Note to a friend

A friend asked me to share with him my "story" the other day. I guess our lives are one long story with characters and plot twists and beautiful and tragic themes. I wrote this note to him, and thought I'd share it here.

You asked for it, here it is....

My maternal grandparents were both alcoholics. My parents are not. I, apparently, got the gene for addiction. When I was in my teens and 20's I'd go pretty crazy in college but just chalked it up to college days, nothing more. When I graduated, I stopped drinking as a means of losing weight and I lost a lot of weight,. After college, I moved to FL and still didn't really drink, although I'd have a beer every now and then.

I met Tom, while I was living in Tampa and waiting tables at a restaurant out at the beach. Tom was everything that I wanted in a man. He was 38, I was 25. We hit it off right away. He was in FL on vacation from San Francisco to visit his family. Tom asked me if I would come to visit him in SF. I told him, maybe some day I could afford it. He told me he would pay for my ticket and food lodging while I came to visit him. It was like a dream come true. A few months later, I flew to SF and spent 10 days with Tom. It was awesome. I really felt like Cinderella and that I was just in one big fairytale (yeah yeah, I know all the puns). I cried the night before I left as Tom held me in bed. I knew I'd probably never see him again and then he said it "Come and live with me." I couldn't believe what I heard and I had to ask him to repeat. "Come and live with me, you can move out here and find a job. You'll have a place to live." I was shocked but every part of me wanted to move to SF. 3 moths later, I got on the plane for SF to move there.

The first 6 months or so were pretty great. I found a job, made friends, and settled into life in SF. Tom and I had an open relationship and we each played on the side. After a while, I lost my job downtown and found a job working on the opening of a new bar on Castro Street, Daddies. Up to that time, I wasn't really drinking but was smoking pot regularly. One night, I met a guy who offered me some meth, and I tried it. I was a mess. I did WAY too much too fast and the next day was tweaked out of my mind. My friends just laughed and said to be careful. I was afraid to do it again after that for a few months, but then one night another guy offered it to me, and I tried again, not quite as piggy this time. I was hooked. BIG TIME!! From then on, I was pretty much high on meth or coming down all the time. I'd stay up for days at a time and then completely sleep through my days off. I mean, I would sleep 48 hours straight without moving. Pretty scary. By that time, I had got my own place. Tom and I were still close, but I wanted to spread my wings.

Then Tom died.

Tom died of complications from AIDS in June of 1996. My world fell apart. I went on huge binges where I did meth, and heroin, and ecstasy, and pot and booze, and crack and coke (not the same thing as some would lead you to believe). I didn't care who fucked me, who I had sex with, where I had sex, what I ate, where I slept, nothing. Somehow I managed to keep my job managing the bar, probably because the owner was a huge alcoholic and had his own shit to deal with, so I was able to maintain and slide under the radar. I just kept getting worse and worse. I spent every cent I had on drugs, had huge drug orgies at my apartment. People would steal my shit, I never noticed. People would steal my money, I never cared. It was all a huge mess. I used to sit up all night, waiting for the "men" to come and get me. I was so paranoid, I would see people everywhere that weren't there. I would hallucinate that there were bugs crawling out of my arms and try to pick them out,. I still have scars in my tattoos where I picked and picked at nothing for weeks. I'm not sure if I even showered during that period. I seem to recall that I did some times, but I'm not 100% sure. I stole drugs from friends, I stole money from friends, I stole food from friends (food that I couldn't even eat).

The close friends that I had when I first moved to SF were all but gone. They gave up on me a few years earlier and who could blame them....I had already given up on myself. My life had become just one big drug induced sex party. At some point in all of this, I sero-converted. All of the time with Tom, and I had remained NEG and then after Tom I didn't care and becoming POZ was just another easy slip down the ladder.

I remember when I hit bottom. I was mugged and someone got my Visa check card and used it to wipe out my account. I had no idea for a while, but when I found out I called my mother. I had nothing. No money, no friends, no Tom, I had quit my job. My mother said, "maybe it's time you come home" and I cried like a baby. The next day she sent me a one way plane ticket to FL where she and my father were living. I packed up what I could of my 5 years in SF. I shipped boxes with my stuff back with money my mom sent with the plane ticket. I abandoned most my my stuff in SF. The one friend that I had left had been in recovery for many years. He knew my deal although I never told him. He agreed that it was time for me to get out of SF before I died. He took me to the airport.

I did my last few lines of meth in the airport bathroom at SF Intl Airport. It was Christmas Eve 1997. My plane got delayed in St. Paul and I sat in the airport bar getting drunk to try to overcome the fact that the meth was wearing thin and I needed a bump I wasn't gonna get. I was wasted on the plane from St. Paul to Ft. Myers. It was Christmas Day 1997. Happy Birthday Jesus......

The next few weeks at my parents' house are a blur to me even to this day. I detoxed in their back bedroom. I told them I had the flu. I mostly slept and vomited and didn't eat. After a few weeks I crawled out of the dark and decided to get it together. I so wanted to be back in SF. I hated FL and did not want to be here. But, life is what it is and I found a way. I picked myself up and applied for a bunch of IT jobs. I got an interview and a job working in Tampa. The week after I started, I moved into my own apartment. Since then, I've moved into a larger apartment, adopted my dogs, bought a house, obtained my Master's degree, and many other accomplishments that I'm proud of.

I never got involved in a "program", It was just never for me. I do believe that the universe holds great things for me. I also believe that in the end, I can never touch drugs or booze again. I still have drug dreams, and still get the shakes when I talk about it, but I'm here over 11 years clean and sober. It will be 12 years on Christmas. I think for most people, "the program" is probably the best thing there is. I don't even know how to describe what I've done and how I've gotten to this place. I do take it one day at a time. I no longer let the small stuff fuck with my head. I'm not really sure how much time I've got left. I've been POZ for 13 years, but know many who have lived much longer. I also know plenty who have not lived half as long as I have. Who knows? I sure don't. But here is the thing. I've been given the greatest gift. To live on this planet and be a part of this wild world. I've loved, I've lost, I've made huge huge mistakes. I could die today and I go with no regrets. I try to live my life so that I can say that every day. I've told my family and friends that no matter when my time comes, I am happy, I love life, and I love that I've been given the opportunity to live it. By the way, I have no answers. Mostly questions. I think in the end, we all need to find the answers on our own.

So that's my story. You're probably sorry you asked. Here's the thing, my friend. You're not the first one to make this journey, but you are the first to make "your" journey. If you need a little help reading the signposts, let me know. I can't make any promises, but I can try :-)

Don