3 am.
That's like noon in tweaker time.
I stood in the deafening darkness of the cold winter night locating the brick house with red trim. I opened the passenger door and slid into the cold car.
The abruptness of my movement startled the guy in the driver’s seat (let’s call him Dax). His body jolted, making him drop his phone. I had only been out of the car for a few minutes, but that was enough time for him to lose himself in Grindr.
Without looking up from the phone screen, Dax asked So, what’s up? I’m freezing.
I’m about to get it done. Just a minute.
I had bribed him to drive me here with the promise of free drugs. At this stage of my active addiction journey, I had elevated myself from drug user to drug supplier. I was also a master manipulator.
What Dax didn’t know was that the guy who lived in the brick and red-trimmed house had stolen cash from my nightstand. The mission tonight was to steal his beloved dog for ransom.
I didn’t have weapons, nor did I know how to use them, so my “collections” approach tended to be psychological (and diabolical) in nature.
I knew the hiding place of the spare key and also knew he was partying across town. The little Yorkie was already standing at the door yapping loudly at the sound of an intruder, so all I had to do was scoop him.
I returned to the car, jumped in with the dog, and screamed GO! I’ll never forget the look on Dax’s face; it was a perfect mix of confusion, fright, and disbelief. He sat staring at me as I wrestled the wriggling dog.
Damn it, I said GO!
Dax finally started the car, and we were on our way to the pet-friendly Super 8.
We got back to the room, and I really don’t know which of the three of us was more panicked. My head was pounding in cadence with my heart. I was partly scared, but also charged by the thrill of getting away with it.
It was the same kind of adrenaline high I received when I would walk through the doors of Target with a cart full of stolen merchandise. These were the instances in my life that I created to feel some semblance of being alive.
Dax, on the other hand, was 100% freaking out, pacing in circles and mumbling. The dog had taken refuge under the bed.
I sat down to begin my series of threatening texts to the man who lived in the brick and red-trimmed house. Then, I noticed Dax packing his belongings.
What are you doing?
Man, I’m out of here. You are f—ing crazy.
I told you, he stole cash from me. You have any other ideas?
Dax stopped scouring for his belongings long enough to stare at me wild-eyed. Who the hell are you?
Oh, I just love it when other meth heads try to judge me.
There’s something wrong with you, man, and I’m out.
I recall the sinking feeling in my stomach as he was leaving. The realization of what I had done swept over me, followed by the despair of thinking I would again be alone and stranded–now with a dog.
I grabbed his arm at the door, and with tears rolling down my face, I distinctly recall my words. Look, everything about ME has been stolen. I don’t have much left, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone steal another thing from me again.
At the time, I really didn’t comprehend the profoundness of that statement. All I knew was that my life had fallen apart, and I was desperate to cling to anything or anyone who could give it meaning.
It was either my dramatic performance, the promise of free drugs, or both, but Dax ended up staying. I had given the man in the brick and red-trimmed house a deadline of 9 am, to which he complied by Cash App and was given the address and room number at the Super 8 where he could find his dog.
Please understand that I am not proud of this story and hesitated to make it public. But, I feel it illustrates just how lost and broken I had become and an example of how Meth takes over brain function.
Methamphetamine is the most intelligent and evil drug available on the planet. It instinctively knows where one’s vulnerabilities are and preys on those spaces in order to transform an otherwise good person into a shell of their existence.
Meth knew that I lacked self-confidence and would literally whisper in my ear if you do this, you’ll feel powerful, you’ll be someone, you’ll be accepted.
You’ve seen my descent. Now watch my rising. –Rumi
Maybe you've read this far and are thinking that, comparatively speaking, your experience with meth is nothing as I've described here.
And my response to that would be: if you are putting meth into your body, we are the same. If you are putting meth into your body, there is healing to be had. If you are putting meth into your body, you are consciously altering your brain functioning.
Where do you see yourself in my story?
Have you ever manipulated others?
Have you ever compensated for insecurities?
Have you ever done something you are ashamed of?
Have you ever felt as though you've lost yourself?
Have you ever felt as though you've never known who you are in the first place?
We are all in this together. We bring various contexts and perspectives, but we are the same.
And because of that, you, too, can break free from Tina's grasp.
As Rumi writes above, I rose from the descent into the darkness. I climbed my way out of the shadows. I found who I was underneath the meth molecules.
Seven years later as I type this newsletter, the experience is surreal. Was that really me stealing a dog for ransom? It wasn't. It was meth me.
Now I'm me me. And you can get there as well. Stay strong.
Love, Dallas đź’š
October 18, 2024
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