Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

*In the previous chapter I brought up how my dad had been planning out a trip for him and I. I tried to get clean with only a bottle of mixed pills and had failed. 

April 2009

     The phone made an eerie noise, vibrating the table it sat on. The sound frightened me out of a deep sleep. It was my 4 o’clock wake-up call from my dad. I reached out my arms till I heard them pop then shuffled myself out of bed. I’m not a morning at all but I could get up and moving when a certain something was on my mind… 
     I had everything already laid out—my clothes, book, backpack, syringe, and bag of dope. It was time to get high then head to Las Vegas. 

     My dad was knocking on the door thirty minutes after he called. Since, I had those few days of not using, a few veins had re-emerged making it way to hit and not take an hour like it used to. 
     Darkness still painted the sky and there was a slight chill to remind you it was closer to morning than dusk. Once I was in the passenger seat of his truck, I nodded off, back into my sleep state. 
     The airport wasn’t as bad as I imagined it would have been, but we still had to be there two hours before our flight. Waiting at the terminal, I was still in a dreamland, but had began to return to reality once it became closer to our flight. 
     I hated flying.
     I much rather would partake on a road trip. Even though it takes longer to get to your final destination. That’s what the beautiful, sometimes hideous scenery is for. Plus all the different attractions you could conduct a detour to visit. 
    The main reason though, is you can stop the car and get out whenever you please. While on a plane, after the inevitable claustrophobia kicks in, you’re stuck in a Venus-fly trap, jammed into those worn-out, torn cushions they call ‘seats.’ I have to pop a Valium or Xanax whenever I fly for this reason. I have had some horrible experiences. 
       When I was a child, around eight or nine, my family and I flew to California to visit the world-renowned Disneyland. It wasn’t my first time flying, but it was the earliest trip I remember. Not to mention, it was a long flight coming from Austin, Texas. Well, it was long for a youngster like me. 
        After the plane has taken flight and begins its ascension, your ears are supposed to pop. However, mine did not. I tried chewing gum, making myself yawn, you name it. 
        Nothing. 
        Just pain. 
        And it had lasted throughout our entire trip. Though, after a while, it did start to dissipate. But from then on, I was terrified of flying. So now, I need some type of sedative and must have headphones on. Notwithstanding the stewardess, who constantly mentioned to take my headphones off, I had to keep them on. Invariably, inconspicuous under a hoodie. 
     I would do this for this flight to Las Vegas. Once we boarded and I was buckled in my seat, I did exactly that. I had put my twenty-pill mixture in an empty Advil bottle and kept it on my backpack I wore as a carry-on item. The bag went through security without question and after growing impatient with the slow-moving metal detector line and random pat-down, I popped three Valium. 
     We were spending two days and nights at the MGM Grand in the middle of the strip. I knew I had to try my best to save and ration the pills so I to not be sick. I also did not want my Dad to suspect me of being on anything. After sharing about  how we both hated flying, I offered to give him a Valium. I knew he would decline, it was my way of letting him know I had some due to my flying anxiety. If he thought I was on something, at least he knew what it was and it was Valium, not something hardcore. 

 
I had ended up getting through the trip without my Dad knowing I was sick the whole time, or so I thought. He had never said anything about it, until later, so I figured it was a good trip. 
     Though, the night we arrived back in Austin, after he dropped me off at my apartment, I went straight to Julie’s house to score. But when I came back home, I couldn’t hold in this force inside me, dying to come out. So I let go. 
    A cascade of tears fell from what seemed like a never ending source. I had wished I had been clean for the one trip I had planned out and had taken with my Dad. I knew there wouldn’t be another trip of just the two of us and I understood how much it had meant to him, but I couldn’t even be my normal self and give that to him. I was a sad, pathetic junky. 
     These thoughts flooded me on those lonely nights in Las Vegas. My Dad would be go to bed early, so I stayed up wandering around the casino and strip, unable to sleep. I couldn’t even drink. I was dope sick but it had been a mild withdrawal thanks to the pills I had. They masked most of the physical ailments, but didn’t do a thing for the restlessness and depression. 
     We did get to talk and bond, I just wish I could’ve fully been there and not been the walking zombie I was. 
     The tears started to fade away so I could focus on hitting myself. I had to be careful not to do much. My tolerance was not what it had been before the trip. I could quit dope since I was already just about finished withdrawing. But that wasn’t going to happen. I had wanted it so bad.      
    Every night in Vegas I had craved it like a savage beast. I would say to myself to just wait. Wait until I got home. Then I’d have it again. 
     I thought about living in Kerrville, when I had thought I had the alcohol and addiction thing down. I didn’t know jack shit. This was what addiction was. This sick feeling of wishing there was too much dope in the rig so when I shot up, I’d close my eyes and never open them again.