A few years ago, tik affected me and everything I cared about. The drug infiltrated my family and ravaged relationships between people I cared about.
The worst part was seeing how parents just didn't want to accept that tik was taking hold of their children's lives.
Addicts become the most artful liars and loving mothers easily believe anything they say.
Theft, staying away from work until being fired, attracting attention that should have gone to others more deserving ... my family experienced all of this while someone we cared about spiralled out of control - all because of tik.
I realised that if this drug could cause such destruction in my family, it must be so much worse for people living in less privileged areas.
During the past two years, I've spent hours observing, talking with and photographing children and adults using this fatal drug.
When I ask why they use it, I always get the same reply: "It makes me feel good about myself."
I persistently tell them it's crippling their brains, and then there's the nonchalant response: "Don't worry. I will stop - but not today."
Tik abuse - and all its devastating consequences - is spreading fast through Cape Town.
Take Truter has been addicted to tik for about five years. He tells me that when he started using the drug, hardly anybody had heard of it.
As he speaks, he picks at his face, which is already pitted with fresh sores and old scars.
When he uses the drug it feels like things are crawling under his skin.
"You start thinking about something else when scratching your face," he explains. "If no one reminds you, you'll continue and eventually open sores."
Even though he often sits crying on his bed when the effects of the drug wear off, Truter says he'll continue using tik because everyone around him is doing it.
I have also come across a pregnant 16-year-old addict, who was forced on to the streets two years ago.
When her mother, a Mandrax addict, had boyfriends, she didn't allow her daughter in their one-roomed flat.
Now the girl lives with relatives.
Like so many people on the Cape Flats, she lives in squalid, cramped conditions, eking out an existence.
Each time I leave the comfort of my suburban home to return to the Cape Flats to document this horror of addiction, I am reminded of the link between tik abuse and poverty.
I nearly lost a friend to tik addiction.
He was one of the lucky ones, and now has a great job and keenly competes in sporting events.
But it came at a cost.
Rehabilitation is not cheap and is also not a definite cure.
Even though my friend escaped the grip of tik, he knows the temptation is always there and it is a life-long battle.
Yes, tik has also infiltrated wealthy neighbourhoods and messed up many families and relationships. But poverty breeds drug abuse.
And this is the story of the Cape Flats, where many communities live in overcrowded conditions with few job prospects, few recreational amenities and play areas for children - and years of government neglect and broken promises.
If I lived in similar nightmare conditions, I would find solace in drugs. It's a fine line between opportunity and choice.
Privileged people can hop into their cars and go out. Many people on the Flats can't afford this.
If privileged children become drug addicts, parents can borrow money to put them in rehab.
On the Flats, there are virtually no rehab centres, and even those who get to one are forced to return to the same hell holes they were trying to escape from in the first place.
Two tik addicts, aged 14 and 16, live in a tiny two-roomed flat with four other relatives and come from broken homes.
Suffice to say they don't have a room with a view.
They told me they want to "tik until we die".
They say at least then they would die feeling happy instead of having to face their dismal reality.
Who can blame them?