Corporate Alcoholism Part3 - "Methamphetamine: It's Going To Rock You Like A Hurricane"
Updated: Dec 4, 2019
A Series: Part 3/4 - "An Almost Famous Chicken Named Woop"
"I know the kind of guy you are and what you do ... I believe you’d like meth”. "Oh hell no! That’s just deadly chemicals that sleezeballs use.
-One hit of that stuff and I knew I’d found my new love! I was knocking on dude’s door.
Our articles are the works of people in long-term recovery. They are meant to help educate, bring awareness, and deliver the not so frothy and unfiltered truth about addiction/recovery. Addiction is ugly, unpleasant, and the truth about what it really take to recover is not always a message filled with unicorns and rainbows. If this story helps just one person understand they are not alone in their journey. It's purpose was served.
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Follow The Links To:
Read Part 1 "The Drunken Years"
Read Part 2 "The Prescription Pill Addict Next Door"
You Are Here Part 3 "An Almost Famous Chicken Named Woop"
One day, when I had the mixture right!
I was sitting in one of my last reliable client’s office and we started talking ‘art’. I mentioned I’d done some painting and a little sculpture work over the years and enjoyed it. He was having his offices redone and asked if I’d do him a custom piece. "Said he’d give me $500 for anything I deemed suitable for hanging."
So I get busy making this strange piece of art with some painting, some old pieces of wood and several pieces of metal and chains and weirdness attached to it. When it was done I decided it was pretty good and I should take it to a local gallery and see what they thought. The first gallery I took it to asked how much more I had. I told him, not a lot put together but a whole lot in my mind and several things kinda piled up and basically ready to assemble.
"He asked if I’d like to do a solo show in his gallery. Fill the entire gallery with my work and sell it?"
I told him it would be a dream come true. I’d always piddled at different things, done plenty of paintings and drawings, but now with this mini-farm there were lots of old pieces of metal, farm implements and wood all over the place. I could go nuts making sculpture style work out of a bunch of junk!
The Gifted Artist With A Touch Of Madness
Once again I had a new dream! A new start!
I’m stoned out of my mind so of course I thought it would all come together magically and be wonderful. It turned out to be far more challenging. I of course had to talk to the wife about basically taking six months off work to pursue this dream. And she agreed. She really is a fine, inspiring and driven woman who cared about my happiness.
I was going to taper off all the dope I didn’t really ‘need’ and work my ass off and make this the greatest art show there’d ever been!
That didn’t work! In fact, my using got worse. I woke up early, excited to create fine art all day, so for one I got started at it early. Secondly I was so worked up with so much to do throughout the day I’d work on into the night. I was doing a lot of physical work, moving all this metal and wood and welding and basically wide open all day every day so, of course, I needed more of all the meds to ease the pain and keep me going. By now I’d gotten back to smoking the good bud again pretty regular... because after all..,
"I was now a fully fledged artist! And all good artists smoke plenty of pot, right?"
The client the original piece was created for immediately commissioned me to do another piece and I guess renewed his faith in my creative talents so the higher paying design work from him picked up a good bit. Now with a deadline looming for the gallery show and more paying work showing up I thought I needed a little more energy.
I made few calls to some of the connections I’d made and sure enough, found some cocaine! That would do the trick. I had some decent money in the bank so rather than go with a typical gram or eight-ball like most folks would, I bought an entire ounce.
Planning on splitting it up, stashing it around and making it last a very long time. That’s a nice sack of cocaine and kind of fun to play with. I probably wasted the first two days just splitting it up and figuring different ways to use it ... and of course sharing some with anyone who dropped by that I deemed worthy.
"Before you know it, I’m using it all day long and into the night too, along with all the other stuff."
The gallery show was a hit!
I sold lots of art and got invitations to do more gallery shows and more commission works. As far as I was concerned, I’d made it. Until I did the math on how much time, effort and materials had gone into the work versus the return. Then you factor in all the dope it took to get that work done and I was backing up. Guess this is where the term ‘starving artist’ came from. But I was determined to make it as an artist, with the design business keeping income until I hit it big. Always big planners aren’t we.
I did put some great stuff together and had some really good sales. But it is very difficult to make it as a fine artist. I struggled along for a few years. My habitual drug usage increasing but I did make some cool pieces of art! Design business, a little inheritance money at one point, and misappropriated funds from joint accounts kept things going I guess. My dear wife at this point pretty well covering most of the bills and me, stoned, making art and less and less design work.
The New Office Space
So now I’ve been full blown physically and mentally addicted to:
smoking weed all the time,
then add a coke addiction on top of it all.
It became painfully difficult just to keep up with how much I’d had of what! I’d get that tight feeling in my throat or that knot in the stomach and have to think hard through the last batches of what I’d had. Most times I’d just have a little more of all of it and keep on working.
I started spending more time on taking more of everything than on the artwork. Counting out and stashing all this stuff around was a total nightmare. Going away for a weekend or vacation literally took days to divide it all out and stash in safe places where no one could find it and so I’d have enough of all of it ... and plenty extra, just in case.
The days when I could get a combination right were few and far between. I’d gotten pretty miserable mentally, physically and emotionally.
Taking care of my drug addiction had pretty much taken top priority.
I wasn’t enthusiastic about the yard work anymore, had quit taking the boat out fishing and was regularly bailing out of golf plans.
I remember thinking honestly at times that it would far easier to be dead. That is a scary place to live.
"The beginning of the real nightmare began the day the dude was out of cocaine!
~ I was in need of it!"
After several hours of calling every supplier around the girl helping me look said,
“I know the kind of guy you are and what you do ... I believe you’d like meth”.
"Oh hell no!
That’s just deadly chemicals that sleezeballs use and I don’t want any part of it!!!"
After a couple more hours of no luck with the cocaine we pull up to one of the nastiest houses I’ve ever seen.
There was a shriveled up troll like lady hiding in the corner of one room, saying she wasn’t allowed to come out, beer cans and trash all over the floor and cigarette butts just left to burn out on the furniture.
I was freaked out ... wondering what the hell I was doing in there. After a while dude rolls up literally on some chopped out piece of shit motorcycle, smoking like it was on fire. He’s got a cigarette in his mouth and a fifth of bourbon between his legs. We walk out to greet him, he turns the bottle up takes a few big gulps and lets out a high pitched scream.
Looks at me and says, “So, you ready to have some real fun”?
Hell, I thought I was in a bad movie set. We all go in after a while and he drops a few big rocks in a glass bowl, melts it down all nice and pretty and hits it. It eventually makes it over to me and my friend helps me learn the proper method.
"One hit of that stuff and I knew I’d found my new love! I was knocking on dude’s door the next morning wanting to buy an eight-ball."
We passed it around a few times and I left with a gram in my pocket. The girl, my friend, said, “Do not smoke this stuff like pot. Take one or two hits in the morning, one about lunchtime and one or two late afternoon. That’s it! Otherwise you’ll be crazy as hell within a month”.
And so began the total craziness of the next year or so.
I knew I had to keep taking the benzos and the oxys.
I couldn’t stand the withdrawals. I did not know there are no withdrawals from the muscle relaxers so I kept buying those by the bag full and ordering them by the hundreds online.
Smoked more and more of the meth each day. I kept the good bud on hand for that extra kick.
And would buy most anything extra my regular guy would show up with:
I thought the more messed up I got, the better the art would be...
ART: Self Portraits Produced Under The Influence - By Bryan Lewis Saunders
I was getting plenty of artwork put together but I was failing to get it out to the galleries to sell it. The shows I was participating in became extremely hard to be a part of. The design work for the paying customers was slowing to nearly nothing. The concepts I was presenting were becoming increasingly obscure, I was becoming less and less dependable on delivery and I think my clients could sense there was something seriously wrong.
On the nights I would go to bed I would wait until very late. I somehow convinced the wife I was so enthralled in the work I was doing I simply could not sleep. I started sleeping in late in the morning so she’d be gone to work because mornings had become a living hell!
It had become nearly impossible to get the mixtures of the different chemicals right.
Getting high was long gone and I think I just constantly tried to chase the crazy away. I’d stay up for days at a time, convincing my wife and those who knew me that the sleep deprivation was bringing on more creativity.
"Truth is, I was crazy as hell, eating dope, making art and smoking meth around the clock to keep all the shadow people away and trying to figure out where that music was coming from ... although all the stereos were off."
Some of the folks I dealt with and the places I’d end up buying that shit was like stuff out of nightmares. I somehow decided I needed it no matter what, that’s the price you pay, get it and go!
"Lucky to have lived!"
I’m sparing the dirty details like the time I ended up with a bunch of counterfeit 20’s and the dealer nearly killed me over it. Never expected a dealer with a bill checker. And never figured out where that fake money came from. Or another time a fellow was walking me out to a shed to make a deal but with real intentions of stabbing me to death, because he thought I was a narc, and my buddy bailed me out just in time. That guy did go to jail the next day, but I had nothing to do with it.
Dealers of meth come and go regularly.
Some to prison, some die and some just disappear. It’s awful messing with that stuff and always chasing it down. With less and less good times in between.
"I was living a true nightmare! Miserable, scared, totally addicted to all this stuff and no idea what to do about it."
The roller coaster of emotions, blips of reality and fantasy, feelings of elation and misery coming and going in and out all day, every day is unbearable when you’re that far in.
-By An Anonymous Arch Recovery Alumni
Next>>>> Part 4 "Recovered ... It's A Grateful Life"
Follow The Links To:
Read Part 1 "The Drunken Years"
Read Part 2 "The Prescription Pill Addict Next Door"
Read Part 3 "An Almost Famous Chicken Named Woop"
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