God damn… Why can’t I finally catch a break?? The more blessings come my way, the more destruction blocks my path. Sometimes it seems as if my demons are doing everything in their power to drag me back to the life I tried so hard to escape… They are trying to drag me back to my own personal hell.
Maybe if I had this same exact resilience when I was young and inexperienced, I wouldn’t have this problem. I wouldn’t have walked up and down Main St. and called every dealer I knew looking for those blue sources of pleasure and euphoria that eventually lead me to the black tar of death. Or was it the “white China?” I don’t remember the nicknames honestly, all I know is that after years of consecutive pill to body intimacy I had changed. I lost all the values I once had. I became the embodiment of everything I stood against.
See that’s what drug use does to an addict. The pleasure we get and later chase as if it was the only source of life we have left, is it’s own kind of fucked up intimacy. Chasing that dragon, and the euphoria we get is comparable to – if not- better (but also worse) than any other pleasure our 5 senses will ever encounter. The only price is a life time of mental trauma and physical blemishes such as bad teeth, our bodies and faces falling apart… Oh! And those painful withdrawals that bring out the worst in us.
I’ve been trying so hard to progress my life ever since I’ve released my first book “The Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love, ” ever since my son’s mother left me, and ever since I had climbed out of that seemingly never-ending hell, rock bottom. I’m sure I’m not the only person who’s walking on the path of recovery that wants a fresh start. One with no cravings, no whispers, and no mishaps that have us contemplating whether quitting was “worth it” or not.
Before I get any further, let me assure you that quitting is worth it. The life-threatening highs, painful lows and the terrible decisions we contemplate in order to acquire those temporary but severely damaging highs will never be worth the torment that follows. I’ve been realizing that for almost 2 years now. Yes, I’ve had slip-ups, I’m not perfect, and my past life still haunts me. I lie awake wishing death upon myself for ever becoming the piece of shit I am today. I still have fights with people who I owed money to, and I still have to fight for my life. Whether it be dodging bullets or fighting 3-5 people at a time, the past life of a wannabe thug turn drug addict follows closely behind.
At the end of the day, living this life will always end in prison, as an addict on the streets or in a casket. To follow a path of recovery you must love yourself and cherish the very life you may sometimes want to end. But something I learned was that it took my close encounters with death to truly value what living was all about. For a long time, I felt as if my existence was not necessary. I felt that I had no purpose and all I did was hurt those I loved. I wanted to give up. I wanted to die. The many cuts across my torso and forearms did not take my life, but they did leave scars to remind me how weak I once was.
I’ve experienced prison and addiction for a large portion of my life. I now pray I don’t die for a very long time… I learned to love life and I am slowly getting to know myself, but if my time does come then I leave you with another post that will hopefully enlighten those who value self-redemption.
This morning I ate a chocolate – Dove specifically- and in the wrapper had caught my eye. It had something small written inside. Short, simple, and to the point yet it held such a significant meaning that only few will actually reflect upon.
“Always make your past self jealous.”
Sometimes I sit and reflect about how far I’ve gotten but then I digress and think about the trouble I’ve gotten in since then. It seems like I will forever be bound to a life of torment. Shit, it even got to the point where I picked up 9 more charges, most being felonies because of my ALLEGED stupidity and the overly strict laws of MA. The main difference between my current and past self, aside from the paths we walked on, is that my past self NEVER got caught.
I got too comfortable with sobriety. Walking down a straight edge line made me believe that “I was no longer doing whatever I can to get high” so I did not need to be careful with my actions. Of course, all of the bad karma I’ve accumulated over the years are far from done with me, it was time to collect.
I was never a religious individual, how could anyone say that we were crated by a deity that no one has ever seen? Who created THAT deity? I don’t know, it was all unrealistic to me, but I will never judge anyone for having their own faith. I used to believe in God, until God turned his back on me and let me suffer for all of these years. The thing about sobriety is, believing in a higher power was a necessity when walking the path of recovery. I was assed out in that aspect because I did not believe in anything anymore. A “God” who loves us all? Okay so if (he/she/whatever other pronouns) loved me then why would they let people shoot at me and try to kill me? Why would this “God” let anyone threaten to kill my child? What kind of “God” even allows drugs and addiction plague our lives?
All questions I already knew the answer to.
All questions that I was able to contemplate now that I had a clear mind.
That is until the thought of being locked up began to flood that very mind. I was in prison. A place I never thought I would end up. It’s crazy how life works though. Before my arrest, I was working for a prison that held those who were suicide risk and criminally insane. I worked in the nursing department. Funny right? A recovering junkie/suicidal criminal working with those who were exactly like me… those who had the same mental issues as me. Unfortunately it didn’t last too long because one unfortunate late night and a car search later, I was on the opposite side of the bars.
It was a harsh reality. I didn’t even realize that I may have just ruined my life until the cavity search… the whole squat, cough and open your cheeks ordeal was another experience I never thought I’d go through. But there I was. Mug shots, gang affiliation questionnaires, and the prison greens we are given as new inmates. A felon. An addict and a felon. Two labels that confirm the racist stereotype I’ve been labeled as my whole life. A 26 year old Hispanic Male, arrested for __________.
The solitude of 4 walls, a toilet, sink and a small steel bed, is a man’s true test. Being locked in a room for over 48 hours with no communication will have a him contemplating his whole life. I did just that. I know where I went wrong in life, and I assumed that starting a blog and writing a book about all of my past mistakes would help me come to terms with who I was. I was wrong. Being locked up was the key I needed to unlock the answers I was truly looking for.
My whole life had always revolved around physical abuse, emotional trauma, and mental strain. Finally, all those years of pain had caught up to me while I was trying to find myself. What’s the difference between staying in your room alone all day and staying in a cold cell all day? Aside from 3 cold meals a day and unrelenting solitude? Our free will is stripped away from us the second those cuffs were placed around our wrists.
Being in such a vulnerable state, as a man who has seen it all and done it all, was new to me. Yes, I’ve experienced vulnerability many times before, but this was different. This was the cost of the life I chose to live. This is where my addiction had led me to. I am a nonviolent offender. I did not kill a dealer who had shorted me, I did not break into a neighbor’s house to find something to pawn… Fuck, I didn’t even get caught with drugs!! But regardless of what my charges were, I was still there. I was alone again. Cold. Empty. The support system I thought I had? Wait… I didn’t really have one to begin with.
Originally it was my son’s mother, Lily, but it’s been a year since she’s left me… A whole year of solitude and torment. I cried for her, and I mourned. The death of a 7 year long love that I assumed would end in marriage and my premature death.
“I’m alone, I was alone, I will always be alone.”
That’s all I could think about while standing at the door of my cell. I had accepted the fact that I was in there, I just had to accept that fact that my recovery was pretty much based off an illusion, a beautiful lie I told myself in order to successfully walk the path of sobriety. The sobriquet I once had for the woman I loved now had no purpose. I mean, I did it all for her. I wanted to be the man I thought she deserved. I was tired of hurting her and seeing tears racing down her rosy cheeks.
But I was right, I was all I had. When in prison, all a man has is himself. The thought that I might have to do a minimum of 2 years is what keeps me up at night. Not being able to hold and kiss my son, not being able to see my step daughter, and a new woman I just met? Short lived. Who would want to wait for someone like me? Like I said earlier, this is all of my bad karma coming back to give me my just desserts. I knew the day would come where I either died or would have to suffer a fate just as bad as death.
I don’t regret my life. I wish I made different decisions, absolutely. But I am wiser because of the many mistakes I’ve made. I am wise enough to let people know that drug use could truly end ones life. The euphoria and numbing sensations maybe a form of escape, but when you lose everything you’re trying to escape from, you only end up wishing you had stayed just a tad longer. In the end, all that awaits this life style is prison or death.