The dread hit me, it was 6:30 am and the sun was rising. I hadn’t been to bed. Actually, I hadn’t been to bed in four days. I had laid there, sure. Went through all the motions; took a shower, changed, closed my eyes- but my heart. It was beating so fast. So fast I thought it might burn out, one last compulsory pump before it just gave out.
Suddenly, from the kitchen- I heard voices, a man and a woman. I was in my apartment alone. There couldn’t be anyone else in the apartment, unless- they had broken in. But, why would they be so loud? Why would they risk being noticed by banging around and talking loudly.
Laying crosswise on my bed, I began to raise my head so that I could find out who the intruders were. Just then, a hand grabbed my shoulder- I shot my head up to look and see.
The next thing I knew it was 6 hours later. I had passed out. Literally. There was no one in the apartment. I had been alone. I had spent the last 4 days high off my tit on meth. No sleep for that long had rendered my mind to pudding. Even the scant few hours I had gotten were enough to suss that out.
This wasn’t a rare occurrence- while this was the worst, it was far from the only time I had delusions. I saw things that couldn’t be, I heard impossible noises, and every morning I wanted to cry. Because I felt myself slip further and further away.
That’s how I spent the last year of a three year stint using meth. I wasn’t your typical case, I didn’t sell everything I owned. I had easy access through a friend. It seemed easier not doing it alone. Sure I was short money after an ill-decided trip to the casino would bleed my bank account (sometimes far into the red).
And I didn’t waste away. I was still tubby- I just binged when I wasn’t using.
That last year was very difficult. I was doing lines in the bathroom at work, even cut them on my desk if I got there early enough. Even did them in the bathroom at wrestling events. Yes, I am ashamed of that. I had turned into a cliche, and had no clue what to do.
By the time January of 2008 came around, meth wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t to go out and party. That had stopped long ago- not even to do projects. No- by then it was just to feel normal. It was the only time I felt energy at all.
One morning I woke up, and I was done. I couldn’t do it anymore. I hated thinking about what I was doing to myself. The way I felt. And so, my friend and I parted ways for several months. And we both got clean. Both cold turkey, both with no treatment- and both with no relapse.
I am now two and a half years completely clean. I know, I am in the lucky minority there. I never got busted, I never had any of the infinite number of things happen that could have. And I got clean on my own. I’m lucky.
But despite my luck- I threw away my connections in wrestling. I was blowing off bookings like crazy, and blew up at people I had known for years. I just lost all interest as well as losing grasp of myself.
All this time later, and I haven’t really talked about it like this, I have told some people- but for the most part I have never made it public. But it seems fitting for this to be the first Truth Tuesday post.
The truth is, I was an addict.