Relapse / Recovery

Regret

'Im so fucking stupid. So fucking stupid. What the fuck is wrong with me!?'

He was beyond pissed at himself. This was a part of fame that he had never expected to happen. Of course it happened to other celebrities but not him; never him. He had always been so careful. He joked about doing drugs in his songs but people had no idea that he really didn't do that shit in real life. It's not like he went to parties every night and got loaded on blow and whatever fucking else. It wasn't like that. Yeah he had done coke and ecstasy and things like that a few times but so had everyone else. He only did things like that if everyone else was going it too. He even got Dre to try mushrooms with him one time and he was the most strict about drug use put of all of em. So how the hell did he end up in this situation? He didn't even do drugs worse than what some of the other people were doing. He would have expected Scott Storch to be in the hospital for this shit before him. But of course it didn't matter what kind of drugs it was did it?

It was prescribed shit.

Shit that had been given to him by a doctor. He wasn't some crazy junkie going to the doctor lying about pain to get more meds either. It was legitimate pain. Mostly physical but sometimes mental too. These shows took a huge toll on his body. He was aching all the fucking time. That's how all of this shit started: the pain. He had broken and sprained his ankles so many times he had lost count. Same with his wrists. A few ribs. The thing that people don't tell you about being a performer is that you don't ever really heal from that because you don't have time. He would sprain an ankle, rest for a day, then have a show. By the time his ankle had fully healed he'd probably break it again a week later. He had had so many different surgeries. Had splints in his knees and ankle and shit. He tried to do ice baths to help and shit but it never worked. At least not for long. He would have to take so many pills just to help with the pain. Then came the side effects: he couldn't sleep. It was partially because he was always up late for shows that his internal clock was always fucked up but it was made worse by the medication. He had to get some hardcore stuff to be able to knock himself out. At first he only took them when he had shows which didn't seem that often until he saw how quickly he was running out. He could make himself go to sleep naturally while at home. At least he could at first. As he started to take them so much while on tours and shit he started having to use them at home too. That just made him build up a tolerance. He switched what kind he was taking for a while so that he could prevent having to up his dose but you can only do that so many times before you have to pick one to stick with. And while this was happening he was continuing to get hurt on stage and at rehearsals. He kept having to get surgeries and take meds for the pain. He took a lot of vitamins too in an attempt to heal his body. There were so many pills and vitamins and proteins and whatever that he was taking that he had become numb to it. He got to a point where he would just almost take whatever was handed to him. Whatever helps right? It became manageable after a few years; then the inevitable happened.

The day Deshaun died... that threw him through a spiral that he never could have prepared himself for. They were okay at first. The group was mourning together and they were helping eachother get through it but no one was taking it harder than he was. He couldn't show it though because he was the one who was supposed to be there for everyone. And he didn't want to go to Dre because he didn't want to inconvenience him with those emotions. He could go to Paul but after a while he felt like a burdon. There was no one he could call at 3a.m. when he can't sleep and the pills aren't working and the sound of doodie's voice is echoing in his head telling him shit. He couldn't just call Kim. They were in a good place but it just wasn't like that between them anymore. He could talk to the group a bit but not much. As much as he hated to admit it, they had become kinda distant over the years and he didn't feel as close to them as he use to. The only person he felt like he could truly call at any time was Deshaun and he wasn't here anymore. So where does he go now?

He had to drown himself. Drown himself in his work. Drown the pain. Drown the emotions.

And it nearly killed him.

These memories started to piss him off. He didn't want to be sad. He didn't want to be weak and helpless like he was right now. He didn't want to be fat. He didn't want people to laugh at him when they saw him. He didn't want people to ask what the hell had happened to him. He didn't have to fucking explain himself. He shouldn't have to explain himself. But there was nothing he could do right now. It was four in the morning and he was held down to this bed by wires and shit. He maybe could have stood up and but didn't want to mess anything up. He noticed a drawer in the bedside table and decided, out of pure boredom, to go through it. He wanted something to take his mind away from his own thoughts. Maybe he'd find a bible or something? Hotels normally had a bible in the bedside table but he wasn't sure about hospitals. Sure enough there was a small bible placed carefully in the drawer. Next to it was a small note pad and some pens. Maybe in case people wanted to write down passages? He picked the bible up and began to scan through it for words of wisdom or quotes to make him feel better but there was nothing that grabbed his attention at the moment. He instead placed on the table and reached for the notepad and pen instead.

He wanted to better himself but there was nothing that he could do at this very moment so he instead decided on some self reflection. He began to make a list;

Changes:
-relationship with family
-weight
-relationship with friends
-sleep schedule
-physical health
-mental health
-my reputation
-less touring

Things needed to change. He wasn't going to sit around and feel sorry for himself anymore. That was pathetic. He didn't want to be pathetic. He wanted go be strong. He didn't want to be a loser. But he felt like such a fucking loser. He had worked so hard for what he had accomplished, worked so hard and ACTUALLY reached his goals. And yet he couldn't handle fame. He loved what he did for a living, he loved the fans, and fame definitely had its perks but sometimes he just wanted to be normal again. He knew that that wasn't really possible at this point but at the same time it was. If he were to retire, after a few years of not dropping anything people probably wouldn't act the way they do when they see him in public. People in detroit had gotten use to seeing him, and now that he'd put on a bit of weight he was almost unrecognizable.

He had been going back and forth with this idea for so long. Did he want to retire and call it a career? Did he maybe want to focus instead on building his record company and producing? It was a hard decision and he definitely wasn't in any sort of state to make that decision right now. Yet it definitely would be something for him to think about. If this is what fame would turn him in to, then he didn't want it. But was it really the fame's fault or was he just using that as an excuse to make him feel better? He read through the list of things he wanted to change and realized that these were definitely doable but they might not be easy. He didn't expect it to be easy though and he wouldn't mind the fight if it meant getting him to a better place than where he is now.

He still didn't feel tired so he flipped to the next page and started to draw. Whatever came to mind, he put it on paper. Sketches of pill bottles, his kids, his friends, awards, recording equipment, himself. By the time he finally started to feel tired it was about 6a.m.. He didnt have a schedule so he figured he might as well attempt to sleep. Sleep without any sort of help.