With not much to actually think about or plan out , I found myself strangely enjoying the ride, unlike the subsequent trips between New York City and Orlando. I'd made endless journeys in the five years I'd been running back and forth, trying to get some guy to love me while seeking Oz, the one person that could finally put an end to the misery of my addiction. I'd just never realized that in both circumstances, I should have always been that person.
Now I was facing reality.
My dealer, the guy who'd stuck that first needle in my arm, was never going to fall in love with me. I'd been nothing more or less than all the other addicts he'd predicated his craft on. And for me to believe otherwise was simply ridiculous. I had never been anything more than a transaction, a dollar figure in his ledger. So the thought of miraculously uniting with him, while always present, was a reality that I dismissed as fool's gold.
Looking back on it, I was somewhat familiar with the lay of the land as we coasted further and further south. And it didn't really bother me that we ended up following a freight train throughout the night, putting us hours behind schedule. I was gonna be alright. So I slept a little, looked out the window a little and then I deleted my Facebook account, wanting to begin anew in all aspects of my life.
The only question in my heart was how I was going to find an affordable apartment in the neighborhood I was setting my sights on.
In my previous two trips to Orlando I had happened upon The Historic District, Lake Eola Heights. And I'd promised myself that if I was ever able to finally get clean I would live there, happily ever after. So I had a goal in mind. But I also realized that it was a goal that was probably too far for me to reach. Still, I was going to try. What else could I possibly do?
In the meantime I was gonna stay at the one place that was probably the worst possible destination I could choose, Home Suite Home on East Colonial Drive.
I'd overdosed the previous couple of times I'd been there.So I don't know why I thought this time would be different. But I did realize that I had the advantage of being able to recognize the gaffes in judgment I'd put into play before. And maybe that was all the advantage I needed.
I had finally lost enough times to finally learn how to win.
So again, there wasn't much for me to do other than look out the window, snacking on potato chips and sipping on Dr Pepper during the worst hours of my Crystal Meth withdrawal. I mean, yeah, I could have self medicated and taken three or four times my prescribed Serequel. But I'd always done that before, and not once had I ever succeeded. Thus riding it out seemed like a far better option, punishing myself rather than taking the easy way out, which I finally learned is never a good thing.
This meant I was going to build my foundation upon the solid bedrock of the self imposed longsuffering I had for some reason survived.
I was also going to return to the place I'd fallen out of Grace from back in 2016, my church in Orlando. Not that they would ever allow me to work with special needs students again. But I'm not the first educator to ever fall into addiction. And I had never once shown up while I was high. The only problem with that though is post Crystal Meth use looks just as terrible, if not worse than when you're actually high. So they basically had me dead to rights the day they sat me down. Whatever it took though, now I was going to own up to the choices I'd selfishly made while having the responsibility of fostering children's spiritual well being. And while I'll admit that it was a little intimidating, I'll also let you know that much like my previous returns to the church over the years, they welcomed me back as a parishioner with open arms.
