THERE was a time when Damian Keogh would do just about anything for the drug ice. ‘‘Ice – it just happens and there’s no other feeling in the world that could top that feeling,’’ he said. So he stole, he burgled, he lied, he let down family and friends ‘‘and broke about every law there is’’. Now clean for two years, his story is a moving one about hitting rock bottom and rising again. Along with fellow Missiondale graduate Kent Stone, Damian has bravely told his story to The Examiner in the hope it can help others. Damian’s story: ‘‘It started off once a week ... to every couple of days to every day, and if I didn’t have it for a day I’d start dry-retching and getting just horrible withdrawal systems,’’ he said. Damian, who grew up in Devonport, had moved to Western Australia to break a cannabis habit but ended up substituting it with alcohol and then ice. Moving in with a group of ‘‘meth heads’’, it wasn’t long before the drug, which he’d graduated to shooting up, took a hold. ‘‘Everything, everything was revolving around when I got my next hit of ice,’’ he said. He quickly lost his job after some ‘‘completely bizarre behaviour’’ and went on the dole. ‘‘Once I lost my job I’d live from pay cheque to pay cheque. The day I’d get my dole, it’d be gone,’’ he said. ‘‘I was living with these guys and they use to break into people’s cars and steal whatever they could – loose change, satnav systems – anything we could grab. ‘‘They grabbed a few things out of people’s houses and I was just rolling with whatever they were doing.’’ The items were sold quickly for cash to buy drugs. The benders would last for days and sleep would only be factored in when there was nothing left to shoot up, swallow or smoke. Psychosis symptoms soon started and Damian only now – two years on – feels like it’s stopped. He left WA and came home still hooked on ice. Unable to cope with Damian, his parents – in what must be a heartbreaking step for any parent – had to call the police to have him taken from the home. ‘‘They couldn’t handle me, they didn’t know what was going on [with me)],’’ said Damian, who has now reconciled with his parents. He spent a few days on the street and couch-surfed with friends. One of those friends excoriated him for his behaviour and ‘‘that made me wake up to myself’’’. He was rehabilitated at Missiondale, where he’s been for 14 months, now volunteering and telling his story to others who walk though the facility’s doors. Damian feels like he had to go through that ‘‘to get to this point in my life, and for the rest of my life I can help people through my experiences’’. ‘‘Some people don’t have the support like we’ve got here and a supportive family to get off the drug, so they have no hope in hell. Because I’ve been off it for two years and I think about it almost every day. It never leaves your life,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll never go back to it – I’ve worked too hard to get where I am.’’ ICE was Kent's drug of choice. For 15 years he worked in hospitality, managing hotels across Australia. For the last five of those years he was a high-functioning ice addict. "It gave me confidence, it gave me energy, gave me stamina to work a 70-hour week," he said. "It made me feel like I could get things done." Kent wasn't a social user of the drug, instead smoking it almost secretly from others. "I would have had to have been going for two or three days before people would notice and by that stage I would crash out and start again," he said. He'd spend up to $1000 a week - almost his entire pay packet - on drugs. "A familiar pattern emerged: I'd arrive somewhere, I'd find amphetamine, ecstasy, alcohol, mushrooms, LSD, and still be able to go to work most of the time," he said. "But all of my not-work time was taken up with drugs and alcohol. And then, after about two years, it would get out of control and I'd move, get another job and it would start all again." Eventually the vicious cycle came to a head and Kent returned to Tasmania. The ice was substituted for booze and he ended up in the emergency department with alcohol poisoning five or six times before a nurse steered him towards Missiondale. "I'd hit my rock bottom with alcohol and made the decision to get some help and change my life because it obviously wasn't going anywhere," he said. "And now I've found the kind of fulfilling, meaningful employment that I want." Now a Missiondale support worker, he said he was seeing an increase in ice addicts coming through the facility . He welcomed the renewed focus on the drug, which this week saw Prime Minister Tony Abbott establish a national ice taskforce. "I think it's great that it's coming out on the radar," Kent said.
Former ice user Damian Keogh says he'll never go back to ice. Picture: Scott Gelston
THERE was a time when Damian Keogh would do just about anything for the drug ice. ‘‘Ice – it just happens and there’s no other feeling in the world that could top that feeling,’’ he said. So he stole, he burgled, he lied, he let down family and friends ‘‘and broke about every law there is’’. Now clean for two years, his story is a moving one about hitting rock bottom and rising again. Along with fellow Missiondale graduate Kent Stone, Damian has bravely told his story to The Examiner in the hope it can help others.
Damian’s story:
‘‘It started off once a week ... to every couple of days to every day, and if I didn’t have it for a day I’d start dry-retching and getting just horrible withdrawal systems,’’ he said.
Damian, who grew up in Devonport, had moved to Western Australia to break a cannabis habit but ended up substituting it with alcohol and then ice.
Moving in with a group of ‘‘meth heads’’, it wasn’t long before the drug, which he’d graduated to shooting up, took a hold.
‘‘Everything, everything was revolving around when I got my next hit of ice,’’ he said.
He quickly lost his job after some ‘‘completely bizarre behaviour’’ and went on the dole.
‘‘Once I lost my job I’d live from pay cheque to pay cheque. The day I’d get my dole, it’d be gone,’’ he said.
‘‘I was living with these guys and they use to break into people’s cars and steal whatever they could – loose change, satnav systems – anything we could grab.
‘‘They grabbed a few things out of people’s houses and I was just rolling with whatever they were doing.’’
The items were sold quickly for cash to buy drugs.
The benders would last for days and sleep would only be factored in when there was nothing left to shoot up, swallow or smoke.
Psychosis symptoms soon started and Damian only now – two years on – feels like it’s stopped.
He left WA and came home still hooked on ice. Unable to cope with Damian, his parents – in what must be a heartbreaking step for any parent – had to call the police to have him taken from the home.
‘‘They couldn’t handle me, they didn’t know what was going on [with me)],’’ said Damian, who has now reconciled with his parents.
He spent a few days on the street and couch-surfed with friends.
One of those friends excoriated him for his behaviour and ‘‘that made me wake up to myself’’’.
He was rehabilitated at Missiondale, where he’s been for 14 months, now volunteering and telling his story to others who walk though the facility’s doors.
Damian feels like he had to go through that ‘‘to get to this point in my life, and for the rest of my life I can help people through my experiences’’.
‘‘Some people don’t have the support like we’ve got here and a supportive family to get off the drug, so they have no hope in hell. Because I’ve been off it for two years and I think about it almost every day. It never leaves your life,’’ he said.
‘‘I’ll never go back to it – I’ve worked too hard to get where I am.’’
Support worker Kent Stone on the verandah at Missiondale. Picture: SCOTT GELSTON
ICE was Kent's drug of choice.
For 15 years he worked in hospitality, managing hotels across Australia.
For the last five of those years he was a high-functioning ice addict.
"It gave me confidence, it gave me energy, gave me stamina to work a 70-hour week," he said.
"It made me feel like I could get things done."
Kent wasn't a social user of the drug, instead smoking it almost secretly from others.
"I would have had to have been going for two or three days before people would notice and by that stage I would crash out and start again," he said.
He'd spend up to $1000 a week - almost his entire pay packet - on drugs.
"A familiar pattern emerged: I'd arrive somewhere, I'd find amphetamine, ecstasy, alcohol, mushrooms, LSD, and still be able to go to work most of the time," he said.
"But all of my not-work time was taken up with drugs and alcohol. And then, after about two years, it would get out of control and I'd move, get another job and it would start all again."
Eventually the vicious cycle came to a head and Kent returned to Tasmania.
The ice was substituted for booze and he ended up in the emergency department with alcohol poisoning five or six times before a nurse steered him towards Missiondale.
"I'd hit my rock bottom with alcohol and made the decision to get some help and change my life because it obviously wasn't going anywhere," he said.
"And now I've found the kind of fulfilling, meaningful employment that I want."
Now a Missiondale support worker, he said he was seeing an increase in ice addicts coming through the facility .
He welcomed the renewed focus on the drug, which this week saw Prime Minister Tony Abbott establish a national ice taskforce.
"I think it's great that it's coming out on the radar," Kent said.
