Themes: Recreational drug use, Drug overdose
Elliot, 33, shares how he came very close to dying after an accidental G overdose, and how the traumatic experience has made him look differently at his life, and his relationship with partying, drugs, and socialising.
I wasn’t in the best place in life at the time. Earlier that year, I’d gone through the end of a long-term relationship, and I think I’d been telling myself I was doing better than I actually was.
It all started at a party that had been going on for almost 24 hours. Then we moved on to another one, and by this point, I’d been out for at least 36 hours straight. That’s not even counting the day before, because the first party started in the evening, so I’d already been awake all day. I had no reason to stay out that long, but I guess I was trying to numb the pain from the breakup and pretend everything was fine.
The real situation kicked off at the second party. My friend and I were there, and he had a bottle of G, but the bottle broke. I’d always been really careful with G, hearing stories and knowing friends who’d had accidents with it. So, my friend suggested pouring it into a cup instead of throwing it away. He was convinced no one would mix it up, but I told him it was stupid. It was dark, messy, and everyone was out of it — it was an accident waiting to happen. We argued back and forth, with me saying we should just get rid of it. At some point, I gave in, like, "Whatever, do what you want."
I turned to my friend and said, "Look, I don’t know how long I’ve got, but if I pass out, you need to get help immediately"
Somehow, the cup with the G ended up in my hand. I don't know if he gave it to me or I just took it, but there it was. Without thinking, I added my usual dose, mixed it, and drank it.
The moment I swallowed; I knew something was wrong. Normally, there’s a slight taste, but this time it was like fire in my mouth — absolutely disgusting. I turned to my friend and said, "Something bad just happened." He looked at me confused, but I didn’t even explain. I ran to the sink, filled a cup with water, and tried to drink as much as I could to make myself throw up. Nothing. I assumed it was because I hadn’t eaten anything for so long, and we’d only been drinking G and shots.
I ran back to the kitchen and literally latched onto the tap, drinking straight from it, trying to throw up again. Still, no luck. Maybe a trickle, but nothing significant. There was this guy standing there, saying, "Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. If you’d overdosed, you’d already be on the floor by now." But I knew this wasn’t right. Just because I wasn’t on the floor yet didn’t mean it wasn’t serious.
I turned to my friend and said, "Look, I don’t know how long I’ve got, but if I pass out, you need to get help immediately." I told him to inform the people there who were less messed up and more "drugs, chillouts, and afterparty informed", so they could act fast.
I’ve heard horror stories of people at parties not calling for help because they’re scared of getting in trouble, but thankfully, they did the right thing
I remember standing there, thinking, "Well, I guess this is how I die." I looked out the window, seeing the stars and the trees, thinking, "This is the last time I’ll see a star or a tree." I was fully convinced this was it.
Then, I had this moment of clarity, like a second wind. I thought, "If I still have the energy to be thinking all this, then I have the energy to try one more time." I ran back to the toilet and forced my fist down my throat. I don’t remember if anything came up, but after that, everything went blank.
The next thing I knew, I woke up in the ICU. I was later told that if I had gotten to the hospital even five minutes later, I’d either be dead or brain-damaged. It was a really close call.
I’m so thankful to the people who were there that night and the hospital staff. I’ve heard horror stories of people at parties not calling for help because they’re scared of getting in trouble, but thankfully, they did the right thing.
When I woke up, I was told I had been sedated for about 12 hours because my body
couldn’t breathe on its own. I was on a ventilator during that time. They said even if my body had recovered earlier, I wouldn’t have woken up before those 12 hours passed. But thankfully, I did wake up.
The crux of it is that it was an accident, and accidents only need one small mistake. The only sure way to avoid this kind of situation is not to partake at all
When I came to, I was informed about how I got there. The paramedics had been called, and they arrived pretty quickly, or so I was told. After I passed out, I was carried to a bed, and some of the people there later said it was probably the scariest thing they had ever witnessed. They said I was so limp, like all the life had drained out of me. Some people even thought I was dead, which is a pretty unsettling thought — especially about yourself.
What had also happened was that when I passed out, my body tried to vomit up the G, but it wasn’t strong enough, and some of it ended up in my lungs. So, I also had pneumonia on top of everything. I was in really bad shape.
I stayed in the ICU for a day before being moved to a less critical ward. I was in the hospital for about four or five days in total. During that time, they monitored my oxygen levels, gave me antibiotics, and I spoke to counsellors about what had happened. They asked if I had a drug problem or why I ended up in that situation. I explained it wasn’t an addiction, but more of a low point in my life.
In terms of what I learned from the accident, for a long time after, I struggled with social anxiety and fear. I had always been so careful with this stuff, genuinely careful. The whole thing was an accident, which made it hard to accept and get over. There wasn’t really a clear "this could have been done differently" moment because I wasn’t being reckless or careless. I was actually trying to prevent something similar from happening to someone else.
The crux of it is that it was an accident, and accidents only need one small mistake. The only sure way to avoid this kind of situation is not to partake at all. But that’s not very helpful or realistic advice for most people. The margin for error is just so tiny in these situations, and the environments where this stuff happens don’t always make it easy to avoid.
The next dose could be the one that’s too much, and it’s those small moments of awareness that can make all the difference
When it comes to taking it safely, one thing I always did was know my limits. I knew how much would send me over the edge. I've seen people who push their limits or don’t pay attention to timing. Some of them just seem careless, or maybe they don’t understand how serious it is. There's often not enough respect or caution taken, and it only takes one small misstep for something really bad to happen. You don’t need to be reckless—like taking as much as you can or dosing every hour on the dot. I’ve even seen people say, "It’s only five minutes early, it’ll be fine." But that’s not how it works.
Part of the problem is that because it’s illicit, people don’t have access to solid information. A lot of what they know is just hearsay, or it’s passed around by word of mouth. For instance, the guy in the kitchen that night—if I had listened to him, I probably wouldn’t be here right now. His experiences led him to believe certain things, and he shared that advice, but it wasn’t accurate. People don’t always realize the danger, like when someone’s sleeping after using. Even if they haven’t taken much, their body could still shut down. Seeing someone passed out in a corner might seem harmless, but they could be overdosing.
For me, it’s pretty triggering when I see signs of this carelessness. Even though what happened to me was more extreme, watching someone passed out, alone, brings back memories. I always wonder if the people around them know the risks. Do they realize that even though the person looks fine, their body could stop functioning?
One of the biggest things people need to know is to just call the ambulance. If something feels wrong, make the call. The NHS and ambulance services are confidential, and I’m not sure the police would even get involved in a situation like that. It’s not worth the risk of someone dying because you're scared of getting in trouble. I have a medical record now because of what happened, but I’d rather have that than be dead.
When you’re in these situations, you need to prioritize helping someone over the fear of consequences. If you’re even questioning whether to call the ambulance, that’s your answer. I’ve been in situations where people are violently convulsing, and others say, "Oh, give them 5 or 10 minutes." But that’s not enough time. When I got to the hospital, I was told that if I had arrived five minutes later, I’d either be dead or have severe brain damage. So, waiting is just not an option.
In terms of making it safer, the only foolproof way is not to partake at all. But if you are, then at least make sure the area is clean and free of distractions when people are dosing. There should be some sort of system in place for timing and dosage.
And don’t be afraid to tell someone when they’ve had too much. It’s all "fun and games" until it’s not, and sometimes there’s no warning. The next dose could be the one that’s too much, and it’s those small moments of awareness that can make all the difference.
Socializing afterwards wasn’t easy—it actually gave me a lot of anxiety. I was embarrassed, though I’m not even sure why. Like I said, it was an accident. Sure, I was out for a long time, and that part was because of my choices, but the actual incident wasn’t due to neglect or carelessness. Still, I felt embarrassed. It felt like something that doesn’t happen to people like me, only to "other people." I was carrying a lot of shame and sadness about it.
It was a real eye-opening, life-changing experience. You start to look at life differently after something like that—you realize how fragile it all is. One minute you’re here, and the next you might not be. It took me a long time to feel comfortable being around people again, especially because a lot of the same people were still doing the after-party stuff. And, I’ll admit, I eventually went back as well—but I’ll get to that.
When you’re in these situations, you need to prioritize helping someone over the fear of consequences. If you’re even questioning whether to call the ambulance, that’s your answer.
For a while, I stayed away mostly out of fear. It was good judgment, sure, but it was rooted in fear of being in that environment again. It made me scared to be around people who were still engaging in those behaviors, which didn’t feel good. But eventually, I kind of overcame that fear. I realized that what happened was just an accident, and I had to accept that it wasn’t something likely to happen again, at least not in the same way. I gradually got past that.
But even a year later, I find myself thinking about it a lot. What’s the point? What is it we’re looking for? It’s such a high-risk activity, and every time I think about that, I ask myself: What am I trying to gain from this? What am I seeking? I’ve come to realize that it’s not even about fearing for myself anymore—because after experiencing it once, it’s like, in a strange way, I think, "There’s no way it could happen again." But of course, that’s not true — accidents happen. I also fear for my friends. I’m constantly worried that something could happen to them in these environments.
I’ve gotten to a point where I’m really questioning why we do it. Yes, it’s fun, but at what cost? What are we really chasing, or even running from? Why do we feel this need to connect in this way? I don’t foresee a future where this stays in my life. And my biggest concern is that a lot of the people I know might not be thinking about it the way I am. So, while I’m reflecting on it and slowly stepping away, I realize that many of the people I see regularly might not be part of my life anymore because this is the only environment where I see them.
It’s been so long since I’ve met new people outside of this environment—outside of clubbing or after-parties
I’ve especially felt this difference since becoming single. When I was in a relationship, it felt a little different, but now, being single, I can’t see myself getting into another meaningful relationship while being part of this scene. How do you make genuine connections or new relationships when it’s all about chasing the next high? It’s just not doing it for me the way it used to.
But the truth is, when most of the people you know are involved in this scene, that’s where you end up seeing them. Even though I know this isn’t the future I want, it’s hard to completely step away because that’s where my social connections are. This year, I’ve taken a big step back. It’s not something you can quit cold turkey, but I’ve made significant reductions compared to where I was a year ago. And if I continue on this path, I know it’s going to stop completely in the coming months.
But then, there’s the fear of loneliness. It’s been so long since I’ve met new people outside of this environment—outside of clubbing or after-parties. The idea of stepping into a world without that feels pretty daunting. Maybe that’s part of the reason why people keep doing it. It’s a social safety net, in a way.
But the gravity of the situation, of the consequences, it’s always there. And having experienced it myself, and seeing it happen to people around me, makes it all the more real. Sometimes I still get chills thinking about it. In another situation, with just five minutes more, I might not be here. It’s hard to shake that thought.
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