As my mind clears I question if I was ever actually a Crystal Meth addict or if I just liked it a lot. And the fact that I’ve been able to not use for 115 days now makes me wonder. So I mentioned it in a meeting tonight and the question was posed to me; when all the people were going home from parties, what were you doing? I was hiding behind closed blinds, peaking out and hoping no one knew how much I was using. So obviously yeah, I’m an addict.
But it’s not that unusual for people to feel the way I do.
When I think about it, recovery is not a road back to a previous life, but rather an uncharted course to an uncharted place. And I think we should be grateful for that because my previous life led me to IV drug use. So why would I want to go back there? Why would I want to put myself through that again, taking into consideration that I obviously couldn’t have been all that happy?
And that doesn’t mean I hated everything about that life.
I mean I loved my dog, my home, my family, and probably myself. Although just mentioning the word probably puts that sentiment into question. But I had a pretty good life, and I’ll never understand what it was about that life that I considered to be so boring that I resorted to using one of the worst narcotics on the planet. But does it matter?
Some might say yes.
I guess the argument could be made that if you know what caused your addiction you can make sure you’re not falling into that same trap again. But isn’t that like playing only not to lose instead of playing to win? Isn’t it like dwelling on the bad? And who wants to do that? I know I don’t. So I choose to live only in the solution, not the cause. But maybe I’m different?
My addiction was never a disease or some sort of a ridiculous allergic reaction as some claim.
Mine was a moral dilemma, a case of enjoying the way using drugs made me feel, not the half baked excuse cowards use to justify their repeated relapses. And I wasn’t the victim of some genetic precursor that made it impossible to stop! I used Crystal Meth because I was selfish, just the same as everyone who drugs or drinks alcoholically is.
The only difference is that I’m honest enough to admit that!
If people practiced this same principle of honesty instead of hiding behind Bill and Bob’s antiquated declaration of addiction being some mallity they’d find themselves in a far better place to begin their recovery from. But first they need to admit that addiction is absolutely not a disease!. If it were, cancer victims could go to Cancer Anonymous and find themselves cured!
If you disagree, put my book down and go fuck yourself!
What I’m saying comes across as callous, I know. But I’m not writing this to blow candy canes up your ass. If you think addiction is a bitch then wait’ll you find out how cold hearted and cruel recovery MUST be to everyone around you in order to be successful. And guess who gets to be that cold hearted nightmare? You! So if you’re not up to it, if you can’t keep the world at least an arm’s length away from you, then just call your dealer and place your order, because you’re gonna fail!
I tell you that out of experience.
Look, I used to get paid to overdose in front of people. So I kinda know what I’m talking about. And no! I’m not proud of what I used to do. And I only bring that up because I was addicted to it, the cameras, the people and Meth. But I stopped. I gave it all the fuck up. I got tired of killing myself! I got tired of chasing Todd into Hell!
But who was Todd?
My best friend had a best friend who was to heroin what I was to Crystal Meth. But I saw Todd as being an incredible human being who’d been driven to addiction because of a facial deformity. So I had nothing but sympathetic empathy for him. Todd was who I had been earlier in life, the victim of something gone wrong at birth and the punch line of everyone’s cruelty. It was heartbreaking.
But he always kept his spirits in the right place, forgiveness.
Todd’s life ended on the bathroom floor of a 7-Eleven out on Long Island. He’d left rehab and had forgotten the hypersensitivity factor when he shot up that night.
Thinking back on it, I remember how lost I felt when I found out. And that was the only time I ever used trying to quell the raging empty pain that kept filling my heart with guilt!
Why him? I asked myself over and over, using more and more, trying desperately to trade my soul for this guy’s redemption.
But nothing was ever what it seemed.
Back in May of this year, right after I told my best friend Will Barbaretti how I’d always wanted to get clean for Todd, the worst cruelty ever perpetrated against me came to light. The entire ordeal had been a practical joke that my best friend and Todd had pulled on me, a practical joke that went on and on over the course of about four years!
Can you imagine how that made me feel?
Afterwards, when all my tears had dried and my broken heart had become mended, I grew strong finally accepting that since those who’d been my friends had never actually given a rat’s ass about me then why should I care about them? Why should I care about anyone other than myself. So you’d better get used to being a totally selfish scumbag if you really wanna recover.
It’s the only way it’s gonna work.
If you doubt this, then ask yourself this question. Does the person I buy drugs from care about me more than he cares about the money he makes selling to me?
