggested he apply for the Disability Support Pension instead.

  Smithy and Beck’s descent into problematic meth use had a long, perhaps sequential history, and was often simply dictated by the availability of the drug. All things considered, however, there can be little question that the drug made their lives less stable, and made both of them more prone to violence.

  It is important to note that not all meth users become violent. Many meth users already have a history of violence, and many people commit violence when they are not on meth. Others claim to have been on meth when they committed a crime, when, in fact, they weren’t. Still, there is little doubt that one of the biggest problems of meth is its apparent relationship with violent behaviour. Indeed, there is a whole body of research that has been conducted in Australia showing that aggression, violent behaviour, and violent crimes are relatively common among chronic illicit methamphetamine users. In 2014, Rebecca McKetin et al. published a study in the journal published by the Society for the Study of Addiction, ‘Does methamphetamine use increase violent behaviour? Evidence from a prospective longitudinal study’. The study concluded that, taking into account other variables — such as a person’s pre-morbid tendency for violent acts — there was ‘a clear dose-response increase in violent behaviour when participants were using methamphetamine compared to when they were not using the drug. This effect was especially large for frequent methamphetamine use (16-plus days of use in the past month), which increased the odds of violent behaviour 10-fold.’

  Dr McKetin, who first started studying the link between amphetamines and psychosis when she was doing her PhD in the mid-1990s — long before anybody else in Australia had researched this correlative — told me that:

  We know that people with schizophrenia have too much dopamine in their brain. Meth increases dopamine, and this causes an imbalance — resulting in too little serotonin, our mood regulator, and too much noradrenaline, our ‘fight or flight’ chemical. Meth has a clear correlation to very violent behaviour. Part of the reason people act violently when they are on the drug is the chemical interaction it causes: low serotonin levels are associated with aggressive behaviour. So, in the end, people are paranoid from too much dopamine, irritable from low serotonin, and overhyped — all at once.

  In my experience, the comedown seems to be a particularly high-risk time for violent thoughts to arise. For me, they usually came as a result of psychotic episodes where I felt the need to defend myself from a perceived mob-attack. Research from the United States suggests that between one-quarter and one-third of meth users engage in violent
acts while intoxicated or withdrawing from the drug. I wonder how many more contemplate it, or find that violence makes its way into their never-ending vortex of sexual fantasies.

  Studies have also shown that meth reduces impulse control and inhibitions, while increasing the likelihood of psychotic episodes; psychotic patients are in turn more likely to be violent than other psychiatric patients. That said, McKetin’s 2014 study showed that feelings of violence during the meth rollercoaster have also been found to exist independently of psychotic delusions.

  While I have to admit to getting into the odd fight before I became a meth addict, I had never before experienced such moments of blood lust. On ice, I had moments when the ground seemed to split in front of me, when meaning changed, and I experienced what felt like aberrant, ancient, repressed impulses. In those moments, inflicting pain felt like an exciting, transgressive act of destiny, where somehow all the pain, oppression, and condescension I had experienced as a human, and especially as a gay man, could be overcome by a single, spectacular act of cruelty perpetrated on another person. That person’s feelings seemed positively inconsequential to the excitement of doing harm.