In the end it all strung down to a blue Ethernet cable and two boxes of a cure for the common cough. Twenty years may not seem like a lot but to me, it was a life time. Distant memories of a happy family divided by a crack right down the middle where I was standing. Soon followed by the tears of an over dosed member I never knew but it wasn’t until three homes later that I began to lose my mind.
Tests were the worst, all the quiet made the voices louder. After a few hours I made a Christmas tree of my paper, ran for the bell, and this is where the real testing began. The doctors go so far back in the beginning I only remember the waiting rooms, the hidden toys to assure I could pick back up where my plastic adventure left off last week. They call it a medical practice for a reason or so I was told as the sessions became years. My attention was deficit, obsessive, compulsive, I had diarrhea of the mouth, and just when I thought things had been made perfect from practice I came to find out there was bigger disorder at play.
It has been referred to as self-medication but I found that to be a sheet of wool used to pull over the eyes of what little innocence is left in the world. There was a long line of bread crumbs keeping me under the influence that led to the harder stuff, the same stuff that had people thinking the zombie apocalypse had begun. Replacing what the doctors gave me with all my bread crumbs and falling out of love with my stressor had me creating my own reality.
Everywhere I went people were watching, following me in the bushes with cameras, recording my everything. The Television was talking directly to me and I had become determined to find the live feed they were all watching. I got more and more tired of the codes they all talked in, pretending like the show didn’t have to go on, like it wasn’t going on at all. Sleeping maybe three hours a night I spent the darker hours of the day writing notes to the watching, crying for help. Restaurants were the worst, all those people staring, whispering as if I couldn’t hear them. It was at brunch that I had enough insisting our exit as my mother escorted me to the hospital.
I had done it now. I couldn’t escape, trust me I tried and in an instant was surrounded, sure I could have out ran them all taken down anyone in my way but where would I go? As they left with an IV in my arm I realized what they were doing but all pulling the needle did was brought back the coats. Everything slows down with that amount poring directly into your veins and only gets slower until the black sets in behind your eyelids. Now in a wheel chair they strapped me in the center of a van as I continued to black in and out we arrived where ever and again with the coats but it would have to wait till the morning due to what was left in my veins.
This time when I woke up the clouds had lifted and left me surrounded by white bricks. The sun wasn’t, this left me antsy in my room treading circles as to not drown in the quiet. Examining my surroundings I found the camera hidden in the air vent, the sensors on my bed, and a gun carved in the bathroom wall from whoever they cleaned out before me, I thought about using it to paint the walls red. Even my window was incased, I could throw my toilet through the glass that’d brake it for sure and my sheets may get be close enough to the ground to only break an ankle from this height but still I’d be mazed in.
The maze only got bigger as the days got longer. The only paint outside of a frame were the hands trickling the walls past, the only people were scrubs playing there mind games, the coats above them and two others like me. Coloring books had not been this fun since elementary, I signed them for my fans. One night as the television began to speak to me I realized the trial had begun, a battle of wits between all the powers of the world decided whether or not I’d rot in all this white, so I began to play they’re games. By the time I had played a good enough game I found myself again with my mother sliding through each layer of the maze and each step feeling more and more free yet also feeling more and more nervous, As if one wrong turn and the doors start to again lock behind me.
Weeks went by before reality found me once more and the games became life again. I followed the breadcrumbs back to my old stache of a life style but this time it seemed that completely losing my sound mind and sifting through masses of mess to find it made the fix dull. As the years drug I did just that and as the years got harder so did my manner of dragging.
Before I hit rock bottom I went through different stages of low. For some time I was stealing from the over the counter isles of every store within biking distance. Soon after I found myself counting jars of change from several of our local Chinese restaurants. Sometimes we would pocket something to return it and spend hours finding someone who accepted gift cards. The crew knew exactly which pawn shops to sell what to and could successfully walk with several layers of expensive jeans and still keep their swag in check. I lived in several abandoned houses, my car, couch hoped and partied in the woods. Some nights we ate what we picked from the fields and some nights we drank what we found in other people’s homes.
As I got older the mask of glamour my drug use had been wearing became transparent and the true reasoning behind my slow death became evermore apparent. With this realization of my failed attempts to numb the life I no longer wanted I began to decide that this manor of living wasn’t doing the Job quick enough. I spent that night tripping over an old habit from high school until watching the sunrise drew light on the sobriety sneaking up on me. With a quick trip to and from the drug store and the sly of a fake cough I followed the fist full of pills with a pack of lemon-aid milkshake reds smoking in the waiting room.
Finally back on my high horse I sat down with the committee in my head ready to get back to business. My subconscious began to explain to my mostly conscious yet slightly drifting mind the reality of the circumstances I was leading up to. Presenting my case I came up with a very convincing spiel persuading myself that this numbing game would no longer suffice and began to take more drastic measures. My lack of a fire arm ruled out being a gunshot victim and I had read somewhere that getting your stomach pumped was no fun, leaving myself with two options that I found feasible. While a fourteen inch Pakistani hunting knife slowly applied to the gut seemed like a pretty classy way to go I decided on a good old fashioned hanging. The best noose I could find was an Ethernet cable long enough to twine into a few layers of a rope and then I sat down to orchestrate my final words.
There began a miraculous chain of events following the end of my life. You see while I was planning my end a beginning began and rather than a final demise God sought me out of the coffin I had been building for myself. He not only saved a lost soul but He put an end to habits that one doesn’t quit doing but rather dies doing and this accordance was followed by a continued cease of one sin after another. Now coming up on a year and half sober as well as a year without my smokes I still continue to further myself towards holiness and live more and more daily in a way that not only honors my Heavenly Father but in a way that I can for the first time in my life be proud of.
Proverbs 14:4 states that without oxen a stable stays clean but with a strong ox comes abundant harvest. You see this darkness of my past between the drugs, profanity, and a long list of sin made my life a mess. I found myself residing in a stable full of S*** and upon realizing that it was no way to live this huge project that became the cleansing of my life began to weigh on me. While I found, in the hardship of my cleaning, that it may have been easier to have kept my life clean in the first place and that having this ox of bad choices in my stable had truly given me a mass of mess to clean up I also found a mass of lessons in my ablution. With this great fall that my life had taken and the contrast of my getting back up I became a walking testimony, because of this ox in my past I am able now to harvest an abundant ministry for those walking in the tattered shoes I once wore. I have become living proof resurrected from a death that is the life our world is living and I am now in debt to those whom I can guide towards my Savior so that they too can be reclaimed.