30 Days of Recovery

Dear Drugs,

I was the kid with a sick fascination for you.  At 5 years old, I would watch the teens across the street light up and smoke a blunt, causing little nervous spasms in my stomach and yet I couldn’t look away.

“What do drugs do?” was always a question I asked, and the automatic response was “they kill you. Never do drugs.”  Of course everyone failed to tell me the real reason you’re so dangerous is really due to the euphoria you bring and the emptiness you can fill so immediately.  So after smoking my first jay and waking up the next day fully alive, I completely disregarded what every adult in my life had told me about you. “Drugs are bad”, “Drugs will kill you”.  Ha! Yeah Right! Complete and utter bullshit.  They know nothing about you.

Come 9th grade and I quickly get pulled in.  I meet great friends, sharing you as our friend in common.  Smoking everyday after school, go to sick parties, and getting so high that I even forget my own name.   Amphetimines turn out to be my jam and I’m popping addy’s everyday by Christmas freshman year.

So here I am, 3 years later remembering all those great times.  I’m stone cold sober and in treatment, reminiscing my party days and my party friends.  But sometimes off with my memories, something I can see clearly now what I couldn’t see before.  And I hit a standstill.  Drug addict of the year and it hits me hard.  This realization that you’ve totally screwed me over.  I’ve been cheated.

You were my best friend.  You made my life worth living, you became my reality.  I trusted mushrooms, hallucinations to be real in the moment.

That purple elephant running across the street?  Its as real as the sun in the sky, as tangible as the red stop sign down the street.  Except it’s not real, and I can only realize that after my trip ends and all that’s left is the actual truth, which is that the purple elephant was never actually there, it was a lie.

You were my best friend, and you threw me a big fat party.  In fact, it was probably the party of my life.  My best friends are all there, dancing, strobe lights, foam, vodka and drunk twister, gravity bongs and weed and coc. and moma brownies and I’m having the time of my life.

And then, at some point during the night I pass out on the bathroom floor, and when I wake up, everything’s gone.  All I have left is an empty house, a crap ton of shit to clean up, and a massive hangover.

Friend?

Ha.  Yeah.  Thanks a lot “friend”