writing – Buzz Kill Diaries

Torn

I’ve been feeling pretty torn lately. Some of my friends have been openly defending Charlie Kirk, or dismissing his words as inconsequential and honestly – yikes.

As a gay man who cares about equality and protecting vulnerable communities including transgender people, it’s hard not to feel hurt. His views clash with pretty much everything I believe in. This isn’t about denying free speech; it’s about the impact of the actual words he’s said which have caused real pain to people like me and those I care about.

Now, I get it, people have different backgrounds, perspectives, and reasons for supporting who they support. Politics is rarely black and white and I’m doing my best to remember that you can disagree with someone’s views without writing them off as a person entirely. Still, it’s difficult not to take it personally when those views feel like they’re aimed directly at people like me.

So here I am, stuck in the middle. Do I try to educate my friends and have those awkward but important conversations? Or do I just quietly back away for the sake of my sanity? On one hand, staying silent feels like I’m giving a free pass to stuff I find deeply harmful. On the other, launching into a political discussion over dinner doesn’t exactly scream fun night out.

I worry that speaking up might lead to tense arguments, or worse, the end of a friendship. Saying nothing, however, feels like I’m betraying my own values, and that doesn’t sit well with me either.

Recovery has taught me I can’t control what other people believe and trust me, I’ve tried, but I can control how I respond. I’m working on finding that sweet spot between empathy and boundaries, between keeping it real and keeping the peace.

It’s not easy, and there’s no simple answer here. But I’m committed to being honest with myself and with the people in my life.

2nd Chances

May 7, 2019

*** For immediate crisis support in Windsor-Essex (Or Canada), you can call the 9-8-8 Suicide Crisis Helpline (9-8-8) for 24/7 free support, or the Community Crisis Centre at 519-973-4435 for ages 16+. You can also text 686868 with the Crisis Text Line. In an emergency, call 9-1-1 or go to the nearest hospital emergency department. ***

My name is Chris and I am an addict. This is part 7 of my story.

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.

A fire flooded through my veins as Crystal gripped my heart in her cold icy hands. A bolt of darkness seared through my brain as I stumbled to the ground.

I reached up grasping at the bench as a brilliance of a thousand suns blinded my eyes in a searing hot flash.

This was it. This is what I wanted. My final exit.

Sweat poured from my body as a numbing pain seized my arm. I gasped for what I hoped would be my last breath. My heart pounding, screamed in agony and I began to shake uncontrollably.

But as the tears of pain and rage rained down my face I suddenly realized I was not going to die.

The searing pain in my heart became cold, and the trembling subsided. I let out a long gasp of frustration, slowly pulling myself up from the ground. But I fell, unable to stand as the world spun and I descended into a euphoric conscious unconsciousness.

I do not know how long I had been down or even how I walked for that matter, but I found myself in front of my dealer’s home determined to escape from Crystal’s grasp forever.

But even her promise of death was false; I couldn’t even kill myself properly I thought. I knocked at the door for what would be my last time.

David, typically business like and efficacious in demeanor, looked at me in what appeared to be shock. He opened the door and came out into the yard holding my promise of death.

Staring with sorrow in his eyes he said, “You need to get help.”

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.

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

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.

Shame and Desperation

April 25, 2019

My name is Chris and I’m a recovering addict. This is part 4 of my story.

Crystal and I would dance the dance of the death for several months in between desperate moments of clarity where I tried to quit. Of course, quitting would have been more feasible if I could set aside the guilt and shame of starting to begin with and admit that I was powerless – but I could not. After all, I’m a man. Not only that but a Schnurr. I didn’t need help – I could overcome despite all evidence to the contrary.

How could I face my peers, successful, seemingly happy, and productive? How could I face my co-workers, mainly university students to whom many looked to for advice, leadership and companionship (okay and my endless stream of Dad jokes).

How could I face my parents, parents who were so proud of their children, for the paths we had taken, for the successes we have met, and for the families we had built?

How could I face my mom, my confident, my best friend that even though she survived a life threatening illness, I still chose a plastic baggie over her on Christmas Day, spending my money on hotel rooms and drugs rather than a train ticket to feel that warm embrace only a mother can give?

How could I face my partner of 16 years after the walls of lies I had built to protect both him and myself from the truth of what I had become? How could I admit to him I risked both my and his life selling narcotics in the United States?

How could I admit to him that I had exchanged sex for drugs in desperate attempts to feed my addiction? How could I admit that despite our 16 years of shared memories, I loved crystal meth and all of her false promises more than him?

The short answer – I could not. I was a coward. Carrying lies was far easier than releasing the truth, so I told myself.

So Crystal and I danced the dance of death for many months before the music stopped December 27, 2018.

My Name: “Is Meth” – Author Unknown

April 18, 2019

I destroy homes, I tear families apart, take your children, and that’s just the start.
I’m more costly than diamonds, more precious than gold
The sorrow I bring is a sight to behold.

If you need me, remember I’m easily found,
I live all around you – in schools and in town
I live with the rich; I live with the poor,
I live down the street, and maybe next door.

I’m made in a lab, but not like you think,
I can be made under the kitchen sink.
In your child’s closet, and even in the woods,
If this scares you to death, well it certainly should.

I have many names, but there’s one you know best,
I’m sure you’ve heard of me, my name is crystal meth.
My power is awesome; try me you’ll see,
But if you do, you may never break free.

Just try me once and I might let you go,
But try me twice, and I’ll own your soul.
When I possess you, you’ll steal and you’ll lie,
You do what you have to — just to get high.

The crimes you’ll commit for my narcotic charms
Will I be worth the pleasure you’ll feel in your arms,your lungs your nose.

You’ll lie to your mother; you’ll steal from your dad,
When you see their tears, you should feel sad.
But you’ll forget your morals and how you were raised,
I’ll be your conscience, I’ll teach you my ways.

I take kids from parents, and parents from kids,
I turn people from God, and separate friends.
I’ll take everything from you, your looks and your pride,
I’ll be with you always — right by your side.

You’ll give up everything – your family, your home,
Your friends, your money, then you’ll be alone.
I’ll take and take, till you have nothing more to give,
When I’m finished with you, you’ll be lucky to live.

If you try me be warned – this is no game,
If given the chance, I’ll drive you insane.
I’ll ravish your body, I’ll control your mind,
I’ll own you completely, your soul will be mine.

The nightmares I’ll give you while lying in bed,
The voices you’ll hear, from inside your head.
The sweats, the shakes, the visions you’ll see,
I want you to know, these are all gifts from me.

But then it’s too late, and you’ll know in your heart,
That you are mine, and we shall not part.
You’ll regret that you tried me, they always do,
But you came to me, not I to you.

You knew this would happen, many times you were told,
But you challenged my power, and chose to be bold.
You could have said no, and just walked away,
If you could live that day over, now what would you say?

I’ll be your master, you will be my slave,
I’ll even go with you, when you go to your grave.
Now that you have met me, what will you do?
Will you try me or not? It’s all up to you.

I can bring you more misery than words can tell,
Come take my hand, let me lead you to hell.