No artsy pictures, no vintage lies.
It’s been a long past couple of decades for me. Back in 1995, I tried heroin for the first time. Here it is 2014, and I am left wondering where exactly did time go? I chose to think that my problem was mine, and the damage was limited to my slow, steady self-destruction. The sad reality is that I sucked up many in my wake, an unseen undercurrent that pulled family, friends and lovers to the bottom with me. Broken promises, broken hearts, all the frayed nerves and dread that the call would come – Michael is dead.
God tried to get my attention many times-the overdoses and the gift of another chance at life; the boundless support of family and friends who see something in me I never have; the women that loved me only to be let down because I hated myself, and chose heroin over heroines. Maybe God was telling me I am a good person, that I was spared to make a difference, to achieve a purpose in this life. That saying, “It just wasn’t your time to go…” I accept that. I accept a lot today.
I was a liar most conniving. I was a thief, of trust, of emotions, and reality. I could manipulate a nun into prostitution and promise her eternal rewards. I had no self-worth, no belief that I was anything but trash. I was a lot of things.
I am a lot more today. Certainly not cured, certainly not expecting trust or radical bridge reconstructions, no all I want is a reclamation project to be observed. My actions have made my words empty, and my slick tongue pledged so many holy things, such lofty ideals as love and fairy tale forevers. I can still talk a good game, but I just learned to crawl, and am going to stand up, become a man and walk that talk.
More another day, but thanks for hanging around as I held on.