Sober Vance?

Two and a half months ago I woke up on a bathroom floor in a house I’d never been to before with only my boxers on after overdosing on a heady mix of 80mg of OxyContin, 3 street ecstasy pills containing god-knows what, 400mg of pure methylenedioxymethamphetamine, many shots of rum and 4-6 grams of marijuana.

It didn’t feel great.

The drip-drip-drip of sweat from the tip of my nose pooling on the floor kept perfect time – I’ve always had a good sense of rhythm. With a pretty good deal of effort I raised myself to the sink and looked in the mirror. My pupils were pinned to tiny little dots and my eyes were so glassy I could see myself looking at my reflection (looking at my reflection) in a kind of aqua-hued fishbowl.

I put my mouth to the tap and sucked H20, which I immediately threw back up into the drain.

I tasted blood in the back of my throat, and the stuff floating in the toilet bowl didn’t look like it could’ve come from a person. Maybe the drive shaft of a city bus?

Every time a muscle in my body moved, my brain interpretted it as concussive, shocking pain arcing like lightning from the base of my skull through the arteries in my head, connecting to the whites of my eyes and then down to my stomach. Pain induced vomitting, even though there was nothing left in my stomach, and every motion induced pain.

You do the math.

My friends (I guess?) were good enough to check on me a couple of times to make sure I was still breathing.

When the party was done it was time to get me home. I somehow got myself dressed and tied my shoes.

Amazes me the will of instinct.

The shock of the temperature change from warm-apartment to 4-am-in-the-middle-of-March made my sweat covered body react with – you guessed it – more dry heaving as we made our way slowly to the car. I got to the passenger seat and buckled up. 

Safety first!

The drive home took about a half hour. I can remember less than five minutes of it because I kept passing out and needing to be woken up. I can recall pleading with them to turn off the techno music (for obvious reasons). I remember waking up when it was just the two of us in the car, and we were out in the middle of the country, and "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd was playing as I looked out on the snow-covered fields, lit by full moon, simultaneously laughing at the irony of the lyric and envying the notion of not being able to feel anything anymore.

This was the worst physical discomfort I have ever been in (so far).

I passed out again. I don’t remember getting into a bed, so I’m assuming I didn’t do it under my own power.

I slept for close to 18 hours and woke up in a puddle of sweat feeling like I had the flu (and probably did). I couldn’t eat all day, and this was DEFINITELY a case where weed didn’t help the nausea (found that one out the hard way). Water hurt my stomach. Food was out of the question!

Two or three days later I felt about back to "normal".

This is when I realized that my use of drugs had really done a number on my life.

It took me six years of monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly consumption of just about every chemical known to man, natural or synthetic.

I might be a little slow, eh?

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All this to say that I haven’t done any hard drugs since that night in early March, and haven’t smoked any marijuana in three weeks. I’m proud of myself, but can’t go around declaring to the world that I am trying my best to overcome my drug addiction. People kind of judge you for that.

So I’m writing about it here.

I feel great. I don’t feel sick after I eat anymore. My attitude is more positive and I am more appreciative in general of the people around me. I am learning who my true friends are, and who were the ones that just shared an interest in getting f*cked up with me, and would step over my sweaty, dry-heaving, emaciated, Gollum-like body in a second if it would get them something they wanted (which, in most cases, comes down to instant gratification).

I am learning new ways to cope with my anxiety and depression. Or maybe, I’m remembering the old ways? I run again, and I am writing lyrics more often, as well as making more recordings of songs old and new.

I want to start another band.

I want to go back to school and get another little piece of paper to improve my mind and my ability to feed myself. 

I want to fix this goddamn mess and start to love myself again.

Or at least give it a shot.

It’s pretty weird and kind of frightening to me, to let this part of my identity go and just see what happens, but I think a major thing is that for the first time in a while I want to see.

Holy shit, y’all.

jav