HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME…PFFFFF!

Today is my 28th birthday.  I know…I know…Happy Birthday to me.  Yay!  Yippie!  Whooptie fucking doo da.  Another year older…  Go ahead…  Grab the cake.  Round up the balloons.  Pack up the presents and head on down to Fort Dix… Big party going down tonight on my unit.  It’s going to be fucking epic… Out of control.  DJ Profenna is spinning his greatest hits and all the nightlife regulars are coming through–pffff stories…

There’s no party this evening.  In prison, birthdays are just another day.  At best, a few of the fellas and I will make a few pizzas, play cards, or something along those lines.  That’s all I can really ask for in here…  few friends, decent food (for prison anyways), and a few laughs…

I wouldn’t really want a big party even if I could have one.  Truth is, I’m not really feeling the whole birthday thing this year.  Not because I’m still in prison…although that doesn’t help.  That still very much sucks.  I guess it’s just starting to hit me that I’m getting older.  Inevitable I know…but still…I’m pushing 30 like…once I hit that age…then what!?

You know…  I’m sitting here looking back over the years and it’s like–fuck–didn’t I just turn 21…?  25…?  Damn, am I really 28 years old today?  Time flies…  and to add insult to injury I’m spending my birthday in federal prison….awful.

However, in a few month’s time I’ll be out of this shit hole and headed for warm climate.  This prison shit will all be but a distant memory.  A mere speed bump in the road of my life.   So my only consolation prize in all of this is knowing that this particular birthday will be my very last one that I’ll have to spend behind bars.  Next year…  well next year I’ll be 29, so I’ll probably be on suicide watch haha!

This isn’t exactly how I would have pictured my life by the time I hit 28…  not even close actually.  This prison shit really threw a wrench into my plans.  But what can ya do…that’s life…  so since I’ll have a little under two years before I hit 30…  I have compiled a list of things I want to do, see and accomplish by the time I hit 30….  a to-do list if you will….  in no particular order and I’ll keep it PG-13 since there are children who read this….

  1. Run and complete the Boston Marathon…or any marathon for that matter…  For years, Marathon Monday was one of my favorite days in Boston.  The fellas and I would usually take in the Sox game in the morning.  It would usually be followed by a marathon of drinking and debauchery for the remainder of the day.  I figure since I’m on this health and fitness kick, maybe I’ll actually run the marathon that I used to use as an excuse to run wild…
  2. Skydive…  no particular reason other than it looks like a fucking rush.
  3. Write a memoir and get it published….  picture Tucker Max’s “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell” meets “Blow” meets “The Notebook”…  it’s on the way.
  4. Visit Europe…
  5. Start my own business….legal this time of course.
  6. Get married in Las Vegas to a random woman….
  7. Get marriage annulled the next day…
  8. 3 month long road trip around the United States…  only going to places that I’ve never been.  Chicago, Texas, Kansas, Denver,  the Carolinas, Washington, DC…  to name a few.
  9. More tattoos.
  10. Do some sort of charitable works…  possibly speak at schools to the children about how bad drugs can and will fuck your life up…  perhaps volunteer once a month somewhere….  this is a must.
  11. Spend more time with family and friends….  time away in prison has made me realize how much I’ve missed out on…  even when I was free.
  12. Become a better man.
  13. P90X…  I’m in great shape, but I watch these infomercials every single day.  Tony Horton is calling my name, saying “Let’s see what ya got”….  I want to see what I can get in 90 days or if it’s a scam….
  14. Take salsa lessons….  I’ll be living somewhere where it’s a predominately Latin crowd.  I took a lesson once.  I liked it….  don’t hate..
  15. Take golf lessons then play more golf… The area I’m moving to has some of the best courses around so I’ll need to brush up on my game–or lack thereof.  I’ve played a few times.  However, I will admit I suck pretty bad.
  16. Learn to speak Spanish fluently… I took Spanish in high school and college…yet I couldn’t get beyond hi and goodbye.  I’ve learned quite a few phrases while incarcerated to carry on a short simple conversation.  However, when it gets beyond that I’m lost in the sauce.  If I learn to speak in its entirety then I’ll know what people are actually saying about me and I won’t have this blank stare when they’re asking me whats on the dinner menu for the evening?

I’m sure there’s plenty more things I want to do, see and accomplish by the time I hit 30… but these are the only ones I can think of at the moment that aren’t rude, sexual, or past PG-13 rating…so with that being said… Happy Birthday to me! PPFFFFFF (sound that shit out–that’s how I feel about birthdays)… Fellas, have one for me tonight!  Also, it’s my friend Kelly’s birthday tomorrow…so…HAPPY BIRTHDAY KELLY!

Oh yeah, before I forget… Happy Easter to all of my friends and family!  Cheers ~ Matty

Posted 04/07/2012 by Matty McDonald in Uncategorized

DO NOT PANIC

When somebody–particularly someone that you’ve been dating for a while–tells you after a long absence from each other that they have news for you…don’t panic.  That’s rule number one.  Pay no  mind to the fact that they just happened to leave out the word good in front of the word news.  Relax…it still might not be bad news…well not that bad anyways.  Maybe it’s just general news like the upcoming weather forecast for instance….nothing to lose sleep over…wishful thinking.

Rule two…if this person decides to ask you, after informing you of this impending news, if you prefer the good or bad news first–always…and I mean always…choose the bad news first.  There’s nothing worse than getting all jacked up on euphoria from spectacular news, then all of a sudden being shot back down to earth feeling like oh woe is fucking me.  The anxiety then depression from that alone could cause serious damage to your psyche.  I’d much rather take the not so pleasant news first, get it out of the way, and perhaps end the conversation on a high note.  Anyway…that’s just me…

Rule number three…quite possibly the most important rule of all…once you get the news–both good and bad–stay calm and think before you act.  I can’t stress this point enough.  Do not…I repeat do. not. fucking. panic…take a few minutes to digest the information at hand.  Try and analyze the situation and think it all over before you flip the fuck out and end up saying or doing something you will regret later on.  This type of behavior is not a good look.  It leads to rash impulsive decisions.  From what I’ve learned over the years, irrational behavior leads nowhere good…and fast.  So please try and stay calm for Pete’s sake…or fuck it…flip the fuck out and throw shit…that’s what I did.  I had to learn all of this the hard way………

I decided to let my girl drive us home.  Well…she might have insisted that she was driving actually…I don’t really remember.  Either way it was fine by me.  I would have walked if that was my only option.  I just wanted to get as far away from that place as possible…and fast.

The moment I got in the passenger side of my car, I immediately smiled again.  I noticed a box with a clear top revealing my favorite carrot cake from Whole Foods resting comfortably on my seat.  I forget what the frosting inscription said word for word…but I remember it was really nice.

*BTW…if you’ve never had the absolute pleasure of tasting this particular carrot cake that I speak of…you are seriously missing out.  What the hell are you waiting for?  Click the little X on your screen.  Put down your handheld devices…and drop whatever nonsense it is that you might be doing and hightail it over to Whole Foods…like right now.  Not later.  Not tomorrow.  Right fucking now.  Yes, actually it is that good.  Don’t worry…the blog will be here when you get back.  In fact, you might enjoy it even more now that your taste buds have been fully satisfied.  That cake is nothing short of spectacular…I promise you…why wouldn’t you trust the guy in prison?? GO!

Back to the story…….

I remember thinking….wow, this day can’t get any better…I’m finally free…it’s a beautiful night…I have my best girl with me…carting my ass around for a change…and I have my favorite carrot cake, which I may or may not share with her.  Life is pretty fucking good.  I should have done this whole rehab thing a long time ago.  Shit, maybe I should play the lotto tonight…never know, if things are going this good I just might win.

Boy was I fucking right.  The remainder of the day couldn’t and wouldn’t get any better.  Just the opposite actually.  It was about to take a turn for the worst…

She drove while I showered her with the expected thank you’s, the you’re so thoughtfuls, and the ever popular goo goo ga ga I love you’s.  I make myself sick sometimes…they don’t call me loverboy for nothing.  Hey, I really loved that carrot cake…don’t hate.  I would have serenaded her with a song if it got me that cake.

The conversation soon shifted to my experiences in rehab.  I told her about the different (and I use the term loosely) people I met and how I thought I discovered a new species that slept two beds over from me.  I told her about all the crazy shit I saw and how the whole set up reminded me of a prison.  Then I made it really dramatic and told her about what my mind and body went through while I came off drugs.

I laid it on really thick.  I spared no details.  I told her all of the good stuff.  To be honest I was probably playing the sympathy card a little bit…like awwwww…poor Matthew…you get the idea.  Anything to perhaps make her forget, or at the very least forgive me for all of the bullshit of the past.  Works every time…lol.

I also informed her about the theft of my pants.  I went on for about twenty minutes about guy code and how you just don’t steal another man’s pants.  It’s fucking unethical and immoral.  She laughed at me hysterically.  Like it was some sort of twisted joke.  Like my pants didn’t matter….whatever.  I guess I got no sympathy there huh?

The two of us ended up stopping for food somewhere on Route One.  It may have been Carrabba’s or the Kowloon.  I honestly forget.  It was take-out of course.  I was in no mood to run into someone I knew…which around my way is very likely.  Picture that convo…
Random:  Hey Matty, long time no see…how are you?
Me:  Hey what’s up…I just got out of rehab an hour ago.  Those fucks stole my pants!
Random: (awkward blank stare) Oh…um…that’s too bad…um…well my table is ready…good (awkward pause) to see you..
Me:  Yeah, you too…pfff

I definitely wasn’t ready for any public places or interactions, so me going in to grab the food…not so much.  She ended up running in the restaurant.  I figured then was as good a time as any to start hitting a few people up and telling them I was out…so I looked around my car for my phone…which I found chillin’ in the glove box.

The phone was off.  So I powered it on.  It was kind of weird to hold a phone.  I hadn’t been gone that long, but it still felt strange.  I was actually a little nervous to start hitting people up.  Like what would I say?  Remember, I said in rehab I was in this little bubble.  Now it was like I’m back out there…it was real life again…and it was about to get real, really quick…

I had a little inconvenience when my phone powered on.  My blackberry was password protected…just not with the password that I created.  I remember thinking…fuck.  This can’t be good.  She must have found something and didn’t want to give me a chance to see it and come up with an elaborate defense as I normally would have done.  I had a million thoughts running through my mind…all bad.  I cursed myself for leaving my phone with her…mistake number one….

This is when drugs would have come in handy.  I could have sniffed a pill or twelve and this lil’ problem would be nothing.  I’d laugh it off.  That is…if there even was a problem.  I still didn’t know.  My stomach was back in knots.  Anxiety kicked in again.  It’s not that I had a guilty conscience…cause at the time I had no conscience at all…I only cared about myself.  I just think, looking back, that without drugs even the littlest type of conflict felt like it was epic.  You have to realize I was on those pills for almost two years…numb…not giving a fuck.  Now it was like a changed password was about to be the end of the world.  Drugs are bad…

Instead of working myself into an absolute panic, I used some breathing exercises I had picked up a few years prior.  Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth, slowly, while counting back from five to one…repeat if necessary.  I calmed myself down.  I shut off my phone and stuck it back in the glove box as if I never took it out in the first place.  Out of sight out of mind…at least for the moment.

I came to the realization that there might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for the password change…and if there wasn’t…fuck it.  I would just make up some bogus excuse for whatever accusation was about to come my way.  It worked so much in the past, I figured it would work then.  Old habits are hard to break…

A few minutes later she got back in the car.  She handed over the bags containing the take-out, which smelled amazing btw…and we started back on our journey home.  More small talk ensued while I snuck bites of the carrot cake.  Hey can ya blame me?  That cake is awesome.  She’s lucky I didn’t eat the whole thing while she ran in the restaurant.

I noticed the mood in my vehicle had kind of changed.  No, it wasn’t because I was eating my cake.  However, I’m sure that didn’t help.  I couldn’t really put my finger on what was up.  It wasn’t a hostile mood, it was something else.  I looked over at her, she’d stopped conversing, and she had this expression on her face….not anger…perhaps deep thought.  She looked as if she was contemplating telling me that the world as I knew it was about to come to an end…

I tried to pay it no mind.  I certainly wasn’t about to play the whole what’s wrong/what’s on ya mind game.  I had just left rehab…I honestly didn’t want to hear what might have been wrong.  Selfish…sure…but it was sadly true.  I was focused on me and my feelings alone.  Notice how I didn’t mention that the ride home conversation had been about her or what she had been up to the whole time while I was in rehab.  I kept it all light and all about me.  For all I knew, she might have already gotten married to someone else while I was inside…or god knows what else…the possibilities were endless.  But at that particular moment, I didn’t want to hear it.  So I did as I always have done, I avoided the obvious problem on her mind.

I honestly don’t think I was ready for real life again.  Relationship issues, problems, solutions, bills, family, shit like that.  I didn’t really have the patience for any of it on that ride home.  I almost longed to be back inside my bubble.  That might sound fucked but it’s true.  That’s how I felt at the time.  If you saw the look on her face that night you might have longed to be anywhere but in that car….

There was what I call an awkward silence for what seemed like forever.  You could have cut the tension in my car with a knife.  I remember thinking what the fuck happened in a matter of 20 minutes?  We were just talking and laughing about my pants and such, and now all of a sudden it’s like everything’s changed.  I guess the closer and closer we got to my apartment…the more real it got…for both of us.  That’s the only way I could rationalize it.

So then, out of nowhere…she looks at me with this look…it wasn’t anger…it was something different…and decides to break the silence and says….I have some news for you Matthew…

And before I could even muster up a word or an excuse or anything….

She hits me with–while you were gone….two of your friends were arrested…….
and there’s more…..

To Be Continued…

Posted 03/28/2012 by Matty McDonald in Uncategorized

Tagged with , ,

EXIT REHAB…STAGE RIGHT

I remember the night I got released from rehab as if it were yesterday.  I think it’s such a vivid memory because the overwhelming feeling of anxiety I had experienced that night was like no other.  Don’t get me wrong, the moments right before I was about to be sentenced to an unknown amount of time in prison were pretty fucking nerve wracking as well, but that night was completely different.  It was epic.  It was the very first time in my entire life when I wasn’t absolutely sure of myself…or what I was going to do.

While I was stuck in rehab I was kind of in my own little world.  A bubble…if that makes any sense.  The real world went on without me…as it always does and will…but I didn’t have to pay it any mind.  The only things I really had to worry about were getting clean from drugs and learning how to stay sober.  Real life nonsense such as relationships, social life, bills, work and whatnot were probably the last things on my mind.  Now as I was about to exit rehab…stage right…all those real life issues were about to hit me full force.

This usually isn’t such a big deal.  I mean everyone has these things to deal with.  It’s part of life.  But for me it would be the first time in several years that I would have to deal with such life issues and make them priorities, without drugs to fall back on and help me cope with any stresses caused.  It was like I was about to be tossed back into the deep end…this time with no floaties.  Truth be told, the thought of this scared the fucking shit out of me.  This is my story…….

It was a rather warm evening in September.  Almost too warm…considering that October was just a few days away.  The sweats and zip-up hoodie I was sporting were probably a little much, considering the weather, but I didn’t care.  I was just happy as hell to finally be getting discharged from that hellhole once and for all.  I was about to be a free man and I liked it…

Before I left…while I was waiting for the staff to draw up my release papers…I was sitting around with a few of the guys joking around and shooting the shit.  One of them asked me innocently enough, “Yo Matty, so what are you going to do when you get outta’ here?”  I paused and tried to play it coy.  I responded with, “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to do something.”  Honestly, I really didn’t know what the hell I was going to do, but  I played like it was nothing, like I had a ton of options when I got out of there.  Perhaps I did, but I didn’t know.  Until he asked I hadn’t even really given it any thought.  Like I said before, I was in a controlled bubble world…no worries.  Now this kid asks this simple question and I start stressing.  That’s right about when the anxiety started to kick in.

Once I signed myself out of there, I said my goodbyes and good lucks to a few of the guys…then it really started to hit me.  I was actually nervous…nervous fucking nervous.  I was about to see the world through sober eyes for the very first time in God knows how long.  No drugs.  No alcohol.  No steroids.  Nothing…well nothing other than the short-lived cigarette habit I picked up while in rehab.  That would have to do.  I was practically shaking…not to mention I was sweating my balls off.  I don’t know if it was because I was really nervous to go back out there or because I was dressed for January in September…

Regardless, I managed to push my nerves to the side.  I tried to snap the fuck out of it.  I remembered that I was free…I was still handsome…lol…and still had money.  I’d be just fine…I hoped…so I strolled out of there with a smile on my face and my luggage in my hand.  I was still short a pair of pants, but I didn’t give a fuck because I was a free man.  This was my first taste of losing my freedom by the way, even though it was partially voluntary, so that’s why I was stoked when I was getting out of there.  At that moment when I walked out the doors, I felt as if I was ten years wiser.  At the very least, I knew I was about ten pounds lighter (hence me wearing a hoodie and not just a t-shirt).

Despite all of this anxiety that was building up inside of me, on the whole, I felt pretty fucking good…a little skinnier…but good.  I was free.  I can’t stress enough how good it feels to be released after being stuck somewhere for so long.  There would be no more shitty food served on a tray.  No more uncomfortable mattresses that hurt my back.  No more random bodily sounds of patients to deal with…both human and wildebeest alike.  No more being told when to eat, when to take my meds, and when to sleep by rude and obviously underpaid staff.  I could go on…you get the point.  Little did I know that several months later I would have to deal with the same shit in the same type of setting all over again…this time while wearing an orange jumpsuit…and I’d be behind bars.  Life’s a trip huh?

And there she was…my then soon-to-be bride.  She was leaning against my car which she had conveniently, yet illegally parked right out front of the rehab entrance.  As soon as I laid eyes on her, my smile that I was forcing a few minutes prior became real…very real.  Shit…I was probably beaming ear to ear…I was smitten.

She smiled back.  I won’t get into the details of the lovey dovey dramatics of that evening outside of the rehab.  Let’s just say that if this was a movie…this would be the scene where the cheesy music kicks in, the guy drops his luggage, the girl drops whatever she’s holding, and the two lovers sprint toward each other in slow motion until they reach each other in a loving embrace.  Use your imagination if you must…that was us in a nutshell.

For a brief moment, it felt as if the world had stopped.  All of the anxiety I was going through completely vanished, as if it were never there (but nothing like that lasts and it would be back, tenfold…).  I felt truly happy for the first time in a while…actually it was the first time in the longest where I felt my own feelings of joy, and not the artificial feelings of happiness caused by the pills I was consuming.  However, I can’t really pinpoint the cause of this new found feeling of happiness.  Perhaps it was because I was free from what felt like prison…both from rehab and drugs in their own ways.  Maybe it was because she was actually there like she said she would be.  Despite all of the bullshit I had put her through during the time we were together, I mean with the drug dealing and the drug using among my many other pains caused, she was still there, on time, with a smile on her face as if she were actually happy to see me.  Better yet…maybe…just maybe…I was happy for new beginnings…a fresh start with her…my family…and my friends.  I could leave the past in the past and the pills in the rehab.  I was 25 years old and I had gotten my life back.

At the time, despite all of my doubts and insecurities of what was to come, I guess you could say I was pretty optimistic about everything.  The way I saw it, everything–the wedding, job, new lifestyle, etc–would just work itself out like it always has for me.  Kind of like a cosmic reward for me getting off drugs.  I honestly felt that since I was technically clean from drugs, I would be a completely changed person.  Like it could happen overnight…as if the lies, the infidelities, and all the other bullshit would be over…I was dreaming apparently.  I was wrong…so very wrong…yeah, life was going to change, damn sure of that…but little did I know that it wasn’t going to change in the ways I expected.  I had no idea what I was in for…and it started on the ride home…….

To Be Continued…

Posted 03/05/2012 by Matty McDonald in Uncategorized

Tagged with , ,

ELI MANNING IS GREAT!

The last time the New England Patriots played in the Super Bowl they had a perfect season and eternal greatness on the line.  I had a fairly decent sum of money and years of bragging rights on the line.  They lost obviously…as did I.

I had watched every game religiously that season (07-08).  I watched my team straight up demolish every team they played that year.  It was fucking awesome…however…I didn’t get to watch the Super Bowl.  Not a single down was seen by me, nor did I get to listen to it via radio.  To this day, the only thing I’ve had the opportunity to see from that game was the fucking miracle helmet catch by David Tyree and the game winning touchdown that ensued.  It still breaks my heart…not merely for the loss of the game, the perfect season, money, or even bragging rights….no…what hurts the most is the fact that it was once again Boston vs New York and NY prevailed…in epic fashion I might add…typical.

It wasn’t my choice to miss the most important game of the season that year, of course.  At the time I was sequestered while awaiting the premiere of Big Brother 9.  Essentially I was locked in a hotel room for three weeks, somewhere in LA, with no TV, no radio, and no communication with the outside world whatsoever.  All I had was room service, a small DVD player with assorted DVDs, and an iPod to keep me entertained…a luxurious prison if you will.  While my team was losing, I was secluded from everything to make sure I wouldn’t go nuts before I entered the Big Brother House.  It was sort of a test and preparation at the same time.

As for the game…I got updates by the BB staff every time there was a change in score.  So picture me, with a minute left, thinking we won the game.  I was dancing around my room like a maniac all alone in triumph.  Then came the knock on the door…it was my room service and news that Eli Manning had just won his first Super Bowl.  Needless to say, I didn’t have much of an appetite after that.  I was now stuck in heartbreak hotel.  Even though I didn’t get to see it with my own eyes, it still hurt like hell…but it wasn’t even as close to being as bad as…..

FAST FORWARD….4 years later…wow…has it really been four years?  Time fucking flies…

Again I’m in a prison…this time it’s a real prison.  Not a posh hotel room, living on room service and enjoying other comforts while I’m preparing myself for another time on television….nope.  Now I’m in Federal Prison.  BIG difference.  However, the heartbreak remains the same.  History has repeated itself in some sort of bizzaro world fucked up way.  This time I got to watch the game.  I watched my team, the New England Patriots, lose yet another Super Bowl, to yet again…the New York fucking Giants…Eli Manning….PFFFFF!  Sound that shit out.  That’s what I got to say about that….yeah…awful.

Now mind you, it’s ALL New York fans down here at good ol’ club fed in Ft Dix, NJ.  OK, maybe not ALL NY fans, but def like 80%…bad enough…and five of them just happen to live in my room.  Yeah awful, I know.  So obviously since I’m from Boston and that’s what Bostonians do….prior to the game and pretty much all season long I’ve talked shit to all of them… Yankees suck!  Eli stinks!  Giants stink!  Fuck NY!  Among others.  You name it, I’ve said it, and proudly…. all in good fun of course.  Boston vs NY is the greatest rivalry in all of professional sports, what did you expect?  I had to talk shit…it’s in my blood.

Well, during this shit talking and boasting of how great Boston is, I made a few bets….which is why I’m writing this blog entry in the first place.  Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few days…you now realize that I lost every bet I made….so that being said…I owe the following:

  1. 1000 pushups – to be completed in one day…piece of cake…
  2. One hound dog – which if you are clueless…I have to, in front of the entire weight room, at 6:30PM when it’s busiest, get down on all fours and howl out at the top of my lungs three times…then I have to say the Giants are great!
  3. I had to shave “NYG” into the sides of my head…awful.
  4. I have to grow out a fucking handlebar mustache for one month, I can only answer to the name Joe Flacco, and I have to take pictures with the person who won that bet and post them on here…awful.
  5. I have to also make 3 pizzas which read N,Y,G in pepperoni for us to consume…I’ve done worse…

And…if these are not bad enough… here goes… in CAPS LOCK AS I AGREED:

ELI MANNING IS GREAT!… HE BEAT THE GREAT TOM BRADY NOT ONCE, BUT TWICE…HE NOW OWNS HIM…GO GIANTS!!

I can’t believe I just had to write that shit.  If you are from where I’m from, that’s a fucking sin right there….to everyone from Boston.  I sincerely apologize for that…but I’m a man who pays his bets….

DAMN YOU ELI MANNING….you ruined my liiiiiiiiife!!

PS:  Pics with the shaved “NYG” and the handlebar mustache coming soon…. stay tuned…….

Posted 02/09/2012 by Matty McDonald in Uncategorized

Tagged with ,

DETOXING

Opiate withdrawals might be one of the worst experiences that a human mind and body can endure.  Picture yourself…

You are sitting at home.  Alone.  On…let’s say…a January day.  You have run out of pills.  You don’t know what to expect.  Your body suddenly gets a rush of warmth.  It’s almost a nice feeling at first, considering the outside conditions.  But then it turns to extreme heat.  I’m talking Africa times Las Vegas in July type of heat.  You start to perspire.  It’s a light sweat at first.  Then you’re sweating profusely.  You are now literally dripping with sweat…out of every pore.  Pores that you didn’t even know existed are now leaking.  Attractive.  It gets to the point where you think that you are going to literally melt from the inside out.  You get a bright idea…one of many.  You remove some clothing.  You guzzle some refreshing ice water out of your bubbler.  Nothing.  You sweat even more.  The heat builds up.  You then decide to remove all of your clothing, which is now soaked from all of the sweat.  Nothing.  You are still hot as balls.  You turn on an air conditioner (or central air when applicable)…in January.  Sharp.  Nope…you’re still melting away.  Now you’re fresh out of ideas so you make a last ditch effort at cooling off.  You jump in the shower.  A cold shower.  Ten minutes of that heat is almost unbearable,  so you’ve resorted to taking an ice cold shower in January.  Then the cold shower starts to work…but does it?

Now all of a sudden your body is consumed with chills.  It’s fucking freezing.  You’re covered in goosebumps.  Your muscles are flexed.  You’re almost curled up in a ball…in the shower mind you.  Your jaw is chattering.  It’s that cold.  You get out of the shower and dry off.  You sprint to the air conditioner (or central air if applicable) and immediately shut it off.  Nothing is working…still freezing your ass off.  I’m talking Boston in February…while outside at night naked type of cold.  So, another bright idea hits you.  You turn the heat up…all the way up.  You begin to layer up with clothing again.  Thermals.  Winter hat.  Sweats.  Shit…even gloves.  You are now dressed for a day in Alaska.  Fuck it, right?  It beats being cold.  Only nothing is working…the chills remain…until…

That’s it, nice and warm all of a sudden.  Ahhhh.  It must have been the gloves…what a move.  But wait, it’s getting hot again.  Real hot.  The hot flashes are back.  This time it’s even worse.  Much more intense heat.  Maybe that glove and hat combo indoors wasn’t such a bright idea after all.  The sweats are back…and soon will be the chills.  Hot to cold.  Hot to cold.  Hot to cold.  Hot to cold.  Every ten minutes or so.  Just long enough for you to get dressed, then undressed, and repeat.  Long enough to drive you fucking crazy.  The laundry piles up.  The madness begins…

The hot and cold spells don’t stop…they only get worse.  In the midst of all that nonsense, you start to feel completely weak all over.  Your muscles…better yet…your whole body is aching.  Fatigue.  You’re too weak to even stand up.  It’s too hot to try and lie down…wouldn’t want to sweat on those new sheets.  While trying to maintain composure, the chills are back, so you need to curl up.  Every bone in your entire body begins to ache…all at once.  Every single muscle fiber feels pain.  Not sharp pain, but aching pain.  It feels like the day after you just worked out with weights for the very first time.  It’s not pleasant by any means.  Too weak to move, yet hot and cold kind of throws a wrench into those plans.  The pains are constant.  It doesn’t cycle like the hot and cold.  It’s all day…so get used to it.  It’s not enough pain for tears.  It’s just enough to make you feel like death.

Speaking of death, while all of this is going on you begin to feel sick.  Like nauseous-type of sick.  Enough so that you have to muster up some energy to make it to the bathroom to vomit.  Better hurry, the bathroom is downstairs.  You make it…barely…and begin to throw up…which is weird because you haven’t eaten a thing.  This also causes you great pain.  I guess a lot more muscles than you thought are used when you throw up.  Your abdominal muscles feel like someone ran over them in an armored truck…twice.  The sweat is blinding your eyes as you hover over the almighty toilet bowl.  The chills become so bad that you feel like turning on the fucking oven and taking up residence inside for the day.  Throwing up didn’t make you feel the least bit better.  Only worse.  Muscles and bones that didn’t hurt as bad before now throb in pain.  This isn’t alcohol poisoning or bad sushi…this is opiate withdrawal…and you’ve only just begun.

You’re probably beginning to question when this madness is going to end.  Or better yet…if there is a God…why is he doing this to you.  Well this isn’t ending anytime soon.  Sorry.

You have been going through hell all fucking day–non stop.  You haven’t eaten.  You tried but it got thrown right up.  You feel drained.  You have nothing left to give.  All your hopes, dreams, ambitions are in the toilet bowl.  Seeing that it’s now nighttime, your usual time for bed, you decide to make an attempt at sleeping.  You fail miserably.  Even though you’re clearly tired, there will be no sleeping.  Your legs are sore as shit.  Yet they’re moving all over the place.  It’s as if no position on that bed of yours is comfortable enough.  That’s called restless leg syndrome.  Get used to it.  Maybe it’s the small pool of sweat you’re laying in that’s prohibiting you from sleeping.  Maybe it’s the fact you feel like vomiting every time you turn to a new side.  It might be.  But probably not.  Insomnia.  No pills means no sleep.  This begins to drive you crazy.  So hopefully if you are fortunate enough, you have a working television for your entertainment seeing as it’s late and you can’t sleep.  You turn on the TV.  Once again your fucked.  It’s all infomercials.  There’s nothing on at 4AM.  Get used to it.

The sun finally comes up.  A new day.  You barely notice.  The symptoms have gotten so bad you’re contemplating suicide.  You haven’t slept a wink.  You haven’t eaten.  You look and feel like absolute shit.  That’s when the depression starts to kick in hard body.  You begin to feel helpless.  Alone.  Lazy.  You even might start hallucinating.  Not fun.  You don’t even have the energy to get out of that bed to switch the AC back on because the chills are over and it’s back to sweat city.  If given the choice you would choose to die.  Right then and there.  This has only been 24 hours…not even close to feeling better.  It’s only going to get worse…fuck.

Now I want you to picture going through what I just described…over and over…for let’s say…fourteen days.  As each day passes, the symptoms get worse…more intense…brutal even.  Hot flashes.  Cold chills.  Aches.  Pains.  Insomnia.  Nausea.  Depression. Fatigue.  Hallucinations…over and over.  Picture the worst flu that you’ve ever had.  Now times that by a thousand.  That was a day at the beach compared to opiate withdrawals.  Yeah…it’s that bad.

I realize that there are numerous people out there that have never had to experience withdrawals from oxys, or any opiates for that matter.  Consider yourselves lucky.  I won’t sugarcoat it by any means…it’s fucking brutal.  The whole experience really takes a toll on the body, especially the mind.  Sure, the physical aspect sucks pretty bad, don’t get me wrong.  But what your mind goes through during and after coming off opiates is the real bitch.  Depression, hallucinations, insomnia, and the overall morbid feeling…all which can last several months after you stop using…are nothing compared to the cravings you get.  It’s almost like a hunger sensation, but it’s not for food.  It’s the little thought in your head of knowing that just one little pill can and will make everything all better again.  It’s fucking torture.  Day in and day out….and it doesn’t go away…ever.  Even to this day I still get cravings.  Not very often.  Not like I used to…but they’re still there…and I haven’t used a drug in years.  Over time they obviously get more and more faint, which makes it much easier to abstain.  But at first…oh man it’s bad.  It’s the biggest reason why people end up relapsing within the first few days, or even hours, after withdrawals begin.  Shit is really no joke.  Once the pills grab a hold of your balls in that vice grip, they usually don’t let go very easily.

Luckily for yours truly, I happen to be a genius.  After suffering one too many times from withdrawals by trying to go cold turkey, I realized that wasn’t happening.  I went to rehab.  I didn’t really have to suffer too badly with symptoms.  I was put on a certain combination of medications that made withdrawals from opiates bearable.  Not completely absent by any means…but definitely bearable…that is until the morning after I checked out of there.  Then it wasn’t so pleasant.  I’ll get to that later…

I spent the majority of my time in rehab sleeping, especially at first.  Well actually it was a drug induced coma…same difference.  I guess the meds I was on really did the trick.  I must have slept some 20 hours a day at first while my body adjusted to the opiates leaving my system.  I wasn’t complaining by any means.  I even slept through the wildebeest’s nightly symphony of bodily functions like it was nothing.  The only time I woke up was for food, bathroom, or more meds.  I was a walking zombie for the first few days no doubt.  I can only imagine how handsome I must have looked.  I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.  Maybe it was good that there were no females after all…

Once my body finally got used to the new medication, I was awake much more.  During that time, when I wasn’t in mandatory NA meetings or group therapy, there really weren’t many recreational options or things to do.  For the most part, I stayed in my room and occupied my time by reading…which I didn’t mind one bit because I love to read.  Occasionally I would come out of my chambers and shoot the shit or play cards with my boy Anthony and the other guys, but even that gets old.  Remember, I was detoxing.  I still had symptoms.  They weren’t completely gone, so I wasn’t really my usual personable self.  I just wanted to be alone while I went through it.  Being around a bunch of people while having mild hot/cold flashes and whatnot didn’t really appeal to me…

Every now and again I would make some phone calls to the outside world.  Probably not as much as  I should’ve but oh well, I was detoxing.  I mostly called my mother Laura, some family members, a few friends, and obviously the woman that I had been seeing at the time…considering I was still technically engaged and all.  However, I’m not getting into that right now…maybe down the line.  The calls were mostly pleasant in nature but I know how worried everyone was about me….I could tell in their tones.  Shit, to tell you the truth I was more worried about myself than they were.  Not so much about staying off of drugs really.  I know I definitely didn’t want to have to end up in a shit hole rehab ever again.  I was more worried about how I was living my life on the whole and how in the hell I was going to change.  The whole being a drug dealer, all of the partying, not to mention the alleged upcoming wedding that I still had to finish planning…really ate at me while I was stuck in there.  It wasn’t sitting too well with me at all.  There were so many questions I had about my future.  So many uncertainties…and all of this while coming off of drugs…well…it wasn’t fun…not one bit.

Rehab really opened my eyes to a lot of shit.  I saw a whole side of the aftermath of drug abuse that I had never really been exposed to prior.  I saw just how badly the road of drug addiction can and will end.  I wanted absolutely no part of it.  I met all sorts of different walks of life…with one common characteristic…they were all drug addicts.  Homeless guys, wildebeest looking creatures, young kids, older guys, guys who were just in rehab for a place to stay and some free food…all with a story of how they let addiction get too far.  Some guys were once just like me, but now they had nothing and no one left.  All because of drugs.  Their lives completely fucked up–beyond fixing.  All of their bridges were burned and now they were left to live under a bridge.  Waiting on the next scheme to get high, trying to survive.  All they had left in life was a massive drug dependency and the clothes on their backs.  Well one of them had my pants as well, so he’s clearly doing better than the rest.  I knew for certain I didn’t want to end up like that.  It was almost as if I got a glimpse of the future if I stayed down the path I was on…you know…using drugs, partying, selling drugs, all the lies, the bullshit I was putting everyone through.  That future wasn’t for me.  Truth be told, it scared the fucking shit out of me…

The remainder of my stay at rehab was uneventful in terms of anything interesting happening.  I successfully finished the program and I was no longer physically dependent on oxycodone.  That made me happy.  But yet I was still scared at the same time.  I now had to go back into the real world without the drug I had been relying on for the past two years or so.  I hoped for the best.  All in all I look at my stay in rehab as an overall success, considering I never had to go back again.  I think I did just fine.  I guess it’s pretty safe to say that aside from being a victim of grand pants larceny, rehab was probably the best decision I’ve ever made…

However…when I walked out of there on that warm September evening I had more questions than I did answers…and that’s when the madness began…to be continued…..

UPDATE:  The search still continues for my missing pants; the culprit is still at large…

Posted 01/27/2012 by Matty McDonald in Uncategorized

Tagged with , ,

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN…

I’ve sat down and tried to write this very letter to you so many different times now, without succeeding, that I’ve honestly lost count.  I guess I really didn’t know where to begin…or better yet…what to even say.  I mean it’s been so long since…what…twenty some odd months that I’ve been away.  Although it may feel like the time has flown by thus far, as I sit and look back, I realize that I have missed out on so much.  It kills me inside to even think about…especially now…since the holidays are upon us and once again I’m going to be absent…I guess I’ve been feeling a certain way.  Instead of keeping all of this shit bottled up as per usual, I figured now is as good a time as any to say what’s been on my mind…

I miss you…plain and simple.  I have missed you since the very day that the Feds slapped the cuffs on me and took me away from the world.  I don’t even think it’s possible for you to fathom the pain I feel inside every second I’m gone.  You know, I always joke around with a few of my roommates in saying that every day I spend in here, I feel as if a little piece of my soul is chipped away.  Chip…chip…chip…by the time I get out, there’s not going to be much left of me.  I usually laugh it off with them and carry on this facade…like it doesn’t phase me…like this place ain’t shit…when in all reality that’s exactly what this place is…fucking shit…

Truth be told, sometimes it really does feel as if a small piece of me literally dies every single day I spend locked up…away from friends, away from family, away from the world…away from you.  They say that time heals all wounds, but this shit is far too deep.  I figured as time passed, this would get easier, I’d grow more numb, the holidays would mean less…I could brush it off, like I’ve always done so easily with everything else.  I was wrong.  Time has healed nothing.  If anything, it has merely added to the stress of being away from life.  It has made me miss you even more.  Another holiday, another year…I feel even more disconnected with the world, more left out, more forgotten…with each day that passes, I am that much further from your thoughts, further from you.  Out of sight…out of mind right?   Shit, this is tough, but then again I’m tough.  I’ll be home soon…not soon enough.

I think the worst thing for me in all of this is not doing the time or prison itself…that’s a piece of cake…it’s the feeling of being left out…feeling like the world has forgotten about me.  That’s what really fucks me up on the inside.  I had never experienced such a thing when I was a free man.  I was always in the loop with everything and everyone.  I certainly never had to worry about being forgotten in any way.  I never had to question my self worth or if I mattered.  Boy, how times have changed…fucking reality check that’s for sure.  Being in prison is what I imagine death to be like…minus the dying part.   The whole thing where loved ones cry for three days…then keep moving on with their own lives.  Life goes on…with or without Matthew Michael McDonald.  It’s scary to think about death, but shit, if it’s like this I’m well prepared in that aspect.  That’s how I feel each day…like I’m stuck in limbo…helpless to anyone in the real world.  I merely wait…for my release…for an email…for a fucking letter…any sign that you acknowledge that I’m not dead…I’m very much alive.  It’s all waiting in here.  I get to wait while I witness everyone, including you, move forward with their lives…happily I might add…without yours truly.  No man knows my pain unless they’ve walked in my shoes.

Prison has definitely been a fucking wake up call for me…that’s for sure.  I was once out there, where you are right now, world by the balls…not a care in the world.  Now I’m on the inside…sweating little things like emails or letters, waiting, while wondering at all, during each day you if ever think of me as I do you.  It’s pretty fucked up when I think about it, to wonder if I ever cross your mind.  Time and distance do some tricky shit huh?  I’m not used to not having control, not having the upper hand in life. I guess if I never put myself in this situation, I would have gone on living a lie.  I’d still think that certain people who were once in my life were genuine, not riding along for ulterior motives, merely friends in disguise.  I’ve come to learn that with friends…it’s quality, not quantity that really matters.  I’m actually pretty lucky in that aspect.  I can honestly say that there’s a few friends in my life that I know are real…who will always be there for me, whether it’s sunny skies or rain…and I am grateful for that.  The rest well…like I said…out of sight, out of mind.  I’ll be out of here in a few months.  I’m still anxious to see who tries to weasel their way back into my life when they see me doing better than before.  When the time I spent away will start to get fuzzy…they won’t remember any of that…and I wont remember them.  Maybe time has made me jaded.

I certainly hope that you don’t think I’m complaining in any way to you…I’m not.  I am well past my days of complaining.  I’ve learned to adapt, to survive on less, to make the most out of what I DO have, rather than sweat what I don’t or no longer have.  I’ve learned to accept my situation and embrace it as if it’s some sort of right of passage for me…like I’m off to war or something…there’s a war on my block everyday.  As fucked up as it may sound, I feel like I needed this wake up call…a little break from reality…a chance to work on myself while I serve my debt to society.  Where as I would have never imagined in a million years that I would have ended up here…I do feel it is for a purpose.  What that purpose is remains to be seen.  All I know is that I just have to continue using this time wisely…strengthening my mind and body…while reflecting on how I used to live so history doesn’t repeat itself…to hopefully come out of here a better man with a little more life experience that you can’t get elsewhere…in hopes of making you proud.

I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I think the absolute world of you…I always have.  I don’t think you realize just how much you have influenced my life…you are an inspiration, my muse, my drive for future success.  You make me want to become a better man all around.  When I travel down the bumpy road of memory lane, I cant help but smile from ear to ear when I think of you.  My memories are the only place where I can go to help fill the void caused from the loneliness and emptiness I have been feeling.  Sometimes I sit and wonder what could have been…what I could have done differently…if I had only done this…or if I didn’t do that…to be honest, thinking like that drives me crazy sometimes.  I guess all I can do now is move forward.  The rear view mirror of my life can only be used as a reference now.  The only thing that provides some type of comfort to me while I’m stuck in here is knowing that you are safe out there.  You are living your life…and most of all…you’re happy.  When all is said and done, that’s all I wish for you, or anyone I love for that matter.  If you’re happy…then I’m smiling…and shit, I know how much you love my smile.

They say that every man has a destiny in life…a path he must travel down to become the man he is supposed to be.  Sure enough, in a few months I will start out on my life’s journey.  I have to go my own way, somewhere warm, in search of my life’s purpose.  It’s time for me to start fresh, a new life…the life I should have led the first time around.  To be honest, I get excited and nervous at the same time when I think about it.  Release doesn’t even seem real to me right now, even though it’s coming fast.  I know that you and everyone else expects so much of me when I’m released.  Luckily, I thrive under pressure.  It may take some time and work, but I will make something of myself…that I can promise.  Sadly, you and I will be far from each other yet again, while I pursue success…out of sight, but I hope I’m not out of your mind.  I want you to know that no matter the distance between us, or wherever this crazy ride of life takes me, you will always have a part of me.  Everything that I do, will be done for you.  A little piece of my soul that this place hasn’t chipped away belongs to you.  I will never forget you and what you mean to me.  I owe you at least that much.

Regrets…I have a few.  I wish I had told you all of this shit when I was a free man.  Maybe things would have turned out different, then again, probably not.  I guess I was too wrapped up in myself back then.  I have a tough time letting people in.  Call it foolish pride, or perhaps it was my ego that was in the way.  I’ve had this shit bottled up for so long now.  I think underneath it all, maybe I feared your possible response to all of this…good or bad.  Because once I let you in, I’d lose control.  I’d no longer hold the cards…which is what I have always been used to.  Funny how life turns out sometimes…it took me going to prison to finally wake the fuck up and get over myself.  If I have one regret, it’s not telling you sooner how much you mean to me…before it was too late.  I guess that’s life right?  In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets.

Until then…I’m here…just a man and his thoughts trying to get through the holidays.  I need you not to worry about yours truly, for I am doing just fine.  I know deep down that this time spent away was probably the best thing that could have happened to me in the long run.  Look where I may have ended up….married–pfff stories, dead…or god only knows.  Besides…overall, this li’l bid is a mere raindrop in the ocean of my life.  There’s many good things and good times to come my way, of which I’m certain.  But at the end of the day, none of that really matters, not without you.  When all of the smoke clears and the dust settles, I just wanted you to know how I feel…that no matter what happens, where I go, where you go, however things may turn out…I love you.

Happy Holidays,

Matthew

Posted 12/25/2011 by Matty McDonald in Uncategorized

Tagged with

HAS ANYONE SEEN MY PANTS?

I don’t really know what’s worse…accidentally bringing illegal drugs into rehab with me, being overly happy about the fact that I found these accidentally placed pills in my hoodie pocket, or better yet…maybe the worst of all…the fact that I offered to share my new found surprise with the group of guys that I had been chilling with…like that was a perfectly okay and normal thing to do.  As if a group of drug addicts, stuck in a shit hole for a rehab, bored out of their minds, would say no….

At the time I didn’t see a problem with any of these things.  My high that I walked in there with was fading.  It wasn’t completely gone, but it was definitely fading fast.  I looked at my new found treasure as a sign from the powers above.  As if to say, let’s keep this fucking party going…and shit, the way I saw it, I thought I was doing a good thing–being unselfish–by offering to share with everyone when I could have just kept them all for myself.

I would love to be able to tell you that we fought the good fight against drugs and we came out victorious…that we just said NO to drugs…that we were above the influence…or that we practiced any of those other cliche drug ads that you see on TV…I can’t.  As soon as the smoke break was over with and we were let back inside the building, I led the brigades to my room and victory was ours, and ours alone.  The pills were crushed and sniffed faster than I’d ever seen the process done.  I was happy.  I can’t speak for the other guys, but I’m sure they were pleased as well….

While still enjoying my new found high, I figured I’d hop on the ol’ payphone and call a few friends and family members.  Well, I could only remember a select few phone numbers, so I figured I might as well call my mother Laura.  We exchanged obvious pleasantries.  I believe her first words and the gist of the conversation from her perspective, was something along the lines of just how proud she was of me for getting help, how much she loved me and supported me, and how I didn’t have to worry about anything while I was gone, other than getting the help I needed, cleaning myself up, and getting better.  Guilt ensued.  Shit…guilt is an understatement for how I felt on that first night during and after talking to my mother.  Here I was, son of the fucking year already, admitted drug addict, admitted drug dealer, high as a fucking kite while sitting in a rehab, listening to my unsuspecting and supportive mother tell me how proud she was of me.  I had hit a new low.  I obviously lied to her.  I told her that I was doing great.  I told her of how I had run into an old friend and how my first day went by without a hitch…I was on my way.  I told her how I was so eager to clean up, go back to working a regular job, and how I hadn’t even thought of ever touching another pill ever again (stories)…what was I supposed to do….rat myself out?  “Oh yeah, hey Ma.  I’m doing great.  I love it here…listen to this…so I found a bunch of loose 30s in my sweatshirt.  Pretty funny right?  Oh yeah, crushed and sniffed faster than I found them, all gone.  YES Ma, of COURSE I shared…what kind of man do you think I am?  I DO have manners…ok, ok….love you too, call you tomorrow.  Ciao….”  Yeah, that would have went over really well…let me tell you.  So…I did what I thought was necessary.  I lied…at least I felt guilty about it.

After the phone call with my mother, I was pretty disgusted with myself.  I made no more calls.  I spent the remainder of my night all alone…high…but not enjoying it because of the overwhelming guilt and feeling sorry for myself.  I ended up falling asleep fully clothed while reading one of my favorite books that I had brought in with me.

I realized I had really hit rock bottom when I woke up the next morning to a plethora of unpleasantness (if that’s even a word…lol).  Let’s see… I was in a strange, unfamiliar bed, which normally might have been a good thing…lol…but that day…not so much.  I was all alone and it was brutally uncomfortable.  I was mildly soaked with presumably my own sweat.  I had what appeared to be mild chills.  “Fucking pissa…the withdrawals had begun.”  I was no longer high.  I was insanely hungry.  I still felt guilty for the previous night’s debauchery and for lying (yet again) to my poor mother.  To top it all off, when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw (yes…I said thing) was what looked like a fucking wildebeest sprawled out in one of the other beds a few feet from mine.  It was facing in my direction.  It was presumably a male of its species, seeing there were no female patients in rehab.  It was drooling or sweating, or perhaps both, definitely going through some major withdrawals.  This creature was snoring and farting simultaneously in the most unpleasant melody I have ever heard….nice way to wake up and start my day huh?  Yup, I had arrived in hell…oh yeah, if anyone sees Tucker Max, tell him they don’t serve beer…and if they do…I didn’t get any.  All I got was drug withdrawals, a snore and farting symphony for the ages, and my first ever legitimate excuse for wanting to end my life….

After I woke up to that shit, I figured that my day could only get better…boy was I wrong…

I was told by the nurse, even though I was clearly going through some serious withdrawals, that I wouldn’t be placed on any medications to help me until later that night…or even worse…possibly the next morning.  Which meant, since it was six in the morning at the time, I would have to suffer for possibly the next twenty four hours.  “Fuck. My. Life…”  Remember, withdrawals from opiates only get worse as the day progresses.  Considering I felt like shit then, I could only imagine what was in store for me.  As one would imagine, this didn’t please me.  Once again, I thought of escaping…once again, I realized I was fucked.  I’ll tell you one thing, I definitely regretted sharing the pills I had found the night before with everyone.

I tried to take my mind off of the fact that I felt like death, which was rapidly getting worse by the second…or so it seemed…by trying to wolf down a little breakfast.  Bad idea.  That hunger I felt upon waking up had subsided.  The mere sight and smell of food made me nauseous.  Anyone who knows what it’s like to withdraw from roxys, or any opiates for that matter, feels my pain.  I couldn’t eat.  I couldn’t go back to sleep.  My body ached in the worst way.  I was cycling from hot to cold every ten minutes or so…it was fucking miserable.  Especially considering I wasn’t withdrawing in the comforts of my own home, in my own bed, with my own TV.  Nope…I was stuck in some shitty rehab, with an uncomfortable bed to lay in, with no TV anywhere close to where I laid my head (it was two rooms over).  Not to mention, I was stuck in a room going through all this shit with a room full of strangers…good times…let me tell you.

However, I didn’t have to suffer for too long.  One of my new friends, whom I had selflessly shared my pills with on the previous night, decided to return the favor.  He had witnessed me arguing, more like begging and pleading, with the nurse in the AM pill line about how shitty I felt and how she held the key to making me feel all better.  Then he witnessed me attempt to eat breakfast and fail miserably.  After mid-day pill line, he gave me…well…to this day I’m not quite sure as I never asked…some pill-like object that he smuggled from the line.  It could have been a fucking Tylenol for all I know.  Regardless, I took it without question considering I thought I was on my death bed.  I would have taken anything to make me feel better.  It did the trick.  Within ten minutes I felt so much better, as if I was never sick.  Looking back, I’m pretty sure it was either a methadone wafer or some other sort of opiate that I took.  Whatever it was…it worked.  See folks, that’s karma for you… always share…lol.

Speaking of sharing, I have a little advice that I’d like to share with anyone that is thinking of checking into a rehab.  First…DO IT…GO…don’t think about it any longer.  If you have a problem…go get help now!  It was by far the best thing I’ve ever done.  Second…DO NOT…and I repeat…DO NOT bring anything valuable or expensive (clothing, jewelry, etc.) with you that you would mind losing.  I didn’t know this considering I had never been to rehab before.  I won’t get into too much detail here, but my wrist watch (that I thought nothing of wearing in there because it was my everyday watch) apparently caused a little bit of a frenzy among the more less fortunate patients.  Allegedly, there was talk among a few of them that they were going to try and steal my watch from me somehow.  I guess they figured that they would steal it, pawn it, and buy drugs and/or small used sedan with the proceeds.  Well…they thought wrong.  Nothing happened to my watch, or me for that matter.  I actually almost laughed when I caught wind of that little nonsense plan because if you saw the caliber of people I was in there with (other than the few guys I became friendly with) you would know that neither I nor my wrist watch was ever in any danger.  However, somehow word got to one of the staff members that my wrist wear was causing a distraction among the patients.  When I say distraction, I mean two little pussies that were 100 lbs. combined challenged me for my watch.  When I stepped up, they backed off and ran and told the nurse… so after hearing that, the nurse made me hand my watch over so someone could come and pick it up…or I had another choice…I could leave the rehab with it still on my wrist…if I refused.  I reluctantly obliged.  I handed it over and all went back to normal…whatever that meant in that place.

Even though I didn’t lose my watch (as if that was ever going to happen anyways…lol), I did end up losing a pair of pants later on in the day while I was at a group meeting.  I remember laughing hysterically when I realized my pants were missing…as if to say… who the FUCK steals another man’s pants like?! shit are times THAT tough out there…PANTS!?  I could understand stealing the watch…it’s worth money…it has value…but  PANTS!?  I actually had to laugh out loud to that one.  Shit, if someone needed a pair of pants that badly, all they had to do was ask me nicely and I would have given them a pair.  It just goes to show you the caliber of people I was dealing with in there.  Aside from the few I kicked it with, and my pal Anthony, they were straight trash…

All in all it was a pretty fucked up day.  I had woken up to what looked like a mutant creature a mere few feet from me withdrawing from god only knows how many drugs…don’t forget the fact it was playing a special musical for all who were there…I had to endure withdrawals of my own for the first six hours of my day…a possible plot to steal my watch was unfolded, and when the two idiots were confronted they told on me…and to top it all off…somebody went and stole my pants…I loved those pants…

TO BE CONTINUED….

Posted 12/15/2011 by Matty McDonald in Uncategorized

Tagged with , ,

%d bloggers like this: