Author: Chris

I left the hateful rhetoric of Facebook to come here to carry a message of hope and healing I'm in recovery from addiction and rebuilding a life filled with purpose and creativity. Whether I'm playing the piano, baking, gardening, or knitting, I’ve found healing in the simple, meaningful moments. Buzz Kill Diaries is where I share honest reflections on recovery - one day at a time.

Desperation

May 1, 2019

My name is Chris and I’m a recovering addict. This is part 6 of my story.

Selfish. That was one thing I did well.

So on the night of December 27th, I slipped out the back gate of my home to never return. But an unlikely source intervened and ultimately saved my life.

The path ahead was blurred by tears of anger and sorrow as a great hopelessness washed over me. As I neared Richmond Street, I paused and looked up at the night sky searching for an answer to a question I did not know how to ask.

All I saw was darkness.

I reached into my coat pocket and felt my freedom – it’s cold rigid plastic holding the promise that Crystal offered. There was reassurance in death; there was no sadness, only relief from the pain of a thousand lies.

I walked slowly across Richmond Street making my way to Willistead Park. I had decided I would end my pain in the very spot my character in my first short film had chosen to end his.

Tears were coursing down my face unseen by the few who were walking through the park, collars to the wind and backs to the world.

I truly believed I would be saving my partner from the pain of learning the truth. I truly believed my parents, my guides, my confidants would be free from the torment of learning who their son really was.

As I neared my destination, I touched my pocket where the prepared syringe was and sat upon the bench.

There were no more tears, only angry determination to put this world full of pain, hurt, anger and resentment behind me.

I pulled the syringe from my jacket and rest it upon my leg, it’s contents shimmering from the pathway lights, yearning to course through my veins one final time.

The night was quiet save my heart pounding in my head, pleading with me to get up and go home. There were no more tears to be cried, no goodbyes to be said as I pushed up the sleeve of my jacket. The veins in my forearms pulsed in anticipation of receiving it’s toxic nirvana.

I looked to the sky one final time, took a deep breath and plunged the syringe into my vein.

Empathy

April 30, 2019

I’ve been in recovery now for nearly 120 days with a couple of significant relapses. Not proud of them, but you know what – I’m not ashamed because without the relapses I would not be where I am today.

Without digging my grave, I would not have the opportunity to begin to realise I am loved, cared about and that I am worthy of love and care. Yes, a rather extreme way to find out, but it is what it is. Nor am I ashamed to say I am powerless over a disease called addiction.

I have noticed the HUGE stigma associated with addiction with people dismissing it or worse, making fun of it in a detrimental way. Some people can abuse a substance without ill effect, but more people, like myself, who use/abuse recreational drugs – including alcohol – are or become addicted. One is too many and a thousand is never enough.

Looking back at my behaviour, I shake my head in disbelief, but at the time what I was doing was completely rational in my addict mind. Stopping was never an option – I would fight to my death to support this rational irrationality. I am, however, responsible for my own recovery – no one else.

Before judging someone’s behaviour, try understanding and having some compassion. It could save a life!

What is Sobriety?

April 30, 2019

Sobriety is more than not drinking or using.

Sobriety is also maintaining a healthy mental state, positive frame of mind and positive reinforcing behaviours.

Negativity, blame, anger, hunger, denial, minimization, fatigue, rationalization, and isolation are relapse behaviours.

Perfect Imperfections

April 30, 2019

It hit me today like a ton of bricks.

I’ve spent my entire life living for other people.

I could never enjoy, nor gain true pleasure from things – whether personal success, or an evening with friends. Nothing was ever good enough.

I remember listening to a rendition of “Stairway to Heaven” with my father on one of our many road trips we took when I was younger. It was truly a beautiful moment – father and son listening and trying to find our own personal meaning to the song. My Dad turned to me and asked, “What did you think?” All I could muster was that the musician played a chord incorrectly.

In social circles rather than being comfortable in my own skin, I became a chameleon, pretending to be something I was not to gain the approval of someone on the rubber chicken circuit.

On my first night of my first attempt at recovery at Brentwood, there was a young man playing the guitar and he was singing. I stopped, mesmerized by the words and the emotion the musician had. I did not know why until now:

My head’s under water
But I’m breathing fine
You’re crazy and I’m out of my mind
‘Cause all of me
Loves all of you.

Sure, it’s a love song – but it can also be a song about loving my inner child – all his good qualities and all the dark destructive characteristics. All his “perfect imperfections.”

As I stood there, the musician pointed at me and said, “He’s feelin’ it” with tears streaming down my face.

I finally understand today why I was crying.

I’ve never loved me. I’ve never accepted myself – with all my perfect imperfections.

And if I can’t love myself, how the fuck am I supposed to love anyone or anything, totally, completely, and unconditionally?

I can’t – and the last two years, hell, my entire life up to today is testament to that.

The Beginning of The End

April 29, 2019

My name is Chris and I am a recovering addict. This is part 5 of my story.

While I danced, the music grew louder. Fearful of being caught, I began to “party” in the United States. It was on one of those trips I discovered that money could be made selling meth to addicts in Detroit.

Doing the math in my head, I realised by exporting it to the US, I could make more than enough to help pay for my addiction.

Addiction. I scoffed at that word.

I wasn’t addicted. I was in full control. I just needed more money to fund my “habit”.

Yeah. Let’s call it that if it makes me feel better.

I just needed to be a little more creative in the stories … lies … I told. I could pay back all the money I had literally stolen, it just would take some time. Furthermore, Crystal thought it was a great idea as she wrapped her skeletal arms around me tighter.

Yeah, I wasn’t addicted.

I experimented with different ways to cross the border first. I needed to figure out a way to bring large enough quantities across the border undetected. After several different attempts, the answer was the tunnel bus. I was never searched. I should be in prison, but thankfully, the Higher Power I would acknowledge several months later had different plans for me.

The party intensified and the music grew louder. Smoking turned into snorting which turned into booty bumps – chasing the high and the withdrawals.

To her glee, Crystal and I were becoming one.

On December 14, 2018 the brakes failed on my roller coaster of life – I began slamming, or in more familiar terms, I started injecting.

Thirteen days later I would be plunging nearly 1 gram into my veins hoping to end my life by causing a stroke or heart attack.

I had told so many lies, and done so many despicable things to my friends, family, partner and myself I no longer believed I deserved neither their respect nor love. I could not look at myself. I was worthless and full of self hate and pity. I had followed the path Crystal had laid out, and I was lost in my world of fantasy, more empty than ever before.

I had maxed out my credit cards, taken out $5000 in high interest loans, plunged our joint account into overdraft and was two months behind in my own financial commitments, I selfishly believed the only solution was death.

Selfish. That was one thing I did well.

So on the night of December 27th, I slipped out the back gate of my home to never return.

But an unlikely source intervened and ultimately saved my life.

Cravings

April 28, 2019

Go away.

She’s begging me to embrace the empty fulfillment of life damned.

I wish this would stop.

The memories of empty companionship fill my brain, yearning to flood my veins.

Her icy grip clawing at my warming heart.

I feel so alone. I know that I am not. But I am she says.

Alone without her. Alone with her.

The movie is starting in my mind.

The fantasy yearning to be real, the movie with no end nor any beginning, just an endless mindless loop of infinite promises.

Get out of my fucking head!

There is no joy in your promise of peace. There is only death in your promise of life.

Why won’t you leave me? Or will you infect the mind of another if you do?

That was smooth you coniving …

Does this end? Will the light return to banish you into darkness once again?

Yes. Yes it will.

My life or yours … it seems easy yet why do I yearn to fall into your embrace once again?

I can’t.

I won’t.

I can.

I will.

She loves me.

She loves me not.

I love me.

I love me not.

I LOVE ME.

That tiny hand squeezing mine tight; pulling me back towards the light.

That tiny voice commanding me with one word: Please!

Please.

Please don’t leave me again.

I won’t.

But I need my brothers and sisters to help.

I am weak, but I am strong.