Archive for September 2011


Hey Ma.  Hey Mike.  How ya doin?  Oh me, I’m good thanks.  Well, sort of…um…yeah…so….um……I’m a drug dealer.  Pills.  Oxys.  Yup, have been for quite some time now.  Explains a lot huh?  No, don’t ask who.  Definitely don’t ask where.  There will be none of that.  Why?  Oh money of course, and well….I’m telling you because I’ve decided to stop….oh yeah….I’m hooked on drugs.  Pills mostly.  Lately it’s been a lot more though.  I mean…with life and work, and this wedding shit, everything is happening so fast.  I know…no excuse.  Yeah, I’m pretty bad.  OK…OK…I’m really bad.  Yeah, I’m high right now.  I sniffed a few in the driveway before I came in.  See…that’s why I’m here…because I have no control anymore…I can’t stop…because I desperately need your help…will you help me?

I played all sorts of conversations and possible outcomes over and over in my head on the drive over to my mom’s house.  I went alone.  It was probably the longest ride of my life, even though I lived but five minutes away in Charlestown…right over the Tobin Bridge.  I didn’t know where to begin, or how to begin for that matter.  I was about to tell the two people who I loved and respected more than anyone else in the world that their son was an epic failure.  I was not only a drug dealer, but I was hooked on pills.  I’m not going to lie…I was scared shitless.  Looking back, other than the day I was sentenced in Federal Court, and had to stand up in front of Judge Wolf and practically beg for him not to smoke me with too much time, telling my parents about my drug dealing/drug using lifestyle was probably the hardest day of my life.  Now mind you, I’ve been to rehab, I’ve been to prison, I’ve survived both motorcycle and automobile accidents, I’ve lost loved ones, I’ve lost a parent, I’ve had bad break-ups, you get it…so that says a lot when I say it was the hardest day of my life…

I went over there to my mom’s, high as ever on drugs, with my hat in hand, with my tail between my legs.  I don’t really remember too many details of the conversation.  I know I told my mother Laura and Mike about all the drugs that I’d been doing.  How I was sniffing more 30s in one day than most pain patients get prescribed for the month.  How I was sniffing the pedico everyday like a fucking crackhead.  I told them how the drugs were making me lose my mind, how I was very depressed most days, paranoid, up and down, and how I had absolutely no control anymore.  I was an addict.  I finally admitted to them that I was a drug dealer and had been for a while.  They weren’t stupid, they had their suspicions.  They noticed how well off I was and how good I lived, considering I didn’t have a job for a long time.  They knew something was up but didn’t want to believe it.  I mean who wants to actually believe that their son is a drug dealer?

I told my parents everything…well everything I could with out implicating anyone else.  I spoke of my many Florida trips and my wild times, again without mentioning names.  I’d say “my boy” or “my girl”…I wasn’t there to blame others for my wrongdoings.  Every choice, both good and bad, that I’ve ever made was mine…and mine alone.  I made the choice to smuggle drugs from Florida and take them back to Boston to sell them in mass quantities.  I made the choice to literally party my life away by sniffing even more pills than I sold.  I made the choice to lead the life that I was living.  No one forced pills down my throat or up my nose.  No one put a gun to my head and said “let’s make this money…sell pills.”  Nope, all these poor choices were mine unfortunately.  Now I was standing in front of my parents, owning up to what I had done, coming clean.  I needed to rid my body and mind of these drugs once and for all.  I asked for their help…

I won’t get into details about the reactions that I got from my mother Laura and Mike…or what else ensued that day…some things are better left unsaid.  Maybe that and all the other shit I can’t or choose not to talk about will be in the book…lol.  I will say that I am surprised at how well they both took the news of the life that I’d been leading…especially my mom.  You see, my father Stephen died when I was just a young kid…9 years old.  He died from a drug overdose, mixing an upper with a downer, ironically.  Then there I was, admitting that I was a drug addict…history just about repeating itself right in front of my mother’s eyes.  I’m sure it wasn’t easy on her, or Mike for that matter.  In Boston it’s much more than a cautionary tale about the oxy dealer getting hooked on his own supply and then…well let’s just say that I’m certainly not the first person around my way that this has happened to.  Like I said before, where I’m from these pills are an epidemic.  Oxys usually lead to two places: prison or dead in the ground.  They’re known to break up homes, ruin lives, fuck up friendships, etc…there aren’t too many success stories of drug dealers.  I’m really surprised at how well my parents took the news…grateful even.

My mother Laura was on the phone and the computer within minutes of me breaking the news to them, looking for inpatient rehabs and detox centers in Mass and out of state.  If you knew my mother, you wouldn’t expect any less.  After many searches, she finally found one in Mass that would take my health insurance.  Damn, I guess I wasn’t going to Florida or Cali to clean up after all…lol.  The only downside is that a bed wouldn’t open up for 5 days from the day that I told her.  I agreed, gave them my info, and that was that…

5 days… that posed somewhat of a problem.  That’s a lifetime to a drug addict.  Remember…with the amount of pills I was doing per day, the withdrawals would be brutal.  They would start within 12 hours, maybe even less, from the last time I had taken or sniffed one.  5 days……shit I might be dead by then.  So against the will of my parents who wanted me to stay at their place until I was set to go, I left.  There was NO way I was going to go through withdrawals for that long…that’s fucking torture…especially when I still had to go to work and function socially.  I had other plans.  Life didn’t stop because I was an addict…it definitely wasn’t going to stop because I was dope sick.  For 5 days I bought pills from a local street dealer at street prices.  Not exactly cheap if you take into account how many pills I was doing per day.  Not even close to how cheap I was getting them in Florida.  I’m not going to lie, I thought about taking one last trip down there, to grab some pills, make some more cash, but I made promises.  I was sick of hurting the ones I loved.  So instead, I shopped at the local hustler and sniffed away for five whole days.  I sniffed away like shit was sweet, went to work and life went back to normal.  Though in the back of my mind I knew where I was headed…good ole rehab.  No, not the Vegas pool party…DJ Prefanna wouldn’t be spinning, shutting down the pool party (stories lol), there would be no sexy girls, no big rehab cups filled with my favorite mixed drink, none of that…I was headed to a real rehab.  A place I had only seen on TV and heard rumors about.  I won’t lie, I had second thoughts during those 5 days, with me being high and all.  Shit, I had third, fourth, and fifth thoughts…then one night I got a call from my boy Alessandro.  I still remember that call to this day. “Matty, whats up kid?”  We exchanged pleasantries…then, “Are you doing okay palzy? Someone told me they saw you the other day…said you looked like shit…”  That was all I needed to hear.  I lied.  Told him I was great, looked great, felt great, started this new workout, just got back from Florida last week, looking at wedding venues.  I lied…not about Florida and the wedding thing…that was true…but about how I looked and felt.  I remember getting off the phone with him and thinking, “fuck it…I’m getting my life back.”  His call may have been the final kick in the ass that I needed…

As luck would have it, the Dana Farber job I was working on was ending for my company.  My cousin Jackie told me I was going to be laid off for a month until the next job was going to be set up to start.  I was thrilled.  I could use this time to clean up my act, then get right back to work as if nothing ever happened.  It also saved me a pretty embarrassing conversation with my cousin and union foreman, Jackie.  He didn’t know of my drug use, not until much later.  Things were falling into place…

The day I was to go to rehab was like any other.  I woke up.  I sniffed some pills.  Did some laundry. PLR (pills, laundry, rehab) haha…. I packed my suitcase for my stay at hotel detox.  I ran some errands…the usual.  I had to be at the rehab by 3pm, so I used the beginning of my day to get as high as I possibly could…my last hurrah if you will.  I sniffed an obscene amount of pills on that warm September day.  I was so high that I started to have doubts again.  I thought about blowing off rehab and hopping on a plane to Florida for a few weeks to stay with my former friend.  I could clean up down there, and I could come back with a boatload of pills, and stack up some more money.  Yeah, I didn’t need work.  It was like it was starting all over again.  Cold feet isn’t the word for what I had.  I just simply didn’t want to go.  I was back on my “I don’t need fucking rehab shit.”  That was obviously the pills talking.  Luckily for me, my mother thought otherwise.  She was hip to my plans.  She was outside my apartment in Charlestown in the early afternoon, blocking my driveway, beeping like a madwoman for me to get my ass downstairs and on the way.  Shit, I guess that was it.  I was going…not like I didn’t put up a fight.  Once again, I’ll spare the specifics, but I screamed, argued, cursed, you name it.  My mother wouldn’t budge.  There was NO getting out of this lil’ vacation.  I finally caved in once my mother said I could drive myself in my own car and she would follow.  I had some calls to make and I really wanted some privacy.  That…and I had a pocket full of pills I wanted to sniff on the ride.  So she moved and I pulled by…I was speeding like a madman…to call my trip to rehab a high speed chase would be an understatement.  I flew over the Tobin Bridge, all the way up Route 1, driving like a real asshole.  I was in and out of traffic, speeding, doing about a buck, while still managing to crush up some pills and sniff them while talking on the phone at the same time.  I didn’t know how long rehab would last and I was told that I couldn’t bring my phone in with me, so I had a lot of goodbyes and loose ends I had to tie up that I had to handle via phone, some of which weren’t pretty.  Again, I’ll spare details.  I still have NO idea how my mother kept up with me the whole way.  I was really putting my car to the test with the speeds I was hitting.  God I miss that car.  At first I was trying to lose her…I had visions of Florida, pills, money, and warm fun in the sun.  Then…as soon as I would see her in my rear view, I knew she was determined, and if I fucked this up, I probably wouldn’t get any second chances, so I kept on driving til I hit the rehab.  After the long chase, I finally pulled up to my new home for the next some odd days.  It was a big brick building with a fenced in backyard of some sort.  I noticed there were some people playing wiffle ball in the backyard as I pulled up, and they were all looking at me, probably cause I pulled in there like a madman.  I parked my car, grabbed my suitcase and walked over to my mom.  I gave her a huge hug…my last hug I ever gave while high on pills.  She was crying…I wasn’t.  I was more aggravated…like this was some sort of chore for me…like I had somewhere better to be.  In all reality, it was the BEST choice I ever made.  I tossed her my keys, handed her my phone and walked inside with her…like fuck it…here goes nothing…

“Hi, I’m Matthew McDonald…I have a 3 o’clock reservation…..”

(To be continued)….

Posted 09/21/2011 by Matty McDonald in Uncategorized

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As I was writing my last blog about the boy with cancer, I started to think a lot about life and how maybe I owe something to that kid.  You never know…if I never crossed paths with him…I may still be hooked on pills…or worse.  So I asked myself, what have I ever done for others?  When have I ever given back?  Sadly…after a little while of thinking…and trust me I tried to think of something good…I couldn’t.  My entire life, I have been focused on me and me alone.  Sad really, especially considering I was in a position once or twice (while on TV) to maybe get some sort of positive message across…to maybe help others or do something good…I didn’t.  So here I am… after a conversation with my girl Kelly from NY, who works with cancer patients helping them get grants from non-profit organizations for treatments, I learned that cancer medication and treatments are wicked expensive, and sadly not every patient can afford them…so I got an idea.  Since this lil’ blog of mine has been getting some decent daily traffic, why not try and make something out of it…to give back…. so I contacted WordPress…asking what my options were.  They suggested SocialVibe, where individuals make a positive impact for the charity of their choice.  I chose “Stand Up to Cancer”.  If you take a few minutes of your time and click the “Stand Up to Cancer” badge on my blog, all you have to do is answer a few questions.  After joining SocialVibe, in addition to creating a personal profile, users are asked to select their favorite cause to support and to choose a sponsor.  Once you have done so, you can earn points for yourself (if you want), which can be redeemed for a variety of different perks and money for your respective charities by posting your “badge” (a kind of advertisement prominently displaying your chosen sponsor) to another social networking site..such as Facebook, Twitter, WordPress, Blogger and more.  It’s all legit, I made sure first…lol.  NOTE:  Occasionally you will see a message when you click on the link, “Thanks for your support! New activities will be coming soon.”  The reason you are seeing this message is that so many people are completing activities to support their charities, and sometimes they run out faster than they can get new ones up.  Be patient and PLEASE keep trying. You will eventually get to earn your donation!!

So please help me out.  Think of the little boy I talked about, think of a loved one who has cancer, or a friend, or even a stranger.  I’m sure everyone reading this right now knows at least one person with cancer.  I myself had an Uncle Michael who had cancer…sadly, he is no longer with us.  My Auntie Michelle had breast cancer…but she survived!!  My grandpa has cancerous tumors on his bladder…which has fortunately been treatable.  One particular lady friend from Florida that I’m fond of had cancer and beat it!!  There’s plenty of success stories….thanks to people like you who click links and make things happen to get money donated to cancer research… so DO IT!  Click the link!  DO ITTT!!

This is a public service announcement brought to you by Matthew McDonald at FCI Fort Dix….

Posted 09/21/2011 by Matty McDonald in Uncategorized

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Did I just make the right decision?  I mean, did I really just get engaged? What the hell am I doing?  Is this woman even the one?  Or am I just stuck in some blueberried-up love cloud?  Speaking of blueberries…think I’ll have one…yeah that will help me think.  OK…where was I?  Am I really ready to give this all up…this life….. for a woman? C’mon Matty get a hold of yourself…what’s the worst that could happen?

My mind was literally clouded with all sorts of unanswered questions.  I had so many thoughts…both good and bad going through my mind all at once…that I couldn’t really think clearly.  I’d see a future me…a family man…wife, dog, couple of kids running around in the backyard while I was cheffin’ on the grille.  I seemed genuinely happy.  Then in a flash, I’d see another possible future me…skinny and pale, passed out in some dark hotel room, empty bottles all over the place, table full of drugs and powder residue, two women in the room putting on their clothes and rummaging through my pockets at the same time.  Then in an instant I’d flash back to another possible decent future, then back to another shit show.  You get the idea.  I was losing my mind.  I had either just made the best decision of my life, or quite possibly the worst.  You know how they say everyone hits a crossroads in their life at some point or another…well looking back…I feel that this was mine.  Did I want the simple, wholesome life of a family man, or did I want to continue on thinking I was some sort of wannabe rock star drug dealer for the rest of my life?  At the time, I honestly didn’t know the answer to that question.  So, as usual when life got hectic, I did what I normally did… I sniffed oxys like they were going out of style.  And at this point, cocaine was no longer an occasional thing.  I was sniffing the white lady just about every day after work, along with the berries to try and escape reality.  Work, engagement, hustling, friends, family, this that and a third…it was all getting to me.  I thought I was running away from my problems.  I was actually running toward them full speed…with no brakes.  I was a walking disaster at this point.  This was probably the darkest time of my life…the climax of my drug use if you will.  Drugs, not only blueberries, pretty much had me by the balls.  And now I was engaged to top it all off.  Nice.

Not too long after I began to literally drown myself in drugs on a daily basis…something…or should I say someone…threw me a life jacket.  One day, when I just got off of work, I noticed a little boy and his mother walking toward the elevator in the parking garage that I was in right next to Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.  The mother was holding her son’s hand.  The boy had to be about 5 or 6 years old…tops.  I can still see his face as clear as day.  He had big, bright blue eyes, a round handsome face, and a big smile but with really little teeth.  He had on a red Boston Red Sox hat, a Dana Farber Red Sox t-shirt, shorts, and those croc sandals.  I remember thinking, “cute kid, he’s going to be a hit with the ladies someday with those eyes.”  I guess he reminded me of myself when I was a kid.  I even began to wonder what my future son would look like.  As they got on the elevator, I took a break from playing on my phone momentarily.  The mom and I smiled politely at each other and I continued on.  She and her son were talking about God only knows.  Then all of a sudden out of nowhere, the lil’ man lifts his hat completely off his head, holding it up in both hands in triumph, revealing a completely bald head while smiling from ear to ear, and asks,  “Mom…why am I like this..?” in quite possibly the cutest, most innocent, inquisitive/curious voice I’ve ever heard in my life…while continuing to smile like it was funny.  I’m almost choking up as I write this.  I literally froze.  I almost dropped my phone.  The mother and I looked at each other instantly.  She had somewhat half of a smile with semi-sad eyes…a look of embarrassment/fear/sorrow all rolled into one…knowing that there was no good truthful answer to the boy’s question.  Then there was me with a half smile as well…along with a look of shame/sadness.  I didn’t really know what to do or say at that moment.

All I did know was that in an instant, that little boy’s question broke my heart right on the spot.  I knew the answer to his question.  I mean the Dana Farber t-shirt and the bald head made it pretty obvious.  That 5 year old boy had cancer.  Now to tell you the truth, I don’t really remember what the mother said back to the kid.  I was in that much shock from the question itself.  I guess it really struck something in me, maybe because I saw some of myself in him, maybe because I felt that mother’s pain, maybe I had done too many blueberries that day and I was all emotional.  Whatever reason, it was one of those moments in my life that I will never forget.

I got off the elevator and hurried quickly to my car.  I sat in the driver’s seat, crushed up a bunch of pills, sniffed away, and thought for a while.  I’m not going to lie…I’m pretty sure I shed a tear or two.  I started to think…here I was young and healthy…had the world by the balls…yet miserable…and I’m literally pissing my life away to drugs.  Then here’s this cute lil’ man, with a huge grin on his face, just wondering why his head is bald.  He didn’t know the truth.  He was 5 years old.  For all I know, he probably wasn’t going to make it to 6.  I was literally crushed.  I guess my conscience was starting to come back after being gone for so long.  For the first time in a very long time, I could actually see that I was doing wrong.  It was like I woke the fuck up.

I went home and literally dove face first into a pile of pills and cocaine.  I was trying to sniff the image of that kid’s face out of my brain.  I can still see his face today.  I still wonder what happened to him.  He didn’t choose cancer.  He seemed like a happy-go-lucky 5 year old boy… a Red Sox fan…just happy to be there with his mom.  He’s supposed to have his whole life ahead of him.  Here I was, literally killing myself slowly with drugs…and choosing to do so.  With every sniff, I was loathing in self pity, self hate, almost wishing I could trade places with that kid.

I showered.  I figured that would help.  I was still trying to wash off the image of that lil’ kid’s face and the thoughts of his probable fate.  I tried to scrub off the fact that I’d been a lying to everyone for so long about my drug use and my drug dealing.  I couldn’t.  No body wash could cleanse my conscience.  There was no shampoo for my soul.  This was no AXE commercial.  This was me bugging the fuck out on drugs.

I remember getting out of the shower that day and looking in the mirror.  I was disgusted with the person staring back at me.  There I was…Matty the drug addict.  I had dark circles under my eyes.  Despite the tanning, my face and lips looked pale.  I looked really tired and worn out.  I was  muscular, yet skinny at the same time (if that makes any sense).  I didn’t look healthy…that’s for sure.  It looked as if I’d been partying for two years straight.  All the drugs were finally starting to take a toll on my looks.  It was the first time in my entire life that I can actually say I hated myself…and that’s a lot coming from me.  I hated everything…who I was, how awful I looked, the life I’d been leading, the lies, the secrecy, the man I’d become.  I hated my place in the world.  Addiction had won.  I lost myself to drugs.  I wanted to die.

I splashed water on my face and tried to snap out of it.  I decided right then and there that it was time for a major life change.  Maybe it was the mass amount of cocaine I sniffed that afternoon, maybe it was the little boy on the elevator, maybe it was the weight from all the other shit I was going through, from the headaches of drug dealing to my new engagement.  Whatever the reason, I finally saw the light and decided to really quit drugs and quit selling them altogether.

I took the first step.  I went to my then fiance and finally told her the truth…about everything.  I didn’t leave out a single detail.  I told her the whole story…about my Florida trips and how I was a drug dealer…and had been for quite some time.  I told her about all the drugs I’d been doing, about all the money, and how it was going up my nose at a rapid pace.  Every little lie, every little excuse, I spared no detail.  I can’t sit here and say she took it too well.  Can you blame her?  I mean it was almost unbelievable.  For the past however long, I was a drug dealer, I had a secret life, and to add insult to injury, I was hooked on the very pills that I was selling, and in a very bad way.

I told her about the little boy…and how I had this cocaine fueled epiphany when I got out of the shower.  I was ready to make a life change.  I was at a crossroads and I made my choice.  I no longer wanted to be a slave to drugs.  No more breaking the law, no more sniffing pills, no more lies.  I wanted a new life…a clean life…a life I could be proud of.  I’d love to sit and tell you that it was all smiles and hugs after I admitted all this shit, but it wasn’t.  I’ll spare the details for now, but lets just say it was epic.  The little word…trust…well that went out the window…and she almost went running out the door.  Luckily for me, I was actually being genuine and sincere in my countless apologies and my desire to quit.  So instead of me having to chase after a runaway bride, I got a new ultimatum.  I had to prove that I was done with pills and all other drugs once and for all.  I had to give up my phones…all of them.  I had to cut ties with anyone associated with my drug dealing…no exceptions.  I had to hand over every single pill, every gram of cocaine, every vial of steroids, and any other drug paraphernalia that I may have had stashed around my apartment…or wherever else.  I had to check into a rehab and clean up my act.  I couldn’t do an outpatient program…oh no…I had to do an inpatient rehab to ensure that I actually got help.  There would be no excuses, no more lies.  This was it.  If I didn’t complete all demands, every single one, not only would I no longer be engaged and newly single, but my parents would be getting a nice telephone call, followed by the authorities.  At the time, prison wasn’t even on my radar.  This was before anyone in my conspiracy was arrested, indicted, or decided to flip.  Needless to say, this woman meant business.  I have to admit, I was impressed.  I mean she could…and probably should have…just cut me off right then and there after I admitted all that to her.  I mean it probably wasn’t easy hearing that I was a drug dealing, lying, drug addict.  At least I can’t imagine it was anyways.  If I hid all of this for so long, what else had I been lying about?  So…I have to give credit where credit is due…this person played a role in helping save my life.  Whether her and I worked out or not is irrelevant, because I am forever grateful for at least this one thing.  I guess it’s true what they say…certain people may not come into your life for a lifetime…but they do come into your life for a reason.

It felt better than anything I’ve ever done to get everything off my chest that day.  It was a high like no other.  I felt free…which is ironic because a mere eight months later…I’d lose my freedom.  Regardless of what the reaction was in me telling her what was really going on and how bad I really was on these drugs…it was the first step.  I admitted I had a problem, no small problem at that, and that was a huge step for me.  It was something I was never able to do before.  It was like I was starting to get myself back.  Now all I had to do was break the news to my parents and get my ass in a rehab.  That might be a little difficult…

(To be continued)…

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