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I guess you could say I was stuck in a pretty vicious cycle at this point.  My life was spiraling out of control at a rapid pace.  I sniffed more and more pills.  I was a full time union construction worker, putting in roughly 45-50 hours per week for the company I was working for.  I was a full time drug trafficker.  Sure…it was less hours and way more money…but it involved a lot of traveling on short notice…and even more headaches.  So, between my two jobs, all the drugs I was doing, and my steadily declining social and family life, I actually managed to date a woman exclusively, full time as well.  At least it was supposed to be full time.  Because of the madness I created in my life, I guess you could say my relationship was more part time.

My typical week now went from the previous party mode…all day every day…to me working…breaking my balls all day…sweating for a week’s pay…which I truly didn’t mind.  I enjoyed working and having a purpose other than smuggling and selling drugs.  Then I’d make moves after work, distributing and collecting, spending the majority of my afternoons in my car while on the phone.  I’d hit up the gym if and when I had a free hour.  Then I’d play the relationship game at night time with the woman I was seeing.  I did all of this while on massive amounts of pills…and occasionally cocaine or some other drug…just to spice things up a bit.  Oh yeah, don’t forget steroids too.  Needless to say, my weekdays were always very hectic…never a dull moment…put it that way.

On the weekends, it didn’t get any better.  I had even less time or control over things.  I thought I was some sort of drug dealing James Bond.  I’d drive the woman I was seeing to work early on Saturday morning, wearing my construction clothes.  I’d tell her that I either had a side job or that I was working Saturday overtime, which isn’t uncommon in the union.  More lies.  Meanwhile, I really had an early flight to Florida that I desperately had to catch.  I’d hightail it to Logan Airport, sniffing a few pills on the way, while breaking records and most state traffic laws with my speed and lane changes.  I’d get there just in time to change out of my work clothes and into a nice suit and tie or a light travel outfit, depending on which story I would be using, in case I needed one that day.

I’d usually get to Florida by mid-morning.  Right after I landed, I’d either call or text my girl to let her know I was on coffee break or lunch, depending on the time.  She’d think I was working 10 minutes up the road in Boston.  I was 1000 miles away.  I’d meet up with my former friend/connect.  We’d make moves.  Then I’d either grab lunch with him or with one of my lady friends down there, depending on how much time I had of course.  I’d sniff a few more pills to calm my nerves before getting on the flight back to Boston.  No matter how many times I did it, I always got butterflies smuggling pills.  I’d be home within a matter of hours, always in time to pick up the woman I was seeing from work that night.  I’d change first, of course.  I’m sure if I rolled up in a suit, it might look a little suspect.  I’d even throw the construction clothes in my hamper, just in case she checked.  You can never be too careful.  I’d sniff a few more pills, then I’d pick her up.  She would ask how my day was, and I’d lie of course.  I used to always say, “tough day at the office.”  Then I’d make up some story about my day.  She was utterly clueless of where I was, who I was with, and what I really did all day.  Double life.  I did this little Saturday adventure more times than I care to mention.  Little did I know…those same day trips back and forth to Florida would ultimately be my demise…and be the one piece of evidence needed to convict me of conspiracy.  I thought I was being smooth.  I wasn’t fooling anyone.  There’s NO excuse for flying to Florida for a few hours.  It was pretty crazy…I’ll admit…it was stupid as well.  At the time…I wasn’t thinking rationally…I was on all sorts of drugs remember?

Sometimes, I’d even see the same flight attendant on the way down and then again on the way back.  Occasionally they recognized me from the show.  Other times, if they remembered seeing me on the AM flight, I’d have to come up with some sort of tall tale, depending on which ensemble I was wearing.  I’d be a businessman trying to close a deal on a Saturday…I’d be a reality star who was doing an AM appearance for a small fee…I had a side chick in FL that I was seeing…I left the keys to my business down in FL while visiting a friend and had no spare set…I definitely came up with some stories, that’s for sure.  They didn’t call me Walt Disney for nothing.

Other times, I would literally have drugs or large amounts of cash on me, depending on which way I was traveling, and I’d run into a “Big Brother” fan.  They’d want to talk about the show, who I still talked to and what it was all like.  They’d usually want a picture with me or occasionally an autograph…of which I’d always say yes.  Little did they know where I was really going or coming from, or what I was truly doing in the airport…or how many drugs I was on for that matter.  It’s actually sad to think about it.  Even TSA people recognized me occasionally as I was going through security.  Here I am, scared shitless, with a smile on my face, trying to be Matty from BB9 and drug trafficker at the same time.  It was pure stupidity and pure madness at the same time.  Even more sad, when I got home, I couldn’t tell anyone.  It’s like here I am, all day doing all this, and I have no one to vent to about my run-ins with BB fans or my close encounters.  It’s not like I could just say, “Oh hey babe, I went to FL to pick up drugs today and I ran into a few BB fans…they were really nice”…LOL.

This type of living could only last for so long.  I was doing an awful lot of drugs…too many at this point.  I had constant sweats or shakes at all times.  I felt empty inside.  I felt like I had absolutely no time in the world for myself…let alone anyone else I held dear to me.  I guess that’s why I used more and more…it was kind of my release at the time.  I thought I was too busy for everyone before I had a “real job”…now I literally saw no one.  My life was spent on a construction site, in the air, or on a cell phone.  My existence was consumed with pills.  I was living that life.  I secretly loved it all.  The lies, the secrecy, the rush, the money.  I mean here I was, living a fucking crazy double life for a long time, and no one knew.  I was making some serious cash, spending and sniffing it faster than it came in.  I was famous.  I was a drug dealer.  I had a beautiful woman on my arm at all times.  My life felt like I was in a movie and I absolutely loved every second of it…I’ll admit it now…as I’m in prison.  It was fucking wild…that’s for sure… yet stupid.  I had everything I could have ever wanted at that point…just no free time…easy trade off.  I much rathered that than to live a monotonous existence.  You only live once right?  I was a drug addict with no control…I barely saw anyone anymore…and I was breaking more laws than I care to mention…but I didn’t care.  My life was definitely far from average, and that’s why it was so god damned hard to quit.

Then things started to change.  I began to get sloppy with my secrecy and my double life.  The woman that I was seeing would find airplane ticket stubs from my one-day Florida travels in my apartment.  She’d find lunch receipts from various restaurants in Florida in the center console in my car.  I had a bunch of phones at this point.  She’d find them, seeing a plethora of Florida numbers in the call logs.  I got a little careless, you could say that.  I’d always lie.  Not to mention…with all the drugs I was on…my mood was always up and down.  I’d be on cloud nine one day, the next I’d be legit miserable to be around.  My relationship, or lack thereof, was on the rocks.  I was out of control and didn’t give a fuck…there would always be other women…besides I loved my pills more.  She’d threaten to leave me.  She assumed I was cheating.  My travel and attitude suggested infidelity.  I’d tell more lies and make more false promises to change.  I never attributed drugs to my problems.

I even attempted to see a therapist for a little while…mainly to keep my girl quiet about me trying to change my ways…to bring some sort of calmness and order to my life…and because I was still partly depressed half the time.  I needed answers or better drugs.  I was still blaming everyone but myself and drugs for my problems.  Sadly, I cut my therapist off after only a couple of months.  I was lying to my therapist more than I lied to my girl or my friends and family.  I guess that’s kind of counter productive.  So, I self diagnosed myself with seasonal depression (it was the summer) and took more pills.  I didn’t tell the woman I was seeing that I had stopped going to therapy.  More lies.  I just didn’t feel like hearing it…not from her…not from anybody.  I was definitely a piece of work back then huh?

I got engaged in Las Vegas about a month later.  Yes, I realize that statement of my engagement came out of left field.  So did my actual engagement.  I pretty much shocked everyone with that move…including myself…lol.  I got the ring on a whim and proposed even more out of nowhere.  That was my life at the time…fast, wild and spontaneous.  Don’t get me wrong, I was indeed in love with this woman, or at least I thought I was, but I was in NO way, shape, size or form ready to be married.  For one, I was a fucking drug dealer.  Even more importantly, I was hooked on pills, as well as other illegal substances.  I don’t think I was really ready for a life of monogamy at that point.  I was young…and wasn’t in the right frame of mind at the time…plus her and I were like oil and vinegar…tastes great together…but doesn’t mix well.  She’s a great girl and I have nothing bad to say about her…nor will I ever…we just weren’t right for each other.  To be honest, now that I’ve had time to really sit and think it all over, I should have never asked her to marry me if I wasn’t truly ready to commit.  It was very selfish on my part…and it certainly wasn’t fair to her or her family for that matter.  I should have let her go… and that’s all I’ll say about that…

The morning after I got engaged, she caught me sniffing pills in the hotel bathroom.  I won’t get into specific details…but let’s just say that didn’t go over well.  It wasn’t pretty that’s for sure.  Now add that to the fact that the night before, while celebrating our engagement over a nice dinner and champagne at a restaurant in Vegas, an ex of mine happens to walk in with some friends and ends up sitting two tables over from us.  Out of all the restaurants in all of Las Vegas, on all of the nights…I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried…I told you…one big movie…lol.  Anyway, that didn’t go over well either.  First the ex, then she catches me ripping lines of pills in the bathroom, right after she agreed to be my wife…one might say we were fucked from the start.

I panicked.  I didn’t know what to say or do.  The jig was up.  My secret was out.  The woman I just asked to marry me watched me crush up a pill…or six…and sniff them up my nose like it was common practice.  There would be no lying my way out of this pickle…I should know…I tried desperately.  I tried everything.  I tried to explain.  I told a mass amount of lies.  I was acting like a real drug addict.  I couldn’t admit it.  I tried reversing the blame, throwing it all on her.  I called her delusional.  I didn’t sniff anything.  She was clearly seeing things.  Nothing worked.  I was caught…I feared the worst…

She searched my luggage and found a stash of blueberries.  I told even more lies while crying for my pills.  I flipped out.  I threw out every Hail Mary I could think of.  Nothing worked.  She gave me the ultimatum.  It was the pills or her…I couldn’t have both.  “Matthew, you can have these pills back and I walk out of this hotel room and out of your life forever…or you can have me.”

Needless to say, she walked out of that hotel balling her eyes out crying, while I was happy as a kid in a candy store with my pills…I KID…I KID!!  Damn…do I really seem like THAT much of an idiot LOL?  The pills got flushed.  That was tough to watch…I almost wanted to dive in after them, but I held back.  Promises were made.  I FINALLY admitted that I had a slight problem with these pills, but I downplayed it.  Hey, it was a start.  She didn’t know that I had been on pills since the first date, and I surely wasn’t going to tell her that, not after the chain of events that took place over the past couple of days.  I asked her for help and I mostly meant it.  Problem solved…for now.  I still pondered that offer, pills or her, until I got back to Boston.  Of course I SAID that I’d quit and that I chose her over pills any day, but I had a lot to think about.  I mean I had a 17 month love affair with perc 30s.  Could I really just give it all up for a woman?

I ended up sniffing pills during the rest of the trip.  What, you didn’t quite possibly think that I just quit “cold turkey” there in Vegas did you?  Oh, helllll no…Vegas is like 105 degrees, and I wasn’t trying to have chills, sweats, and all those other fun withdrawal symptoms while I vacationed.  I had a squirrel stash of pills in another pocket of my luggage…in case of emergencies…thank God.  If I had gone “cold turkey” that day, I may have died or went into some sort of seizure.  Remember, I was doing about 20 pills a day at the time.  I was bad.  As usual, I hid it from her and told more lies.  Look, I may have got caught and said I was willing to quit…and I partly believed it to be true…but when you’re on something for so long…as I was…it wasn’t like I could just shut the need off.  I needed professional help…that was for sure….and until I got it…I was going to stay hustling…and stay sniffing.  Shit…I just got engaged…I deserved it….that’s how it was with me back then…always balls to the wall…sniffing pills, lying about it, and acting like I was living this wholesome life.

The flight home was rather tough for me.  Sure, I may have been on cloud nine from the blueberries, but I couldn’t relax at all.  I had a lot on my mind.  My mind was literally racing a mile a minute.  I had so many questions that I needed to answer…

(To be continued)…

A normal person would have gotten help immediately, right then and there, or stopped cold turkey while it was still relatively early enough to safely do so.  I wasn’t normal.  I didn’t think I had a problem.  If anything, I just merely chaulked it up to another weekly expense, like buying groceries or getting a haircut.  I could afford it.  What’s a few pills a day compared to how many I was moving?  Plus, to be brutally honest, I didn’t want to stop.  I absolutely LOVED how I felt on those pills.  They made me feel like…well…fantastic.  One pill crushed up…that’s all it took…sniff…wow…they made me feel warm all over, energetic, ready to take on the world, they gave me an overall sense of well being, almost euphoric…I was literally on cloud nine…24 hours a day…it was love at first sniff.  When something makes me feel so fuckin’ good, why in the world would I ever want to quit?  Not with my personality…I was like…I want MORE!

I thought the berries enhanced everything that I did.  I never went anywhere and couldn’t do anything without them.  It was almost like a fucked up version of those credit card ads… “Blueberries….Matty never leaves home without them.”

Say I was going to take a trip to the mall or head downtown for some shopping, I’d sniff a few pills to get nice and right to shop.  Those pills really helped me spend…that’s for sure.  When it was time to hit the gym, I’d down a few pills.  I had this idiotic idea that pain pills could actually enhance my workouts.  I thought that I wouldn’t be able to feel the burn, so I’d be able to bang out more reps.  Mind you, at the time, I was also heavy on the steroids.  Nice mix.  Yes, I was a moron…I’m well aware.  If I had a hot date or was going out with some friends, I’d sniff a few pills beforehand, while I was getting ready.  Then I’d down a few more later on in the evening, with some cocktails of course.  Yup, I was going to be the life of that party, that’s for sure.  If my mother was having us all over her house for Sunday dinner, I’d take pills for that too…pills go great with Italian cooking…lol.  Whether it be to see the dentist, the doctor, my tattoo artist, a haircut appointment, well…you get the idea…I was “blueberried up” at all times…sadly.

I was convinced that I didn’t have a problem of any kind.  I was even more convinced that no one had a clue of what was going on.  I’d show up in another new vehicle, have on another new watch, I’d switch apartments, have new clothes, yet I was unemployed.  I was on drugs, thinking shit was sweet…I didn’t realize that addiction had truly taken over my life.  I got deeper and deeper in the drug trade.  I was addicted to both the pills and the money.  I took so many pills and thought nothing of it.  It all happened so fast.  It’s like one day I’m taking half of a blueberry with a few cocktails and I’m Mr.Social, Matty from BB9, absolutely loving my life, and the next I’m taking pills just to get out of bed, so I can function throughout the upcoming day…and I STILL wouldn’t quit.  Addiction is a motherfucker huh?

I thought I was making my great life even greater.  I didn’t think I was hurting anyone.  I especially wasn’t thinking about where all of those pills I was moving were going.  To be honest, that was the LAST thing on my mind.  I was more focused on me.  It’s not like anyone knew…right…except the few I dealt with.  I enjoyed those pills, I’ll admit it. I enjoyed every second of it.  My plan was to save up enough dough to move out west.  I kept setting the limit higher and higher every time I reached the goal.  I didn’t want to quit…I kept telling myself I’d quit when I was ready.  I was powerless to those lil’ guys…that’s for sure.  I guess I wasn’t ready until 17 months later…cause that’s when I finally quit the life.

I was still mixing the now more than occasional party drug or two with the pills when I went out.  Whether it be on vacation, a club, lounge, bar, home…any excuse to party.  Now add in a whole boat load of alcohol…then take into consideration I was always on anabolic steroids to stay in shape so it wouldn’t appear as if I were on drugs.  I had an image to uphold, remember?  I was mildly delusional…as you can see.  As I mentioned in the previous post…I only used to party on the weekends.  Well… not at that point in my life.  Everyday was Friday in my eyes.  I wasn’t working.  I was a reality TV star who just happened to be a drug trafficker.

I was in all out party mode for the better part of those 17 months.  I thought I was a rock star.  Shit…I think at the end I started to even look like one too…sadly.  I’d sleep all day long.  I’d hit the gym.  I’d shop.  I’d party at night.  I’d take trips bi-weekly to FL to re-up on pills.  Rinse, recycle, repeat.  I’d take vacations as if I deserved it.  I dated a few different women during this time period, but right now I don’t feel that my love life is really relevant to this…however I did mention that I had an addiction to toxic women, so I guess I gotta throw this in.  I used to confuse jealousy, madness, and craziness with passion and love…the more crazy a woman was over me the more I thought she loved me…it turned me on….I think I just truly thrived on the attention.  Don’t get me wrong…I was no angel either.  I can say that during this time, with all my drug use and all that was going on with my double life… I probably wasn’t exactly the best boyfriend in the world…sure I made many mistakes, and I was an asshole at times (emotionally NOT physically) but it wasn’t ALL bad…c’mon even my friends call me lover boy…lol.  Sure I have regrets, but who doesn’t…right?  Every woman I’ve ever loved, I really wish them nothing but the best…that’s truth…besides if they had to deal with my nonsense and way of living…they deserve to be happy.  Maybe I’ll go into details about my love life in another blog…or with my track record another several blogs… but for now back to the story…

All the partying, trips, drugs and whatnot may sound glamorous to some of you.  It wasn’t.  All the drugs, booze and steroids I put in my system really threw a dent in the plans.  I had many hospital visits during that time…even while on vacation.  To tell you the truth, it still boggles my mind to see how much the human body can really withstand.  I’m surprised I am not dead…

From the day that I realized that I needed the pills to function, things only got worse.  Maybe not financially, but definitely my physical and mental state for sure.  As time went on, my tolerance built up.  It no longer took me only a few pills to be on cloud nine, I had to take 5…then 10…then 15.  I was now taking 15 a day to feel normal…just to not feel sick. Those withdrawals are fuckin’ brutal…let me tell you.  Luckily, I usually always had them on hand, either around the house, or in my car, or wherever else I would stash them in case of emergency.  There were a few times when I had to hop on a plane to FL on a moment’s notice because I had run out and the withdrawals started.  I’d be on the plane…literally shaking cold then sweating…the person next to me would always look at me funny. Hey I felt like shit…I didn’t care… 3 hours from Boston and I’d feel like a champ again.  Shit, I would have flown to friggin’ China to not feel sick…that’s the truth!

Now one would think that when I needed THAT many pills in order to function, and even more to feel the way I loved feeling, that I would quit, or at least get some professional help.  Well, that wasn’t happening any time soon.  I still enjoyed the pills…I just happened to need a lot per day.  I loved that life.  I loved the rush of the hustle, the rush of getting on a plane going to make money, the rush I felt as soon as I sniffed one. I knew I’d have to quit hustling if I truly wanted to quit.  There would be none of that.  I got used to living a certain way, I wasn’t going back to a regular life with a regular honest job.  Besides, I wasn’t a drug addict, remember?  Those pills were just a hobby of mine.  Addicts are on corners asking for nickel rocks.  Not me, I was living in a nice apartment, driving a new Lexus.  I had money.  I was no addict.  NA meetings?  I don’t need those…only crackheads need those…the shit I used to tell myself to rationalize my drug use…out of control…

Then things started to change.  See, when I started out, I had the world by the balls.  I thought I had it all…money, a little taste of fame, a great social life.  Life was but a beach chair.  But it wasn’t all fun and games.  All the different shit I was putting in my system, along with all this money I had, turned me into a completely different person. I went from an outgoing, likable, respectful human being to a complete dickhead.  Hey, I’ll admit it.  I thought I was above everything and everyone. You couldn’t tell me shit.  Everyone was on MY time…not the other way around.  The more and more pills I took, the more lies I told.  I’d be telling my poor mother, who just spent all day cooking dinner, that I was 5 minutes away…everyone would be waiting on me to eat.  I was already late.  She would go and make my plate for me…and all that…and in reality I was in FL boarding a plane…coming home from picking up pills.  Five minutes my ass.  I was a disgrace.  That happened on more than one occasion.  I was living such a double life.  I thought nothing of it.  It still sickens me now to think of how many times I chose drugs over friends and my family.  Now as I’m typing this (I have email…FINALLY), I’d give ANYTHING to really be five minutes away for dinner at my moms.

Drugs really distorted my values and my views of the world.  Before I was on these 30s,  I’ve always been gainfully employed.  I’ve always been pretty responsible in that department.  I’ve always been a hard worker, and I’m proud to be able to say that.  There’s NOTHING wrong with an honest day’s work.  I even briefly had a job right after BB9…selling cars.  I didn’t want to go back to construction after the show, so my boy Kevin hooked me up with a nice lil’ gig.  I was pretty good at it…so I’m told.  I was even better at first when I was on the blueberries.  I could sell fire in hell on those things.  Then as I started to really make money with them and really get addicted, I became really lax with work, which was so unlike me.  I stopped caring.  I was let go.  I used to think,  “who needs work when I can take a trip to FL and make a month’s salary in a few hours…”  My way of thinking was definitely warped…that’s for sure.

My personality continued to change dramatically.  I began to shut everyone out.  I barely saw my friends.  I always had some bogus excuse of why I wasn’t going out…some lie.  I hardly even saw my parents.  Any time I went over there, it was “hi…bye”…five minutes in and out.  I had places to go, people to see.  No time for anyone.  I became very moody. On more than one occasion, I would lash out on a friend or a family member, for no reason at all…which was very out of character for me.  The drugs were changing me…I just couldn’t see it.  I was in my own little world.  My emotions were up and down…like a rollercoaster.  When the littlest thing would go wrong, it felt like the end of the world.  I remember one night I misplaced my wallet.  I hadn’t even been out, so I knew it had to be somewhere.  I was on the phone with my aunt, literally crying over a lost wallet.  In between my tears, I was sniffing pills…like that’s gonna solve anything.  It was almost as if someone had died…it was crazy…all over a wallet…which I ended up finding the next morning…by the way.  Those pills really fuck with your emotions.  One minute I’d be so happy, ready to go out, up for anything, outgoing…then the next minute…boom! …I’d be utterly depressed, thinking life was over.  Life was no beach chair…it was all rain and clouds.  It was like that on a daily basis for me…up and down….STILL wouldn’t quit.

Regardless of how much money I had and how much I was making, my life was spiraling out of control.  Nothing made me happy anymore.  Some days, I had really wished that I was dead.  It would be easier than dealing with life.  I literally wanted to die…though I never tried anything crazy.  I was just strait up depressed.  I began to be reckless with my spending.  I was living ridiculous.  I spent foolishly.  I tried to literally buy my happiness…nothing worked.

There were a few times where I half-assed tried to reach out to a few people, saying I needed help.  One person had been through what I was going through, not too long before me.  The other had a friend who died from what I was taking.  But like I said, it was a half-ass attempt.  I was vague.  I didn’t want to admit I had a problem.  Matthew McDonald is no fucking drug addict.  I’m just depressed…that’s all.  I still wasn’t ready to quit.  I was in denial. I felt so alone.  No one had a clue what was going on (I shut everyone out…remember).  From the outside looking in, I had it made in the shade.  I wasn’t working, I was pretty well off, but if you were to scratch the surface, you would’ve seen that I was broken.  I was no longer myself.  I couldn’t quit though.  I couldn’t dare go through those withdrawals, and “hell no” to rehab…people would find out.  I kept on sniffing!

I figured I was depressed cause I wasn’t employed…like I had all this free time to do absolutely nothing.  So my cousin Jackie got me back in the union.  We were working on building the new Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston.  It DID feel great to be back to work…to have some purpose…but I was still really heavy on the pills.  I’d be doing pills in the porta-potty at work, before work, right when I got out of work…you get it.  I STILL busted my ass at work though, can’t take that away from me.  I realized I couldn’t continue on this trend forever…. time was running out… if I didn’t stop now, I’d either be doing 50 pills a day or I’d be dead… that’s when the ultimatum came…

(To be continued)…