September 24, 2013
I went out for a run on Sunday, because I still have been running every day. Gary Oldman (II) doesn’t come with me though because she can’t run as fast and the bouncing movement can’t be too pleasant for her. Anyway, when I got back from my run, outside the security door, below the mailboxes, was a gift about the size of a shoe box, wrapped with a bow, and it said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRIMM” on it. I unwrapped it right there, looked inside and there was cocaine and some other shit. I didn’t get a good look before I dropped it, ran up to my apartment, slamming the door behind me and dropping down to the floor in front of the door, as if to keep the evil intruder from entering.
Pete was like, “what’s going on? you ok?”
I couldn’t even fucking speak. I couldn’t think of what to say. I just kept saying fuck and wtf and growling until finally I got out, “downstairs. get rid of it.”
Not long after that, Pete came back and assured me he got rid of it. I didn’t want to know what he did with it at first. He couldn’t have brought it very far. I figured he put it somewhere temporary where I wouldn’t find it, so that he could get rid of it later. But he came back and asked who sent it, if it was maybe Dave.
It was Dave. He’d always give me some extra shit, then would say, “Happy Birthday Grimm” regardless whether or not it was my birthday.
I was so fucking agitated, I was pacing and shouting. There was so much anger inside of me, it was too intense to hold onto, and tears just wanted to explode out of my face, but I fought so hard to hold them in, it just made me angrier. Pete tried to console me, but I have no idea what he was saying. All I know is that if I hadn’t just come back from running at that time, I might’ve done those drugs. Because I was feeling the endorphins and the runner’s high and feeling so physically healthy, I guess I was in the perfect state to have that split second thought, “no” and I ran like that box was a fucking monster. That’s all I needed was that one second of thought, followed up by physically getting myself out of there. Sitting against the door, it was almost as if I was keeping my old self locked out. Some ghost of myself who was trying to get in and take over my skin in order to walk me back down there, sneak that shit into my room, and get fucked up.
But I was in probably the one and only state of mind I have access to that would have been able to do what I did. Say no and run. And Pete had to deal with me afterwards.
I paced and shouted and was pretty much incoherent and inconsolable, and I’m sure a lot of other inco– words.
I even went to punch the wall but Pete was quick to shove me in order to prevent me from doing that, but I retaliated and shoved him back really hard, ready to punch him, but after he got his balance, he stood there ready to take it. Then I got that split second of thought again that stopped me from hitting him. These fleeting moments of clarity never used to exist while I was doing all that shit and I recognize their worth now and I’m grateful for them.
He grabbed me like he was my dad or something. Not my actual dad but just as if he was my father, and he tried to get a hold of me, wrapping his arms around me to contain my fury and calm me. I tried to pull away at first, not with much of a struggle, but he held tight and I just put my arms over my head and hollered really loud and yelled “fuck” a few times. I kind of collapsed for a minute in his arms saying “wtf” over and over again.
He just kept saying, “it’s ok, you’ll get through this, you did well, you did it, you’re doing all right.” I was so grateful to have him there because if I lived alone, I’d have run back down stairs to grab the box. Then I’d have just stared at the contents for a while before giving in and getting messed up. It’s kind of scary too because I’m so healthy now, I don’t know what my tolerance is anymore. Relapsing on that much shit could mess me up in a bad way or even kill me.
He didn’t want to leave me, but I kept asking where the shit was. He’d only say, “it’s gone.” But I knew it had to be nearby. I wanted him to leave and take it far away, throw it in the river or something, but if he did, then I might have just gone to the liquor store, when left on my own. He knew that, so he was in a dilemma.
I broke away from his arms and began pacing again until finally he said for me to go with him, we’ll rid of it permanently together. I think he knew that if I was unaware of where it was or if I thought it still existed, I’d fixate on it, and not be able to get passed it. So we got in his car and he drove to my parents’ house, of all places. I really wasn’t in the frame of mind to see them at that point, but he was doing the best he could. He told them we wanted to have a fire and make s’mores. It was a good cold night for that. My mom always has marshmallows and graham crackers for spontaneous s’mores. Chocolate is kept in the freezer.
My mom brought us out hot chocolate while Pete built the fire. I usually like to build the fire but I was just a mass of rage induced exhaustion. A zombie in many ways. Once the fire was built and I was seated by its warmth, Pete ran over to his car. I had the cocoa in my hand and thought about when I was a kid how a simple cup of hot chocolate was so soothing to me. It was home and comfort. The love of my mother. Now it just makes me feel guilty and weak.
Pete returned with the box. He threw the wrapping in. Then he handed the box to me and told me to toss in everything individually. I paused before opening the box. I stared in the box. He said, “that’s death and you want to live, free yourself of it.” The ritual of it inspired me. It made me feel in control. There was cocaine, E, pot, and heroin. I threw everything in, one drug at a time, beginning with the most tempting drug first, and continued in that order. Cocaine, E, heroin, and pot. Why the heroin tempted me more than the pot is beyond me but it did. I never used heroin more than a few times, and I hated it every time. But the numbing heat of it in my body seemed appealing. Dave even supplied a needle, which I also tossed in. Lastly I threw in the box.
I topped the fire with tons more logs and it was a huge raging fire, just like me. But I stood over it feeling cleansed and powerful. I was too nauseated for s’mores or cocoa, but otherwise I felt really good. I can honestly say that Pete saved my life that night.
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