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Some of you may be wondering where the hell I’ve been…or why I haven’t written anything since ONE YEAR LATER.  Well…keep wondering…cause I’m on vacation!! LOL…I kid I kid!

Sadly, I haven’t gone anywhere.  I’m still very much down here lampin’ (or should I say sweating my balls off) at good ol’ Ft. Dix Federal Correctional Institution–finishing up payment of my debt to society.  I’m almost paid in full.  Too bad this place doesn’t accept checks or credit cards instead of time…PFFFFF!

With this nearly unbearable heat and humidity situation that I’ve had to endure down here with no fans or a/c over the past month, I’ve honestly had no drive or motivation to write.  I know, I know…I’m sorry!  Hey…relax over there Gary!  If you’re that mad call any Federal official and tell them to install some air conditioners down here…then we’ll be in business.  I’m sure the other 5,200 inmates here would really appreciate it!!  The natives are definitely getting restless down here with this heat and no relief in sight.  Shit…I’m fucking sweating as I type this…lol.

Every time I sat down with my iced beverage in hand, headphones in my ears tuned in to my favorite station, in the frame of mind to write, I would immediately get hot, start sweating and then I’d get aggravated…which in turn caused me to put my pen and pad away until the next day.  Rinse. Recycle. Repeat.  Finally after multiple failed attempts at writing due to inclimate weather conditions and lack of interest in sweating my balls off more than necessary, I got to the point where I was like fuck this shit.  I needed a break…so I decided to take one month off and come back fresh and motivated….so here I am.  I’m still definitely hot as balls, but I’m fresh and ready to make miracles happen…LOL.  So I’m all yours…at least until the next heat wave.  Now… where the hell was I again?  Oh yeah………

Some time between the early hours of three and four in the morning, I woke up from a coma-like sleep in a groggy haze…confused as to where the hell I was exactly.  I was laying on a seemingly familiar and comfortable bed, engulfed in a plethora of sheets and down comforters, and I was ass naked.  I glanced over and noticed that there was a woman sleeping soundly beside me, facing the opposite direction.  Still confused, I partially sat up…quietly as to not wake her…and curiously looked around the dark room.  As I slowly began to gather my bearings, it all came back to me in an instant.  I was home…I was in my bed…I was out of rehab.

Even though I was still half asleep, I smiled to myself.  I carefully sank back into my bed under the covers, rolled over, closed my eyes and tried to fall back asleep.  The only problem was…I couldn’t…and believe me when I say I tried.  It’s not that I wasn’t tired, because I was still very much so.  It’s just that something didn’t feel right….not with the situation of me being back home in the comforts of my apartment, in my bed, with my lady no less….no…it was something else.  It was me.  I felt kind of shitty…and as the minutes passed, while trying to get comfortable enough to fall back asleep, I noticed it more and more.

For starters, despite the air conditioning clearly being on, it felt like the heat in my apartment was set to South Africa.  I was sweating a little and laying in a large area of wetness….which might have also been sweat…presumably my own…or so I had hoped.  Unless of course the woman sleeping ever so soundly next to me was dreaming of toilet bowls and oceans LOL…and in that case I was literally swimming in whatever the hell she had going on.  Nope…thank God…lol…the wetness came from me.  I was perspiring lightly all over.  The sweat was just enough to make it really sticky and uncomfortable under the covers, making it impossible to fall back asleep.

Naturally, I removed the covers from my body to try and cool off–and did I ever.  It felt as if I flipped a switch.  The cool air felt really nice at first, almost refreshing.  Then it got a little too cold for my liking, so I slid back under the covers to warm up a little, in yet another attempt to fall back asleep.  Only thing is it didn’t work.  Despite the abundance of covers I was swimming in, I still felt slight chills all over.  I had goosebumps everywhere…and I’m talking everywhere.  Places I didn’t think were possible to get them had goosebumps.  Laying in the small area of wetness wasn’t helping my situation either.  If anything, it only made me feel more cold and uncomfortable.  I didn’t like where this was heading.

After a few minutes of tossing and turning, going from slightly hot to cold, I decided to get out of bed, towel off the sweat and put on some clothes to get my body temperature back to normal.  That’s when I noticed how shitty I really felt.  My body had mild aches all over…not sharp pain per se…but achy.  I also noticed that I felt kind of drained.  At first I chalked it up to lack of sleep, but dismissed that idea quickly since I had experienced all these symptoms together before.  I was beginning to get a sense of deja vu.  My body felt like it was going through a very mild version of what I went through before I had gone to rehab…. opiate withdrawals. Pffffffff! Fuck my life!

Yes…the withdrawals were back….the only thing is I had no idea how or why.  I was really confused as to what the fuck was going on.  I even went as far as pinching myself because I thought I was stuck in some sort of twisted dream–a nightmare even.  I wasn’t.  Sadly, it was real.  Now all I had to do was find out how to fix my problem.

I realize this whole opiate withdrawals bullshit sounds rather redundant.  It seems like every other blog I’m talking about hot flashes, chills and feeling like shit.  Well…that’s because every time I looked…it felt like opiate withdrawals kept creeping back into my life somehow.  So imagine how the fuck I must have felt.  You have to sit through reading it over and over in my blogs, and here I was going through them over and over in real life….pffffff.

I mean, I went to rehab–dealt with all the nonsense there for however long–cleaned up my act and checked out.  I thought I was well past the point of physical withdrawals.  I definitely wasn’t expecting to go through them ever again.  I guess I thought wrong.

I didn’t take into consideration that I was on pills for close to two years…along with whatever other party drugs I added to the mix.  A few weeks away in a rehab isn’t the end all be all cure all as I thought it was.  I guess my body still needed time to fully adjust to not having opiates in my system.  They say the biggest reason that most people relapse after their first time getting out of rehab is because you leave there with a false sense of security.  You leave there thinking you feel great and it’s all over…like Matty – 1, Blueberries – 0 …all the while not realizing that the medication they put you on to detox off of pills will eventually wear off and you’ll inevitably have to go through feeling like shit for at minimum a couple more days…and at worst several more weeks…depending how bad your habit was.  Don’t get me wrong, I felt great compared to withdrawals before I checked into rehab, but it still sucked just enough for me to consider using pills again…as I almost did.

What happens next is a little cloudy in my memory–so bear with me.  I’ll try my best to describe what happened the rest of that morning as far as I can remember…

Still feeling like shit, I decided to shrug it off and take action.  After getting dressed, slipping into a pair of Jordan shorts and a loose fitting tank top, I prepared myself for a scavenger hunt around my apartment.  Operation blueberries (or anything equivalent for that matter) was under way.  I went on a fucking mission to make the shitty feeling go away…one way or another.  I had several squirrel stash spots all around my apartment…for just such an occasion.  Sad…I know…but also very true.  The only thing I wasn’t sure of was which spots my girl had cleaned out in my absence.

I started my quest in the bathroom.  Yes…the bathroom.  I told you I hid shit everywhere…no pun intended…lol.  I looked in the three places where I would’ve hidden pills….the linen closet…way back engulfed among old bath towels…nope.  The medicine cabinet…mixed in with a bottle of Vitamin E capsules…nope.  Finally I checked the box of wet wipes on the shelves next to the toilet.  I mean who would look in there…right?  Fucking nope.  Either she got to all my hiding places while I was away or I sniffed them a while ago and forgot to replenish the stash.  Regardless, the bathroom was all clear…no pills.

Next I ransacked my living room…and believe me when I say I looked everywhere…even in places where I normally wouldn’t have hid shit.  I tried to convince myself that perhaps in a drugged-up haze, I must have found new hiding places.  If I wasn’t sweating and going through mild chills, semi-feeling like death, this would’ve probably been a fun game…like an Easter egg hunt when I was a kid…lol.  I looked in pillows, under pillows, in the couch, under the couch, under the coffee table, on shelves, in books, under the book case, in picture frames, on the window sills, in closets, in clothing in closets, in jacket pockets, in jean pockets, in shoes, in the DVD player, under the DVD player….you get the idea.

Shit, I almost wished I had someone there rooting me on saying, you’re getting colder… you’re getting warmer…lol.  If you think about it, that part was kind of true.  I was getting hotter and colder every few minutes…but like physically…not just in regard to finding my prize…lol.  I was on a fucking mission, which as it appeared, I was failing miserably, finding nothing….

After rummaging through the remaining areas of my apartment–all of which while trying to be as quiet as possible–as to not wake up sleeping beauty in my bedroom, I hit up my kitchen…in a last ditch effort to soothe my pain and discomfort.

This took a little time…seeing there were so many fucking places where I could have possibly hid pills in a drugged-up frenzy.  I literally emptied my cabinets…looked in glasses, bowls, cups, pots, pans, and all dinnerware was searched thoroughly to no avail.  I even went as far as looking in the dishwasher–only to realize how stupid that was because even if I did have something in there at any point in time–it would’ve been ruined by a single wash…lol.  I opened up my food closet.  I tore open boxes of cereal, cookies, crackers…anything that was already open.  I looked in a bottle of whey protein.  I searched drawers, in the stove, under the stove, in the sink and under the sink.  I even decided to move out my refrigerator to see if perhaps I might have dropped a pill under there at some point.  Nothing.  Not a fucking pill.  I was clearly getting desperate.

Although I did find a few hundred bucks hidden in a box of Kashi GoLean cereal underneath the bag at the bottom that I must have forgotten about….so all was not lost…lol.  Seriously though, I looked everywhere and found nothing.  I failed miserably.  If this were a real Easter egg hunt, all the other little kids would’ve been enjoying their prizes and I’d be off in a corner sulking.  Fuck it.  It seemed as if I was going to have to tough it out til the withdrawals passed.  Who knew how long that was going to be?  At least they weren’t that bad.

By this time, I’d say it was roughly four thirty in the morning, perhaps closer to five.  This is where it gets cloudy.  Feeling defeated, sweating lightly, I decided to look in my fridge for something to drink.  I was in no mood to eat.  I was drained.  I had no energy whatsoever.  I was overtired.  All I wanted to do was replenish some fluids lost and lay down…not that I could sleep even if I tried.  Did I mention that insomnia was a big factor after getting off pills?  As I’d later learn, I wouldn’t be sleeping much in the next coming months.  I’ll get to all that later down the line.

Upon looking in my refrigerator for a cold beverage, I grabbed a bottle of Simply Orange (no pulp) and cracked it open.  Then I got a bright idea.  I opened my freezer.  What I found there kind of saved the day.  Guess who forgot to get the alcohol out of the house?  I found a few open bottles of random alcohol…mostly vodka…which is all I really used to drink.  I made the executive decision to drink myself into a coma with high hopes of eventually waking up without withdrawals.  I figured it may not have been the pills I was so desperately seeking, but it would do the trick.  So I did just that…I drank…not even 24 hours out of rehab…and I was getting bombed at five in the morning.  Nice…huh?  Mom must be real proud…LOL.

After I finished off one bottle, which I’m assuming only gave me two or three glasses of vodka and OJ, I remember stumbling back into my kitchen to retrieve another bottle…figuring this would be the one to put me over the edge.  I reached in my freezer for the bottle and I pulled it out…and low and behold…look what I find chilling (literally) behind it…. a mini ziploc baggie (picture one that could fit a nickel) containing five 30mg roxicodone pills.  I was drunk.  I smiled.  This day was getting better by the minute.  I won the Easter egg hunt after all! Yippieeeee!

To Be Continued….

Today is a very special day.  Well…it is to me…for it is the one year anniversary of when I…along with the help of my editor and favorite Auntie Christine…started this blog.  Wow…I must say that year went by in the blink of an eye.  It has been quite a ride…both literally and figuratively…and I’m almost home.  Well…not home-home as in Boston… but my soon to be new home…the sunny land of ….. =)

I have to admit when I first started this blog I was really fucking nervous.  I’m talking waiting on an aids test–what’s the results–type of nervous.  I mean it’s not every day that I wake up and decide to bear my soul–my inner most thoughts–to even my closest friends and family…and now here I was about to put my shit show of a life on blast for the general public to read…

Remember, this was the very first time since I had been arrested that I was going to publicly address all of the nonsense that had happened.  The real story…not just some made up bullshit that the media got a hold of and ran with.  It was pretty nerve-wracking for me.  I didn’t really know how the public would react to what I had to say.  Shit…I didn’t know if people would even take the time to read what I had to say for that matter.

The only thing that I did know for certain was that once I plead guilty and was sentenced to prison…all bets were off.  I no longer had to bite my tongue regarding everything, as I had so patiently and unwillingly done at the request of my attorney.  I had so many different thoughts and emotions bottled up inside at the time–for some 15 months–I just had to get them all out.  I didn’t care who the fuck heard what I had to say…just as long as someone did.  So I finally said fuck it…what have I got to lose?  Here goes nothing.

Despite my fuck it attitude, it certainly wasn’t easy at first to put my life on blast by any means.  Truth be told, I didn’t sleep one bit on the night of my first post.  I remember laying there, on my pathetic excuse of a bed, imagining the absolute worst.  I must have played through every negative outcome possible in my mind that night…it was awful.  I even woke up my cellie in the middle of the night to ask him if he thought I made a mistake.  I certainly had regrets…that’s for damn sure.

Imagine you have something you’ve been dying to get off your chest.  So you decide to confide in a friend.  Imagine putting yourself out there… I mean really out there–like butt-ass naked–to someone you know well and trust.  You’re telling this person something about you that no one else knows.  Your semi-embarrassed with a slight hint of shame–fearing the outcome.  You have no idea how whatever it is you’re telling this person is being perceived…yet you continue to let it all hang out…then you suddenly realize that the very person who you just straight-up told your whole life to…now looks at you differently because of what you told him or her…judging your every word perhaps.  How would that feel?  Or even fucking worse….the person wasn’t even fucking listening to what you had to say at all….like you just poured your heart out to this person and they were preoccupied.  Yeah…imagine that?  Shit…that’s how I fucking felt that night.  Except I didn’t bear my thoughts to just one mere person who I knew and trusted.  I laid it out there for the world to read…think it over.

I will say as time passed, however, nothing was ever as bad as that first night.  The more blog entries I wrote, I found that it became easier and easier to just let it all out…no longer fearing the consequences or the possible reactions of others.  I just wrote what was on my mind–not giving a fuck.  I found that as long as I kept what I had to say raw as hell…real…and most importantly honest…it was nothing to put my shit on blast.  I guess I figured that if I just came clean with all of the nonsense that I had done over the years without implicating others (I’m no rat) then I’d truly be free.  I’d have no more skeletons in my closet.  I’d have nothing left to hide.  So when I walk out of here…I’d be me…take it or leave it.  I could carry my head held high, knowing I owned up to all my bullshit and I didn’t point the finger at anyone else.  And maybe…just maybe…if I shared my story in a way that didn’t glamorize anything…it might prevent someone else from making the same poor choices that I had made along the way…and that would be the greatest reward of all.

So many people ask me how I’m able to put myself out there in the way that I do… BALLS!!! haha! … I tell em’ I have big fucking balls…that’s how!  haha! … I kid, I kid…kind of.  Truth be told, I honestly don’t know the answer to that question.  If I had to guess I’d say (since I’m currently locked up) I find my freedom in writing.  I’ve come to find out over the past year that writing has been very therapeutic for me.  It’s given me an opportunity, not only to let out my skeletons, but to come to terms with how fucked up I was living when I was free.

They say that hindsight is always 20/20… I couldn’t agree more.  It wasn’t until I started traveling down memory lane…writing these blogs and really soul searching…that I finally became honest with myself about everything.  Not just with my addictions to drugs (both selling them and doing them), women and the fast life…but in the way I was living my life in general.  The truth hurts…I’ll say that much.  I was a real asshole…a selfish fucking asshole.  They say that assholes finish first–pffffff!  Whose first?  I’m in fucking prison.  Tell that one to Tucker Max.  Sure I can say I was young and reckless, but it’s no excuse.  I fucked up…plain and simple.

But all of that nonsense is in the past.  Not to be forgotten of course…but to be used as a lesson learned….a major wake up call if you will.  I’ve come a very long way from the person I once was…again both literally and figuratively.  I can say that proudly…and it’s in part because of this blog…and the people who take the time out of their busy lives to read what’s on my mind.  Without this blog and the people who read it, I may not have grown into the man that I’m fast becoming…and for that I’m grateful.  Which is why I feel that this day is a special day to me….

With that being said…I want to take this opportunity to give thanks…to YOU…the reader…whomever you may be.  THANK YOU!!  Whether I know you personally or not…thank you…thank you all for taking the time out of your hectic lives to read my stories.  To those out there who share, re-post, re-tweet, or re-anything having to do with what I write–THANKS!  To those who comment on my thoughts, whether it’s positive or negative feedback…I thank you.  Regardless of what you may think of me or how I’ve lived my life thus far, I owe you all a great deal of gratitude.  Without all of you reading, posting, and/or commenting on what I have to say, this would be a blog with no audience… a tree falling in the woods with no one to hear it… so I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.  As much as I’d love to sit here and thank everyone personally, I’d be here all day.  I DO want to go home sometime soon LOL.

Also…the most important thanks of all…

I want to say thank you again to the person who makes this all possible for me.  Without her time, effort and insight…this blog wouldn’t even exist…and I may not be the person I am today.  I’ll keep this as brief as possible, for she has to edit for spelling and grammar errors and I certainly don’t want to add to her work load…lol.

Auntie Christine,

I’ve grown a great deal over the course of this past year…moreso than in any one particular year of my life.  I’ve had ups.  I’ve had downs.  I’ve learned so much about myself.  You gave me the opportunity to help me to help myself grow as a person…if that makes any sense…lol.  And…I know it wasn’t easy for you to overlook all my f-bombs (even though I know you deleted some…lol).  I know that I’ve expressed my overwhelming gratitude and thanks to you for creating and running this blog on my behalf in my absence many times before, but I’ll say it again…and with pleasure I might add….THANK YOU SO MUCH.

I hope you realize just how much I truly appreciate everything that you’ve done for me…not just with this blog and over the course of this past year…but over the course of my life.  You have helped and inspired me in a way that I could never repay…although someday I will surely try.  Everyone tells me all the time how lucky I am and how my Auntie Christine is the best.  I couldn’t agree more…you are the best and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  Remember that….

Love ~ Matthew