Home

My sincerest apologies go out to anyone who has been following this site for the last week or so; I’ve been in and out of the hospital with a horrendous infection in my right arm, which has gotten into my elbow joint. I’ve had a PICC line put in and must take IV antibiotics each day for the next two weeks.

What’s strange about this whole experience is that, after all the times I put old, dirty needles I saved ‘for a rainy day’ in my truck (tossed haphazardly in the door panel in a nasty heap, disgustingly enough) what finally got me was a simple bug bite that I stupidly picked and itched at, until it became painful and swollen. Dirty needles? Nope. This.

Which just goes to show you how lucky I have been, because truthfully, this could -and would- have been much worse had I not endeavored to improve my circumstances and stop using. I’ll be working on some additional content tonight, and will post sometime in the next day or so.

Thanks for following.
-CM

I don’t remember the last time I shot up.

I do, however, remember the first. I couldn’t do it myself -yet- so my girlfriend did it for me. Left arm, main pipe, powder. I remember the sting of the needle like yesterday. I savored it, and the release that followed. My eyes widened and a little moan escaped my mouth. The world was vibrating, and everything seemed serene. I told her it was ‘like God had come into me and chased all the demons away.’  I was obsessed from the beginning, only I didn’t realize it until much later, once I’d dropped thirty-odd pounds and the money was gone.

It’s funny how it happens. One day you’re going to ‘casually’ shoot some coke, just to try it, then a few months later, you’ve lost all of your marbles and are passing out at work because you’ve not slept in God only knows how long. Your body is wasted and caked in filth, your arms, hands, and neck are scabbed over with needle pricks. And one day, you look in the mirror and just like that, it dawns on you: “oh shit, I’m a junkie.” and then, another strange thing happens, which is that it’s not fun anymore, because now that you’ve become self-aware, you need it. Once you’ve become cognizant of exactly why you’re feeling so irritable and worn-out, then it becomes your duty in life to fix it, and fix it you shall, over and over and over, ad infinitum.

For me, I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not ashamed of it, either. I made the mistake of letting the shame and guilt eat me and put off stopping because I thought I’d never get better, that recovery was a myth, whatever. But somewhere inside, I was burning for a real life, to be free again. I just needed a reason.

Not everyone who gets into drugs will quit, but with the right tools, they can. For me, it was my work, my girlfriend (now fiance`) it was my family, but ultimately, it was because I knew that the gaunt, sunken features of the filthy thing in the mirror weren’t mine. I couldn’t accept that thing as me. If you’re reading this and you are going through addiction, of any sort or kind, don’t let the monster win. You must choose, and you must choose for a reason. When you’ve found one, hold on to it for dear life, and don’t ever, ever let go.

And if you’re scared, don’t worry because you can’t fall off the floor.

Today marks the official launch date of this site, and I couldn’t be happier to finally be committing to this project. That said, it’s important for me to reflect on this time last year, as during this period in 2017, I was still badly addicted to smoking and shooting crack.

My fiance` and I had moved into our apartment (where we remain today) at the beginning of last July and I had already decided that I didn’t want to continue down the path of addiction. “I want to get clean” was an easy thing to say. I remember thinking about it like a child who says to his mother “I want to be an astronaut when I grow up!” Well, of course you do, kiddo, but will you? In our infancy we fail to realize how difficult certain goals are to achieve when setting them.

We relapsed not long into our first month. Each paycheck was spent on dope. Every red cent that didn’t go to rent or utilities, or sparse meals (Maruchan shrimp ramen, and the occasional delicacy of a McChicken or two) was injected or inhaled. We were perpetually behind on our bills, and I was struggling to hold my job. After all, it’s not easy to work without sleep and while on hard drugs.

But that time has passed. Here’s to new beginnings, and the end of a miserable era of pseudo-survival. Welcome to The Tower.