Finding the hidden stash of blueberries in the back of my freezer was pretty fucking awesome after my relentless searching. Mission accomplished. Sadly…it’s my last somewhat clear memory I have of that particular morning of madness. What events ensued exactly…your guess is as good as mine. I definitely must have went hard though, considering the fact that everything goes black after that in my memory bank. Even to this day I wonder what went down. All I can tell you for certain is what happened when I woke up (for the second time) later on that day.
I managed to regain consciousness later on that morning, around 11AM. I woke up even more confused than the first time around. I was on my couch…alone…with the TV on…yet set to mute. My living room was bright and I remember it hurting my eyes. I literally had no idea how I got there…or to quote my boy Alessandro: “wha, what ha happened?” Confused is an understatement. I was fucking lost in the sauce and apparently hung the fuck over.
I laid there for a few moments, wallowing in my hungover state, wondering what the hell was going on. As I tried to gather my thoughts to perhaps help me fill in the blanks, I realized that I was one hurting unit. My head was pounding. My body felt as if I got ran over and left for dead on the side of the road. My mouth was dry. I was so fucking thirsty but I didn’t have the energy at that moment to get up and search for liquids. On the whole…it’s pretty safe to say that I once again I felt like shit.
I must say, rehab really did a number on my tolerance levels. I hadn’t blacked out like that morning in ages…and that was when I was really going hard with the partying. I guess rehab really works after all….the cleaning up my system part…not the keeping me sober aspect. As you can clearly see…I failed miserably there. Less than twenty-four hours after getting released from rehab, I was already hungover, left with nothing but questions. Perhaps staying sober was going to be a bigger challenge than I had first assumed.
Still laying there on my sofa completely confused, hungover and thirsty as fuck…I tried to remember exactly what the fuck I did…what went down…something…shit…anything at all…which was no easy feat considering the fact that my head was still pounding hard as ever. I fought through it…at least I tried to anyways…and I thought back…….. (cue the thinking back music LOL)
Okay. Let’s see here…I came home completely stoked about being out of rehab (pffff…that clearly went well)… I ate take out… oh yeah, carrot cake (which in turn caused me to realize how hungry I was on top of my growing thirst)… I watched a movie… then I had some sex (quickly I might add–damn you rehab!)… wait, where the hell is my girl? And why am I alone–on the sofa no less? Was my performance that bad (causing me to laugh to myself)… no, there’s more… we went to sleep in my bed…then….uggghhhh this fucking headache sucks! Wait, yeah, I remember… I got up in the middle of the night… I couldn’t sleep… I was sweating… I thought I had withdrawals again (which caused me to realize that despite how shitty I felt at that moment, I no longer had withdrawal symptoms of any kind)… okay, okay, I remember wandering around my apartment… looking for something…. oh shit. (light bulb decides to finally go off in my head) fuck… I was looking for oxys… did I find them? nah…. couldn’t be…. well the withdrawals are gone Matty (yes, I talk to myself frequently)…. fuck… I can’t remember….. shit. This can’t be good (guilt kicks in hardcore)……
Everything pretty much goes black after that… kind of anyways. I tried my best to remember more but couldn’t. I had random flashes (as I mentioned in my last blog entry) of me downing vodka and orange… mischievously hunting for pills… finding them… but beyond that I couldn’t (and still can’t) remember shit. However, I would fill in a few blanks (i.e. how much did I drink, did I sniff any pills–if so, how many, where was my girl, did she know what I did…and things of that nature) later on that day based upon some clues…or should I say evidence…that I left behind at the scene of the crime.
Truth be told, I’m pretty happy that I can’t remember much more than I already do of that morning. Because let’s face it, I clearly failed the whole staying sober thing. I didn’t even make it a full twenty-four hours without fucking up. It’s rather embarrassing if you ask me. So for once, in my many blackouts, that particular one was a blessing on my conscience. As the saying goes…if you can’t remember something…then it didn’t happen.
Frustrated, feeling guilty as sin and partially angry with myself, I gave up trying to remember what happened. I assumed the absolute worst. It’s pretty safe to say, that even to this very day, I still assume the worst. I mean…I had an obvious hangover and my withdrawal symptoms were magically gone. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist (although there is one here in the room next to mine if you want me to confer with him) to figure out that I drank and sniffed a few pills. The only thing I could do that day was realize that I fucked up…pick myself up and try again….and that I did.
After a little while, I decided to get off of my lazy, hung the fuck over ass to finally start my day–or what was left of it anyways. Despite still being a tad bit fucked up (drunk..high..who knows), I managed to get some things done. I wolfed down a big breakfast. I drank an obscene amount of water along with a few Motrin for my headache. I cleaned up whatever remnants remained from earlier in the morning that I might have left behind. You know…bottles…powder residue from crushed up pills…things of that nature. I showered. I shaved. I got dressed. I looked in the mirror to check out the finished product. Once again, I didn’t particularly like the man I saw staring back at me.
The last time and coincidentally the first time I looked in the mirror and didn’t absolutely love who was staring back at me (sickening huh? mentioned in I THOUGHT I WAS THE MAN) was when I was really heavy on the drugs and deep into drug dealing. That was more guilt mixed with stress mixed with one too many nights of partying–causing me to literally break down from all ends. This time was different…kind of. This was more vanity than guilt. I looked…well…I looked different.
I was standing there, inspecting myself ever so carefully in my full length mirror, not pleased one bit as to what I saw. I realized that (while in rehab) I had definitely lost some weight and a lot of my size. I was pale…at least pale by my standards. I looked like Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf…in dire need of a haircut. I looked tired and worn down. Damn you hangover…you ruined my life! In essence I looked like a fucking hot mess…minus the hot. I knew just what I needed…
So what do you do after you’ve flooded the city with pills, presumably ruined countless lives in the process, got high on your own supply, lied about it, cheated, partied, ended up in fucking rehab and once you got out–after making countless promises to stay clean and sober–you get drunk and high again? Shit…what else…you spoil yourself with a day all about you! What else would a selfish asshole like yours truly do? What? Were you expecting me to personally deliver thank you notes and apologies to all those who stuck by me? Then you clearly don’t realize what a fucking selfish person I was back then. Change takes time folks…not 24 hours and a hangover.
I hopped in my luxury sedan, lit up a cigarette (my new addiction after rehab…and in case you’re wondering I quit months later), called up my mother and headed out to start my day. It was great to talk to her. She was happy and seemingly relieved to hear from me, since I hadn’t spoken to her since a few hours prior to checking out of rehab. I’m sure she was worried, so I calmed her nerves by telling her that I was good, ready to be back in the world, and that I was planning on spending the day pampering myself. She was actually really supportive of my idea. She wished me well and told me to come visit her the following day to which I agreed. I didn’t mention what had happened earlier that morning since I didn’t want to worry her and I had truly planned on that being a one-time mistake.
As I made my rounds to various places around the city and beyond, I noticed that with every stop I made I started to feel better and better. Whether it was for a mani/pedi (don’t hate!), a haircut (at the Barber Shop in Everett courtesy of my boy Brian), a trip to the tanning salon, the massage parlor or wherever else, I noticed the same results. Perhaps a day of pampering is just what the doctor ordered…or perhaps as the hours passed my hangover was finally wearing off…who knows. Regardless, I was feeling brand fucking new. There was just one thing left…
The gym…my home away from home. I certainly couldn’t waltz in there after so much time away, especially after losing all my size and presumed strength, and think that I’d be right back to where I was. I needed some help so I did the next best thing. I went to ANC and bought a boat load of supplements (vitamins, proteins, sleep aids, pro hormones–you name it). I told the guy behind the counter that I had just gotten out of rehab for oxys, and before I stepped back into a gym of any kind, I needed to get my health right. I needed my size, strength and energy back ASAP. Needless to say, I walked out a happy man, smiling and ready to get back into the gym game. Little did I know my smile wouldn’t last too long.
As soon as I got back into my car, I noticed I had a couple of missed calls and texts from various people. The only one that stood out was a missed call from my former friend/connect in Florida. This immediately caused my stomach to knot up. Reality kicked in hardcore and I didn’t even know what he wanted yet. He left a message (something he rarely ever did) which I checked immediately. The message was something along the lines of–yo doggie, I just talked to your girl. She told me what was up and where you’ve been. Why didn’t you tell me dude?…yada yada…hope you’re all good. You ready for me or what? I’m sure you could use some sun…yada yada…end message.
I’m not one to read between the lines but in this case I did. I knew what was up. He knew I was all cleaned up and probably figured I’d want to pick back up where I left off…back in the game. Maybe he was right. The only thing was I didn’t really know how I felt at that moment. I was torn. I mean, I didn’t want to get back into selling drugs after all I’d been through and after all I’d put everybody through, did I? Could I? I made all those promises. I just couldn’t…could I? Shit. This was going to be a long day after all.
mattymcdonald 