BLOOD BANQUET (AGE-19)

Once in a great while, on the days I wasn’t inhaling vast amounts of chemicals or being a lush, I would smoke pot. I was never a big pot head, but when I did smoke it I would only go for the high grade stuff. I preferred to smoke alone because I hated the way it made me feel when I was around other people. It made me feel unattractive, dimwitted and disturbingly hungry.

On this night I was coming down off my usual week long meth binge and the only drugs I had left was this really potent weed. The only reason I had it was because I would occasionally barter with other drug addicts and it was a hot commodity from time to time. Part of me wanted to save it, “just in case”, and the other part of me was feeling adventurous.”FUCK IT”. So I decided to smoke it instead.

Before I could begin my bogus journey, I would need three things:  1) a smoking apparatus, 2) munchies and 3) for my grandparents to fall asleep. Not being an avid pot smoker, I didn’t have any rolling papers or a bong and I was much too lazy at the moment to make one. I just grabbed whatever was closest to me which happened to be a soda can. Smoking apparatus, check. Next up was the munchies. I had checked all the hiding spots I had in my room and turned up with nothing. Being a tweaker turned me into some sort of food hoarder which boggled my mind because eating was the last thing I thought about. Shit! I had to wait till my grandparents to fall asleep before I could go raiding the fridge unquestioned.

Finally they went to sleep and the house fell into a dead silence. Time to play. My soul brimming with the excitement of just thinking about altering my mind with any sort of drug made me forget all about the munchies. I slithered out of my room as soon I hear their door shut and make my way to the front yard. The mere flick of my bic was enough to put my drug addled mind at ease. I knew I would feel better in a matter of seconds. With a puff and many coughs later I was fittingly lit. I could still hear my cousin’s voice in my head telling me, “Remember to inhale and hold it in as long as you can”, an old memory of smoking weed for the first time.

It may have only been a couple of minutes, but it felt like I was outside for hours. Laid out on the grass, I stared at the stars and began to think of where my life was headed. At that moment I knew it was time to go back inside and stuff my face before I had an undesired epiphany. I seemed to float back inside the house and to the kitchen. When I opened up the refrigerator I was disappointed that the almost hypnotic refrigerator light was out. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by turning all the lights of the kitchen on, so I foraged ahead in the darkness.

I found it! It was a Tupperware container that I knew always had some sort of meat in it at all times. I was much too impatient to take it back to my room so I just ate in the darkness with the upper half of my body still in the fridge. Beast like, I decimated the tasty meat inside. I couldn’t wrap my head around how delicious this meat was. So tender and juicy. Truly the best meat I had ever eaten. With my hunger now quashed and all the meat gone, I close the lid of the container and place it back in the fridge. Was I expected to wash it? Certainly not, I thought to myself. I then chugged about a half litter of water to wash it all down.

Bladder and stomach now full, the bathroom was calling my name. As I reach down for my zipper I am shocked to see my hands covered in blood. Had I cut myself really deep and not known or even felt it? I rush to the sink to wash my hands and as I look up in the mirror I see that my hands aren’t the only things covered in blood. My entire mouth was stained with blood. I washed off as much as I could and ran back into the kitchen with the lights on and opened the container I feasted from. All that was left was blood. I had just eaten raw meat.

CRACK ATTACK (AGE-18)

Drugs have seasons and it was the summer of meth. My sister and I were sick of being the customer and were money hungry as well. So we decided to become business partners and try our hand at drug dealing. I would mostly provide all the start up money while she would provide the clients. To be fair we would split up the duty of picking up and dropping off our product.  I trusted her with everything else because she knew more about the distribution aspect and had more experience than myself in the dealing of drugs.

There was just one problem before we could start. We had to find a way to go around selling without our cousin finding out. He was the mayor of our meth village and we had to get through him first. He already cornered the market on all things chemical. We needed a way to deal without stepping on his toes but we soon found out that it was impossible to do.

Business was good in the beginning, but soon came to a screeching halt. What had happened? It turns out that our mayor had been getting better product than us. Drug addicts aren’t exactly loyal customers. Let the plotting begin. Poaching customers was our plan of action. My sister and I had the advantage because we knew the mayor’s everyday schedule. It included a shower everyday at four in the afternoon. Our window of opportunity was within this time which would give us at least an hour.

He dealt from our aunt’s house and there would always be somebody knocking at the door. So while he was in the shower, we would just pass our product off as his. Everything was going fine until one of the neighborhood regulars came around. His name was Andy and he had a large order. His order was exactly the last of what we had. It was just what we needed because then we could go and restock.

Meth in hand, he joyfully walked away and we promptly went and picked up more to sell. About an hour or so later he returned and said he had to talk to us at his house down the street. It was within view of our aunt’s house so we didn’t see anything wrong with that. We were greeted by a large gentleman with a just out of prison look. His name was tony and I was right, he was fresh from prison that day. He was furious and started yelling at us and saying that we ripped him off.

My sister and I looked at each other in disbelief and confusion. We explained to him what Andy had ordered. “CRACK, I WANTED SOME FUCKING CRACK!”, he screamed. He would not let us leave until he got what he wanted. This was the first time I had been held hostage by a crack head, but unfortunately it would not be my last. It took us an hour to explain and convince him that in order for him to get his crack that he needed so desperately, we would need to leave for a moment.

All we could think to do was run to our aunt’s house, our base of operations. We needed crack and we needed it fast, but there was a problem. The only person we knew to get a large amount of crack and in a hurry was our mayor. It was a catch twenty two. Do we admit to what we’ve been doing or get murdered by a crack fiend? Tough choice, right?

After explaining what happened, our mayor quickly cleaned up our mess by providing the crack. We were completely in over our heads. He told the guy that we were just kids who didn’t know what the hell we were doing, true. Later on that night tony came to our aunt’s house to buy more and I was sitting on the front porch. I was a real porch monkey back then. While he was waiting for his order he called me to the side to ask me a question. “Do you know anybody who will pay me to fuck them?” “I fuck real good.” That was the last thing I expected to hear from this hulking man standing over me. I replied with a shocked no. He then whispered in my ear, “I’ll fuck guys too”. The smell of rape was in the air. I repeated my answer of no and hastily walked away while covering my bottom and resumed my post on the porch. That was the last time I ever tried to sell drugs of any kind. It didn’t bother me; I was always better at doing them anyways. My sister, on the other hand, decided to pursue her path of becoming a local drug lord.

PIG IN A BLANKET (AGE-20)

Britney was a girl that my friends’ girlfriend, Fiona, just thrust upon me. She was a portly girl from Porterville. My guess was that Britney was suppose to keep me out of the way of their relationship which I was never really voluntarily involved with. I decided to humor Fiona for a couple of weeks and take Britney on as my “Beard”. Beard is a slang term describing a person who is used, knowingly or unknowingly, as a date, romantic partner, or spouse either to conceal infidelity or to conceal one’s sexual orientation. I only had use for her when I was with friends who I had not yet come out to.

On this particular night she and I were hanging out drinking, smoking pot and meth with Fiona and my friend. Fiona and I never got along from the time we met. Tonight she was being extra bitchy and I decided to punish her by not sharing any of my drugs with her. Being the only person holding, it really pissed her off. Just what I wanted. I had lit the fuse and it was time to go, but I needed a ride home. Beard to the rescue! Having a car was one of the reasons I kept Britney around. So we made our way to my house so I could be alone with my drugs.

Once we pulled up to my house I chose to reward her by asking her if she wanted to stay the night. Being an addict got lonely at times. She seemed delighted and assumed we were going to bump uglies. Now in my room, I got down to business and went at my meth like a wild animal. Being a gentleman, I politely offered the lady a hit or two to which she declined. My mouth tasting of a chemical waste land, I excused myself to brush my teeth before bed. She gleefully jumped off the bed and insisted that I get her toothbrush from her car so she could join me. I was perplexed that she just carried an extra toothbrush in her car, but nonetheless agreed.

In her car I decided to take the opportunity to smoke whatever pot I had left as a snack before bed. Back in the bathroom, we both brushed our teeth. During, all she seemed to do was smile at me through the mirror. Probably imagining what we would look like as a married couple. At the time I had a twin bed and when it came time to lay down I grimaced at the thought of laying there with her, but she was already here and I was a lazy drug addict when I wanted to be. I was also not sure if we would both fit.

Either way we managed to fit, snugly I might add. At first we laid back to back, my choice, but then she turned around and hugged me from behind, bear like. Not one to give up control, I told her to shove off and I would just hug her. She listened like a good pet. Then the unthinkable happened. I got a chubby. As a gay man I was dumbfounded. How could this be?

Was it the multiple drugs I was on? Was it the alcohol? Was it the fact that I hadn’t been in bed with anyone in a while, let alone a woman? I blamed it on the alcohol and the warmth of her undercarriage. The chubby soon turned into a full on erection. It did not go unnoticed. She mistook my inebriated boner for a romantic one. She then took my hand and rubbed it along her now exposed tit. She continued to move my hand over her gigantic nipple. I was amazed at the size and at same time used my other hand to feel my own, to compare of course. Before this moment I had never or wanted to touch a boob. I was always secretly curious about the fascination straight men had with breasts. I still don’t see what all the fuss is all about.

Next thing I knew she swiftly turned around, cheetah like, and reached for my dick. Moving in for the kill. Almost instantly I became lucid and flaccid at the same time. What the fuck was I doing? Had my loneliness really gotten to this point? Appropriately disgusted, I leaped out of bed and demanded that she leave immediately. Very confused and horny, she asked, “why?”, and I gave her no response. Instead I just repeated my previous statement. She tried to give me excuses why she couldn’t leave and asked, “Are you really just going to throw me out in the cold?”. I told her, “Of course not”, and then got an extra blanket, wrapped it around her and then showed her to the door. I never saw her again.

PORCH CORPSE (AGE-18)

It was a typical night in the house of a thousand tweakers, also known as my aunt’s house. Known in the neighborhood as the one stop shop for all your chemically dependent needs. Only this night I was not involved in the reindeer games of meth. At first I didn’t care that everyone else was getting high without me because I had my own stash on hand. I assumed it would last me the whole night, but I underestimated how much of a meth monster I was and it quickly ran out.

By that time it was around three in the morning and I was thinking of a way to weasel my way into the good graces of the house’s meth provider which was my cousin. So I came out of my meth den and decided to go with the beggars approach. Addiction has a way of making it easier for you to swallow your pride, in more ways than one. I made my way to their den of choice, the smallest bathroom in the house, and did my best Oliver twist impression. “Please sir I want some more”, I said scratching at the bathroom door like a tiny meth addicted kitten. I got a stern monotone reply of “NO” from behind the door. Almost immediately I felt myself turn bright red which must have looked odd for me being that I am Mexican. I was already a little pissed to begin with due to the fact that I was never even invited to party with them in the first place.

So I decided to get back at them the only way I knew how, in the form of dark vengeful pranks. Back in the safety of my den I thought of what could possibly scare the shit out of them right now. Sitting at the foot of my door, staring through the crack at the rest of the house, the idea came to me. I would pose as a mysterious dead body on the front porch.

Knowing that this would no doubt get their attention and ruin their high at the same time, I was appropriately excited. I also knew, as a tweaker myself, they would eventually look out of the front window. A great past time among tweakers of the world. So I hopped out of my window and skipped gaily to the front yard, but not before changing my clothes as to appear unrecognizable. Once in the front, I simply laid down a small towel for my face and lied on my stomach. The lower half of my body was sprawled over the steps and my top half facing the entrance to the house with my hand ever so slightly reaching for the front door. Now to play the waiting game, I thought to myself not realizing how cold it was until then.

I awaken to a loud screaming woman, I had fallen asleep. “Who the, what the fuck is that!”, I tried to contain my laughter while trying not move. The door slammed shut, my queue to erase all evidence that I was ever there. Jumping up as fast as I can, I raced back to my window and seemed to fly back in my room. I was thrilled. Next I resumed my position at the foot of my door and just listened to the madness I had created, everything worked out perfectly. In my mind I had taught them a lesson. I then remembered I was out of dope. Happiness is fleeting, especially for a self proclaimed meth monster.

Years later, my cousins still talk about that night and try to convince others that they were not just tweaking. That they had seen a dead body on the front porch which simply vanished seconds later. I don’t think I ever confirmed or denied that the porch corpse was me.

MY WEEK OFF (AGE-16)

I don’t really remember how that night began but what I do remember is viewing what was going on as if watching a television show. What I was seeing was a crazy person pacing back and forth, crying and speaking something that was not considered English or any other language for that matter. At that point I had already moved all of the furniture in my room, barricading myself in. Then it hit me, I had been up for at least a week on a strict crystal meth only diet and I had clearly reached my mental and physical limit. It only took a minute for my grandpa to break down the door and once he and my grandma came in all I could do was continue to breakdown while they tried to console me until I finally fell asleep.

The next day my grandma takes me to the emergency room because when I woke up all I said was, “I want to kill myself”. It took about three hours but I finally got to see a doctor and repeated my previous statement. One referral and fifteen minutes later, I was on my way to charming mental facility in which I voluntarily checked myself into. As soon as I signed the last papers I immediately regretted it.

“Please remove your Shoes, shoe laces, belt, or any sharp objects you may have on your person”. They even took the string from my hoodie. Next came a mandatory strip search, administered by very unattractive fluffy gentleman by the name of Jerry. Followed by a quick visit with the resident shrink in which I was asked questions such as: are you hetero or homosexual? And are you or have you ever been addicted to any drugs? I lied on both. Being the new patient, I was put in a room alone for the first night so I can take everything in. Ten minutes later I got a knock on my door and was greeted with a cup to piss in for drug testing purposes. A sense of dread came over me because I felt like my lies were going to catch up with me and being held accountable was just not my thing at the time. I politely took the cup and said I didn’t have to go at the moment. Luckily for me she was old and never remembered till my last day, but I’m getting a bit ahead of myself.

The next morning I woke up being poked and prodded by the staff so they can take my vitals and then instructed to go to the front desk for my daily dose. I’m not quite sure what any of the six multi-colored pills were, but I was never one to shy away from meds. Soon after I was informed on the schedule all patients were to follow. It included six group therapies a day, three square meals, school time, arts and crafts and of course free time in the day room. Once day two was over I was introduced to my new roommates: Paul, the cutter; and Tim, whose illness I could never really figure out due to the fact that he didn’t talk much. Instead he would kind of just stare at you in a sort of menacing sexual way. I kept all interactions with him short. Instead I gravitated more towards Paul, for the simple fact that I was fascinated by his need to cut himself. I was never really given a clear simple answer other than that it was, “bliss”.

I kind of just went through the motions for the next couple of days. The highlight of my day was usually one of the group sessions. There was no television so this became my new entertainment. One session involved an upset girl by the name of Ashley, tweaker, going through obvious withdraws at the time. The therapist noticed her somber disposition and asked what was the matter and if he can help her in any way. “If you really wanna help me then get me an eight ball quick and don’t you fuckers forget my needle!”, she replied. Without thinking I burst out laughing because I was feeling and thinking what she had just said. Needless to say, it didn’t go over very well with the group. After being asked to share during group for the past eighteen sessions, I was told that the longer I take to open up the longer it would take for me to get out of there. I felt trapped, so I did what came natural to me, I put on a show. I started to tell them what I thought they wanted to hear and became more involved and less disconnected. I was so good at it that even I believed my lies and fooled myself into thinking I was better.

Visitation was my time to have fun, the kind of fun at someone else’s expense, the good kind. All us patients knew when we had visitors because we would hear the loud buzzing as the giant gateway to our freedom would unlock and reveal familiar faces. I would always come up with a little scheme or prank to play on all my worried family members. It was my way of easing the tension of the situation. The usual involved me waiting in the day room for my visitor. Once I knew they were on their way I would get a chair and place it facing the entrance and just slump down in it and start to drool. As if drugged up with a faraway look in my eyes. The reaction was usually the same. A horrified look with a hint of pity accompanied with open arms. Most of the time I couldn’t take it and laughed a little after the hint of pity. It was the only time that I could forget where I was and just joke around and bullshit.

“I faked my way out of a mental institution in seven days and all I got was a prescription for Zoloft and a referral to a great shrink”, I imagined my t- shirt might say. I eventually stopped taking my meds because they made me feel disconnected and unable to emote, zombie like. I was not myself. The supposed “great” shrink never really made me feel at ease enough to open up to him or maybe I was never willing to in the first place. I stopped after three sessions. I wish I could say that this was the point when my whole life turned around and I never used drugs again, but it was really only a speed bump in the first act of my drug addled life.