The Desired Effect ~ Cameron Liddell

Chapter 19. "Half and Half"

I was much happier when I stopped caring about who was going to see me doing what. At the park, I actually took off the sweater I planned on clinging to for dear life. Whoever saw me, who ever recognized us, it was no concern of mine. I almost hoped someone would say something so I could show them how little I cared, how little the world mattered to me anymore. I decided surely that I would go on walks with Danny and go out with Cameron more. Maybe even go see Brandi or Myca, if I gained some weight. The general public hadn't gotten pictures of me in months, since the FDTD release party. My weight had significantly dropped since then. They talked a lot about how their reckless behavior and drug abuse was nearly the end of their lives and the band, but for the first time, Cameron wrote for a record, and I know every word that he wrote about addiction and death was about me. He didn't have to tell me, and he never would, but on some days when I was home alone and I put the record on, I swore I could hear the disdain in every word, from all of them. It was just their own behavior that was killing them, it was my behavior too.

It's hard to watch two people you love kill themselves. It's even harder when those two people don't care anymore, have given up, and have found complete contentment in the destruction and ending of their lives. Sometimes when I was sober enough I did feel the sense of my own mortality, I saw death on every doorstep, in every needle, in every bit of vibrant blue I could spy with my little eye - the worst part was that the dark shadow of death did not scare me, but invigorated me. I saw it as a sign that I must go forth and live life to the fullest, experience every color of the world, every flavor on the wind, touch every texture in my house and smell every smell. That would be enough to motivate a normal woman to get clean, but not me, no, it motivated me to get higher and higher and wait for the colors to brighten. Sobriety brought on a gray, moldy feeling inside my guts, and the shadows under every door and around every corner pushed me back into bliss.

"This place is disgusting, Cam." Danny drove home when we got back to the complex and, more sober and clear than I'd been in a very long time, opening the door was staggering. My jaw almost dropped when I realized the mess I had just been stepping over for years. Trash, and molding food on plates hidden in drawers, multiple biohazards of every description, and a thousand more things that could make someone sick. I went around with a trash bag in the bedroom, collecting every piece of garbage I could find, and emptying both ash trays into it. The room was already much cleaner, six garbage bags later, but moving all the shit off the floor opened up how badly everything needed to actually be cleaned properly.

I brought the dishes into the kitchen and put them in the long empty dishwasher, while Cameron threw all the blankets in the washing machine. I put on some music on my small speaker and set it on top of the TV, loud enough to hear through the whole house. We got to work and managed to get the entire apartment spotless much faster than I thought we could - it still took us two days though. I could still see that hooded figure of blackness, but preparing the apartment for more debauchery felt like preparing my own funeral. If I got the fresh flowers arranged just right on the table, if the sheets were tucked in just so, if I could get the fucking stains out of the fucking carpet, I would be ready. I would be motivated until I had no choice but to succumb to the scythe, and I would take my final gasping breath, and be free.

I knew Cameron stopped caring about the apartment half way through, but he did it because I asked. Because he asked, I managed to eat steady meals the entire time, forcing myself to eat at normal times even if I wasn't hungry. Having money and a very consistent stream of income when you're a drug addict was I assumed a very different experience. We could get it whenever we wanted without worrying about whose TV we were going to sell to pay for it or how many mortgages we could take out on our house before we had to sell it just to buy enough to last us a few days. Never buying a house like the rest of the guys did also helped with that. Though, that accessibility also meant that it was much harder to try and think of a really good reason to quit for anything but our health, because as the rule had been since the Thrash and Burn tour, nothing and no one could stop us. I told people I wanted to stop, I liked when someone told me I had to stop, but none of it was ever true. When every breath was through jagged lungs, it was easier to lie than tell the heartbreaking truth. I would quit, but only when the sun went down.