Paradigm Shift [On-going]

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Dean silently congratulated himself as he watched a mystery substance being passed around the cold garage he was currently sitting in. He'd finally reached rock bottom, and it had only taken him six months!. He laughed bitterly as he waited for it to be his turn to snort the thick powder that was calling to him like a cold beverage on a hot summer's day.

His downward spiral had started off as a shoulder injury. He'd always had a hypermobile shoulder and occasionally had actually popped the joint back into its socket whenever it dislocated, but this time, it had refused to budge and he'd been told to get it checked by a medical professional. He'd begrudgingly done what he was told, and had been informed he'd suffered an Acromioclavicular dislocation and that if it didn't heal itself within a few weeks, he'd need surgery. Dean, however, being his stubborn self, had not followed doctor's orders. He refused to wear his sling and had continued to use his injured arm, despite several warnings not to do so and to say the doctor wasn't too pleased with him during his checkup would be an understatement and he only had himself to blame when he was quickly scheduled for surgery. The operation was a success, and he'd been put on medical leave from WWE, but he was utterly miserable. He was in agony and couldn't take his pain meds because they made him nauseous and to add to it all; he was frustrated with being at home and not being able to do anything. That's when his rapid decline took hold. He knew alcohol would only make things worse, but it made him comfortable and allowed him a few hours of pain-free bliss before he'd have to reach for another bottle of liquor to repeat the process all over again. Eventually, though, alcohol wasn't enough and Dean turned to something stronger as he suffered from chest pain alongside the pain he was already experiencing from his shoulder. Scoring drugs took him to places he didn't even know existed and gave him dreams he never wanted to wake up from. He'd even made some friends amongst the other addicts and that's how he'd found himself sat in a circle, surrounded by twitching forms in a dimly lit garage that had become his home for the past few days. His actual residence had all but been forgotten as he slipped deeper and deeper into a life of addiction.

"Here goes nothing," Dean mumbled as the pile of white powder got passed towards him along with a rolled up bank note

The drug burnt as it made its way up his nose, but the discomfort was soon replaced with relief as his whole body relaxed. He quickly passed the substance along as he sagged against the cold concrete wall behind him.

* * *
Dean

The pain was disorientating, dizzying, and I was both disorientated and dizzy because I'd never felt pain like this, and I'd experienced a lot of pain during my life. Being a professional wrestler came hand in hand with pain, but what I was experiencing was so intense that I was floating in and out of consciousness, how long the unconsciousness lasted for was a mystery, time had been forgotten alongside the constant, nagging pain that I felt in every bone; every muscle in my body. I was being torn apart internally and the remains of my organs were being doused in gasoline and being set on fire. Eventually, the cold ebbed away at the burning sensation, but instead of feeling relief, I felt more pain. It was too cold, a crippling bitter cold that froze everything in its path and my body stiffened. This was torture, ice fighting against fire, and my heart started beating erratically in protest. My heart beat was all I could hear, and I concentrated on the sound. As long as I could hear it, I was alive and I could get through this; whatever this was. I wanted to scream, beg for mercy; for death, but I could not move. An invisible weight was pressing against my body, preventing me from moving, and I didn't have the strength to fight against it. Please let me die. Anything had to be better than this. Suddenly, everything changed, almost like somebody had pressed a reset button inside my body. I slowly gained control of my limbs and this time, a pleasant tingling sensation spread over me, starting from my toes and gradually travelling upwards. As the tingling washed over my feet, I gained control of my toes, as the tingling passed over my arms I could move my fingers, I could form a fist with my hand and I did, just to prove to myself that I wasn't imagining it. My heart continued to beat rapidly as it fought to keep me alive through whatever it was I was going through. Then everything stopped. The tingling, my heart, my thoughts; everything stilled, and I opened my eyes. I must have died, and I was now seeing the light because my eyes couldn't fully adjust to the blinding brightness that I was seeing.