The Root of the Problem
I’m not going to dive into too much detail regarding the specifics. Not because in the end it’s all the same story (it always is) or because it’s a story you’ve probably heard before (you definitely have). It’s because I just don’t have the patience or the mental energy to give a play-by-play recap of every miserable minute I wasted getting high. I mean, really. What’s the point? You’re only as healthy as your current state of mind. To revisit the past is to plot your own death.
I will say this though. Things got bad enough where I started having some very, very out-of-character thoughts, particularly one about learning how to get high using a needle. Now don’t worry. It never happened. And thank god it didn’t. Cause if it did I’d be motherfucking fucked! There were only two things that stopped the inevitable from taking place. 1) Literally about an hour after the thought crossed my mind I went and checked myself into rehab. 2) Intuition! I don’t know how else to explain it. Throughout my addiction, even when I was at my worst, there has always been this voice in the back of my head guiding me away from the point of no return. It was as if every time I’d walk to the edge of the cliff and prepare to dive into the abyss, some invisible magnetic force would yank me backwards and pull me back to reality. At least that’s what I believe. And for that, I’m grateful.
However, at the end of the day, an addict is still an addict. So who am I kidding? I’m just as twisted and tormented as everyone else. Only difference is I was burning away my nasal cavity instead of shattering my veins. Regardless of the method, the result is always the same. It begins with euphoria and it ends with misery. Like I said, you’ve heard this all before. When you’re telling a story about addiction, it’s all but impossible to avoid a cliché here and there.
Before I go any further into detail regarding my early sobriety, I think I better back track a little bit and explain how I ended up at this point. If I don’t disclose the root of the problem then writing this whole piece will be meaningless. It’s like my boy Meech always says: “You ain’t never gonna keep it real with anybody else if you ain’t keepin' it real witcha self. You feel what I’m sayin’, dawg?”
Bring it back to April of 2012. Now mind you, this was by no means when all my problems started. My problems, the problems that would eventually drive me head-on into addiction, first began when I was around 8 years old, if not earlier. If anything, April of 2012 was, more or less, when living a hectic, recreational drug-fueled fun-loving life of hard partying went thru a rapid metamorphosis and became a full-blown drug addiction which in turn immediately went through a metamorphosis of its own and became a suicide run.
At face value, I’d like to be able to tell you that a series of deaths were a major contributing factor. Granted, I’ve finally made peace with the fact that it was all centered on my inability to cope and that death actually had zero to do with it. But for a long time the only explanation that fit was that I’d become so overwhelmed with depression from having to bury three of my best friends within the same 10 month period (two of them in the same week) that I lost all regard for everything in life.
…to be continued…