Dunedin resident Linzy Forbes explains how legal highs almost killed him.
They are extremely addictive and very dangerous.
I'd be sitting on my porch with half a joint in my mouth feeling mildly panicked about where the next one was going to come from, despite the fact that it lay unrolled in a packet beside me.
Perhaps I was really disturbed about where the money was going to come from for the next packet.
I'd tell myself that wouldn't be a problem, everything would be fine.
It was a lovely day and I didn't have to think about all the crap going down in my life.
Of course I'd reassure myself that the dope wasn't the problem, it was the cure.
Tell yourself that a hundred times a week and it rings true.
''Oh just forget about the crap ... it's a great day and you can hide behind the stone.''
I roll another joint.
Really, I should find another name to describe them.
The only similarity with the real thing is a deception.
Not only in the (high) low they provide but the actual physical nature ... little bits of some greenery and lots of stalks that shred the blue cigarette paper - blue 'cos they burn longer and therefore get you higher - right? ... and spill the precious balm all over the carpet.
Goodness knows what else is added when I sweep it all up in my hands for a fresh paper.
Hah! Stress equals depression - the chemicals that are added to this devious mixture from nature tend to take hold of whatever emotion is available and raise its levels.
Happy people don't tend towards addictive drugs or over-indulging in alcohol.
They might have a quiet one or the odd toke and usually they are out among society, not alone on the porch forgetting to forget about all that crap.
Next thing I know I have a sore head and a nurse is peering down at me.
''Hello, Mr Forbes, I'm afraid you've had a seizure and a heart attack.''
But I'm OK and am sent home to find blood all over the floor.
A few weeks later, the ambos must be angry with me.
I think I need them and then when they arrive I send them away.
They are called by my neighbour about an hour later for the real thing.
''Hello, Mr Forbes, you've had another seizure and heart attack. We want you to see a neurologist.''
Now this fullah knows his stuff.
Not just from the books but from experience, he knows what's going on here and somehow manages to get it through my thick skull that I've been frying my brain with toxins.
Then why on earth are they available in the shops, especially in the parts of town where vulnerable families live?
Money.
Apparently, the Government can't ban them; otherwise, they'd be sued by the chemists.
Not so long ago the excuse was that the chemists would just change the recipe a little.
But that was before someone sane pointed out that they should just ban them all and perhaps let the folk grow a little herb out the back somewhere.
I tried to do something about this.
I asked Dunedin mayor Dave Cull if he could convene a meeting of the local members of Parliament and me.
Mr Cull was concerned and arranged a meeting with Metiria Turei, Claire Curran and Michael Woodhouse.
I have noticed since that meeting, where my words were taken seriously, that Ms Curran and Ms Turei have been following up, while government MP Mr Woodhouse has simply played politics to the extent of saying Mr Cull has done nothing.
That's disgusting and a sure sign of where the Government stands.
I'm very fortunate to be alive and kicking and I want to aim my boot surely and sincerely up the Government's backside for permitting such pernicious circumstances to persist.
