Thursday December 8th, 2022
I want, what I want, when I want it and I want my mind back. It’s scary. I feel helpless. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I’m old school East Coast crack head, so I’m used to some paranoia, but this is a whole new level. The remnants of the meth psychosis scares the shit out of me. I’ve got these memories floating around in my head and I still can’t determine if any of them are real. When will they leave? When will I know what happened? When will I know if someone was involved? When will I know something? I just need a reprieve. I’m consumed by these thoughts and memories. I can’t trust the people that are supposed to love me the most. I need help. I can’t stop it. I’m not talking about it, because I don’t won’t to appear weak. I’m projecting my idealized self to my therapists, fellow patients, to everyone. I know I’m doing it, but this is what I do best and when I feel the safest.
“I’m feeling alone and betrayed”
A guy I hung out with this past summer has been texting me the past two months. I finally responded this morning. I told him I was in rehab. He told me that he was happy for me, that I was a great guy and that he missed me. He was one of my projects from one of the hook-up apps. I love a challenge. I chatted with him for several months before he agreed to come over. He was divorced, has 5 kids and still in the closet and inexperienced. His only sexual interactions with a guy had been with one buddy over the years. I offered to show him the ropes. I hear this from “straight” guys quite often, especially if they are married and around my age. They can’t deal with the fact they are attracted to men, end up getting married to a woman and then seek out and cheat on their wives with men. I can’t believe how many married men are on the apps. It makes me sad for their wives and children. He’ll eventually be caught or come out. His new gay life will be starting, and her life will be destroyed. I get it though. The thought of coming out scared the shit out of me. I’m hoping I’ll see this less and less as the times continue to change. I know I shouldn’t be texting with this guy, the electrician, but I miss him as well. He is not the first guy I’ve chatted with from my drug and sex fueled summer over the past two months. There is the 25 year old, the muscle bear, the bi-sexual escort, the hairstylist, the red-hot Latin and plenty of texts from guys that are no longer in my contacts asking for drugs or sex. I haven’t replied to the contactless numbers. I did factory resets on my phone more times than I can even count over the summer, as my phone was cloned and being controlled by someone else; a remnant. I couldn’t get them out of my phone. I deleted my contacts and over 5,000 pictures. I was able to retrieve most of my contacts, but the pictures are gone for good. Any pictures I have left are from old Facebook and Instagram posts. The guys I’m texting were major players in my 5 months of meth use. They all know I’m in rehab and are happy for me. They all said I’m a great guy. Another remnant, the exact same behavior and words used by different guys individually, that don’t know each, that I experienced over the summer. It continues. There are plenty of other guys as well; the neighbor, neighbor 2, donkey dick, the French guy, the realtor, the gardener, the fitness instructor, the football player, and jingle bells. I could go on, but the one I miss the most is the singer, and he has nothing to do with drugs, just my broken heart. You’ll meet them all in time.
I feel isolated and alone. When I speak with family and non-drug friends, they seem distant, disengaged from our conversation. They speak like they are being guided by a professional in addiction in how to manage me. I don’t know if my family has hired someone, but it feels like it. I don’t want to call them and have superficial conversations. I think that’s why I chat with these guys. I don’t have any intention of meeting up with them, but I know them to a degree, and they seem to want to talk with me. It’s something real I can grab on to, a connection of sorts. The electrician lives in his car and it’s breaking my heart. He is a great guy, sweet, smart, sexy and a drug addict. The last time I saw him I was kicking him out of my apartment because he was in on it all. As he was leaving, he made a comment that everyone was just fucking with me; a remnant. I hold on to that, it’s like a slip, an indication that there was some concerted effort to fuck with me. Why? What did I do to these people? I can’t let it go. Maybe I’m chatting with him for another slip up, some more information about what happened, who was involved, but really, I crave, a connection.
Friday December 10th, 2022
My best friend is texting and calling me every day. I haven’t responded. Something he said a few weeks ago about my cousin is exactly what my mom said about my cousin, and he had no reason to be speaking with her or mentioned that he had. My cousin is like my older sister, but we’ve only spoken once in two months. We used to speak daily and admittedly I didn’t reach out much this summer, but she knows where I’m at, I need her, but the one conversation was so distant and her comment that she knew for a while I was on drugs set me back. You see I told my brother the first week of October I had relapsed. He acted and had said he didn’t know before then, how did she know, unless there was more going on behind the scenes with them and the events surrounding me over the summer; a remnant. My best friend knows more than he is saying. I called him 3 days before I entered the mental hospital. I was having a breakdown in my apartment. Everything was crashing down on me, I came to the realization that no one is real in my life. I was going back years in my head and all the events that had happened, people I met, was it all staged? I called him crying, he knew I was doing meth from an earlier conversation and that someone had hacked my phone and other electronic equipment. I asked him if our relationship was real and that we were friends from the beginning. I needed to know if he was real in my life, not put in my path for a part. He said he was real right now. I hung up. That’s not what I asked; a remnant.
I could go on and on. It wasn’t just people I knew, it was random guys I met for hook ups, my computers, my TV, my thermostat, my router, everything was working against me; all remnants. It’s overwhelming. It can’t all be true, but it all can’t be in my head. I can’t sort it out. I feel crippled and I’m not talking about it. You see I graduate next Friday from the partial hospitalization program (PHP) rehab and I’m afraid if I talk about it, they won’t let me out. I need some freedom; some space and it’s easy for me to mask my emotions. I’m slipping back into old habits.
Saturday December 10th, 2022
I’m meeting with my sponsor this morning. We’ve been meeting every Saturday morning for 3 hours for the past 6 weeks. He is an amazing guy with 34 years of sobriety. I met him in October of ’21. I began attending AA meetings back then before my relapse. I knew something was going on with me, but I didn’t know what. I was working with my therapist on relationship stuff and him on reconnecting to recovery. I hadn’t attended regular AA meetings in 12 years. I just couldn’t get into AA. I didn’t understand it and it didn’t help that I wasn’t being honest at the time about being gay and my past exploits. This time was different or had been up to this point. We were having breakfast at a local diner, and I decided to open up. My old habits and way of thinking had got me back into rehab it was time to try something new. I started talking about the remnants and the obsession to know what happened that I was experiencing. His first question was “do you think I know anything?” I wasn’t sure I thought. You see his number and one other AA friends’ number were missing from my contacts when I entered rehab. The thought had been floating around in my head that maybe whoever was at the other end of controlling my phone had deleted my sponsor’s number so I was isolated and wouldn’t spoil the controlled decent into hell they were orchestrating. I said “no” tentatively. He replied, “I don’t and if I did, I would tell you”. Relief washed over me. That was the first definitive answer anyone had given me. Finally, I had someone I could trust, and that remnant disappeared. I opened up about chatting with the guys from this past summer. He told me he it was a red flag for him, keeping one foot in the past. We continued chatting and he asked me if I was planning on having sex when I got some freedom next week. I said that I wasn’t opposed to it, but I didn’t have anything lined up. He said to keep him informed. I missed the hunt and the sex. I would keep him up to date, I promised. I had started back on Prep December 1st in anticipation of being free and having my car. I’ll share more about that at another time, but sex was definitely on my radar. I’m feeling much better having shared with him. The obsession is still there over what happened to me and who knows what, but I don’t feel so alone.
Monday December 12th, 2022
I wake up at 5:15 am like I do every day. I’m still thinking about the psychosis. I can’t shake the feeling that my brother is at the center of it all. When I first told him I believed my phone had been hacked at the end of September, his response was, we need to get you a new phone, not who was behind it. When I told him my router and my TV were hacked, he said we need to get rid of them and I needed to get all new electronics. He wasn’t interested in who could be doing it. When he finally came to Arizona on the 10th of October, he begins using language that I was in a psychosis. I had never heard the term before. I didn’t know what it meant, and he didn’t explain it. When we went over my financial situation and I mentioned my apartment in Puerto Vallarta and he said, oh, I know nothing about that, sounds like you got scammed. I didn’t, you see it’s with the singer and I know him, but I didn’t explain the situation. It seemed like he knew everything about me, but somehow that slipped by. When he drove me to rehab, I made mention of my phone again and he said he wasn’t the one at the other end. When we parked at the rehab in front of a private detective business and I said this is an interesting group of businesses, he said something to the effect how they all work together, and he said that all would be explained to me when I got to rehab. This was why I spun out when I went to check in and nothing was explained. He had set me up and I thought that all was too be revealed. I was going to get answers. I got nothing except a brown bag and a 4-night stay in a mental hospital. It feels good to write all of this, because all of these events and interactions have been swirling around in my head and I haven’t been able to share them. It’s hard to organize my thoughts around this period of time and then talk about it.
I’m in my first group of the day at 9 am. It’s the process group; time to share thoughts and feelings and answer some random question the therapist thought of as she walks in the door. Like if you were a superhero who would you be or read spirit animal cards. When someone is new to the group the standard answer to how are you feeling is “good”. The reply by the therapist is that’s not a feeling, use your feelings wheel. Eventually, you hear the standard; tired, happy, content, humble, optimistic and every once in a while, irritable. No one tends to dig too deep. It’s easier to act like everything is going well than getting drilled by the therapist on what’s really going on inside. We are a bunch of addicts, so we are used to burying our emotions, but I guess that’s the point of the exercise; open up and try and figure out what we are feeling. Today, I’ve decided to go for it; try something new. “I’m feeling alone and betrayed” I say. The therapists head popped up from her notes. I had her attention and everyone else in the group. I speak about the remnants and that I can’t trust the people I’m supposed to and then I talk about the guys I’m chatting with from the summer. I try and explain why, but my thoughts are jumbled, and I can’t seem to get my reason across. The therapist, Petunia, homes in on the guys I’ve been chatting with and brushes over the remnants. She asks the group what they think of me chatting with the guys. The answers vary, but the consensus is that I should not be doing it. She asks if I have my phone on me. I do. She tells me to pull it out and block the numbers. I tell her “No”. I don’t like to be told what to do. I do that more out of defiance, keeping some sort of control over my life that I have so little of right now. The group ends and I feel less alone. I guess sharing does help.
Every Monday afternoon I meet with my trauma therapist, Grace. I share with her my obsession I am having over the remnants and my brother’s involvement. My brother is coming back to visit in January, and we are planning on having a session with my primary therapist, Styles. He loves me but is angry with me. He doesn’t understand addiction, my relapse and I also lied to him, a lot over the summer. He gave me $10,000 at the end of August for my rent and bills for September, which I kind of paid, but ended up taking off to Spain again. So, there is that. She recommends that when I meet with my brother and Styles, and I ask him directly if he participated in any way. See what he says with another person present. It sounds like a solid plan, but there is part of me that doesn’t want an answer. If my brother answers no, then that means it was all in my head. That I did lose my mind and I don’t think I can handle knowing that right now.
5 days a week we attend various 12-step meetings and on Mondays we attend an 8 pm AA meeting. The chairwoman of the meeting tells us her higher power guided her to share her experience, strength and hope about the serenity prayer tonight. The prayer is said so often it becomes routine at meetings. I say the words, but I don’t pray them. I should be listening to what others at the meeting are sharing, but instead I begin scrutinizing the prayer, word by word in my head. The big words stand out; serenity, accept, courage and wisdom. I keep repeating them in my head, over and over. I stop, something strikes me, and I look up. On the wall is the prayer amongst many other AA sayings. The first three words of the prayer leap from the poster; God grant me. I realize that God is the origin of the serenity. I need to open myself up to Him and ask and he will grant it to me. My answer to my problems and my obsessions is right in front of me. I need to ask God for help, and I can’t do this on my own. I decide to share what’s been going on with me. “My name is Jeff, and I am an addict “I begin. The tears begin to flow. My voice is quivering. I stop several times to compose myself. I talk about the remnants of the psychosis, the lack of trust in my family and friends and the isolation I’m feeling. Relief washes over me. I feel less alone.
It’s 1030 pm, I’m alone and sitting on the back patio at the sober house where I live. My mind is racing, my leg is bouncing and I’m chain smoking cigarettes. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t stop thinking about what happened to me. How could I be losing my mind? It must be real. Who would do this to me and why? I need answers. Defeated, scared and alone, I begin to pray. A guttural, in the trench’s prayer. Begging God for a reprieve from the obsession of trying to figure out what happened and who was involved. The tears are flowing, snot is running down my face. It’s almost a wail. Help me God. I ask the angels, saints and Mary for their intercession on my behalf. I plead with God. A reprieve I keep repeating just until I can handle the truth, when I’m stronger. God grant me serenity. Please.
Tuesday December 13th, 2022
I wake up at 5 am before my alarm goes off. I feel different, at peace, emotionally lighter. My mind searches for remnants. They are there but wait. I think what it matters. I start thinking about my brothers involvement and again the thought what does it matter rushes into my head, pushing out the obsession. It feels like I’m trying to grab a cloud. I can see them, but I can’t grasp them, and I keep hearing in my mind, what does it matter? Last night comes rushing back to me. My prayer begging for a reprieve. Did it happen? I know the answer, yes it did. God granted what I asked. I know without a doubt that is what happened. I’ve prayed only once before in such a broken state with my only hope being divine intervention. It happened 20 years ago the night I tried to kill myself and last night. I’ve never been alone.
God grant me the Serenity
To Accept the things I cannot change
The Courage to change the things I can
And the Wisdom to know the difference