Memoirs of a Crazy Bastard: Memo 2: Don't let the sun turn us to stone
Each second feels like two, and every word that comes from my lips, hits my front teeth and falls to deaf, drunken, ears.
I've had a brief stint in the drug culture in my years growing up and every once in a while I still dabble in it. i'm not ashamed to say or write it. Uppers, downers, inbetweeners i've done it...all you had to do was give me a little coaxing and then I would be sold. One drug really got ahold of me, and shook the foundation of my life. My friends.
Conor Oberst (the famously emo songwriter and lead singer of Brighteyes) wrote a song that included the lyrics "and the sun turned us to stone" and i realized the song was about being addicted to cocaine. Night was an endless party for me filled with techno music, ersatz friend, and endless lines of cocaine strewn across my roommates grandmothers antique glass tray. I never felt so happy, and that happiness put up a block of what i was really doing to myself or to people around me. I became an enabler. I knew the addicting and crushing nature of this drug but i went around promoting it to newbies. Telling them, "Just do a numby, it's not that bad," but once you get that first taste of evil it engulfs your mind and stomach and you always want more. Alice once fell into the rabbit hole and chased the white rabbit, and i wasn't far behind her. I grew pale. That's kind of funny for a black man to turn pale, but it happened..true story. My life became a whispering campaign. There were rumors of what we were doing and how we did it, but i didn't care i was having the time of my life. The music never stopped, i had people to hang out with, and i was living the high life.
How did i get started on this fall through the rabbit hole? A question i have always asked myself and still don't know how i let myself become what i hated the most. At one time i hated drugs, because it embodied everything i hated about my family and how they bonded. As long as i can remember drugs have always been there but i was never tempted to take in part, my brother sold drugs, my mom sold drugs, my uncles sold drugs, and i really wouldn't be surprised if my grandma at sometime sold them; but now i was one of them. I finally found something i had in common with my family. Maybe i would be more accepted at the family reunions now. But the first time i tried cocaine is a night i will never forget, and i don't want to forget. Picture it. Bowling Green, Kentucky circa 2004. I'm at a party with my bestfriend and drug dealer (NAME EXERTED), and everyone is drunk and coked up, and i'm even drunker because i don't "party". The tray is offered to me, but i pass it because i thought i had strong morals against drugs, but everytime it went past i could imagine this substance going up my nose and me feeling this bliss that i seemed to be missing out on. (NAME EXERTED) pulled me aside and asked if i felt uncomfortable, and i told her "no," She could tell i was a little uneasy and excluded, so she comforted me and we talked, and she talked me into taking a numby...then a small line..then a couple of small lines. If there was a class on cocaine use i would have excelled through the ranks because by the midnight i was taking rails like some punk emo skater in a skate park. Why didn't anyone tell me this shit was good? She told me i had to be careful with it because it's easy to O.D on it. She told me to drink lots of water, so i don't become dehydrated and if i started to feel funny to tell her immediately. That night scared me. I was so blissful i felt like i was happy and awake and i couldn't turn it off. I had to write:
I lost my train of thought, I lost my way of thinking. Why did I drink so much, why did I take that line? I can't think, but thoughts are coming so fast at me, that each individual thought is blinding me like a hit to the temple. I"M SO FUCKED! My mouth is numb, my nose is running, the room is spinning. Each second feels like two, and every word that comes from my lips, hits my front teeth and falls to deaf, drunken, ears. Random thoughts and comments race across the room, finding listening ears; listening ears responding. The noise is becoming to great, so I reach for the mirror, and take my line to silence out the planeless words. I finish my line and stare into my reflectionâ€¦who am I? What is the white shit going up my nose? This sudden meeting of faces is cut short by another addict yanking the mirror away. No one appreciates narcissism anymore. I open my mouth to say something, but as soon as the thought reached the back of my throat the message was lost before it got to the lips. Another thought lost. I decide to lay back and try to mellow out.
I lay back weightlessly, and use my eyes to count the stars on the ceiling. Their is no ceiling just "space". Wide open "space". I look away from the stars and everyone is gone, there are no thoughts beating me senseless. There's peace. There's quiet. I take advantage of my new found freedom and scream at the top of my lungs. I didn't scream anything in particular, I just made noise. I made noise with a point, noise that had something to say without saying anything at all. Then a door appeared in front of me which read "home", and beside the door was a small key. I thought to myself what "home" was. Then I took the key, locked the door, and decided to stay.