Home - Day 37

I’ve now been on Oahu for four months and six days. It’s barely been one season, but it feels like a lifetime. I’ve been wondering what I’m supposed to be doing. I keep feeling like the culmination of such a radical journey of self discovery should be marked with a momentous event. As if I need to spend my final hours here out searching the streets of Honolulu for one final revelation.

So I set out from the loft on King Street, with only my laptop, determined to find what I’m missing. I walked a block down River over to Hotel Street. I remembered the first time I made the same walk, without the slightest idea where I was or where I was going. The buildings that once seemed so foreign to me are now just fixtures in the background. The 54 pulls up as I am rounding the corner and I know the 2 is just a couple minutes behind. I stop mid stride in front of the cambodian minimart and realize this place has become home.

Home. In the months before leaving Seattle I became obsessed with the concept. It’s such a simple word but it was also the major catalyst that brought here. Well, more the perceived absence thereof.

After the 2015 holiday season, my living situation was rocky at best. I had been struggling a great deal which led to drinking excessively and constantly. It felt like everything about my past was thrust into the foreground of my mind. Each mistake I’d ever made, everything that ever hurt me, anyone I’ve ever been, all at once.

It was centered around my substance abuse and the price that I paid for it. Most specifically the choices I made that led up to my first encounter with the most horrific face of God. After highschool I chose to get high instead of going to school.

I was terrified that I might actually turn out to be as smart as everyone thought. The expectation was too much. I had boundless potential but had no idea what to do with it.

So instead I lied to myself and said I was looking for some greater meaning. I justified using drugs as a way to better understand the mind. As if some three day bender would give me insight into the truth about our existence or more importantly explain to me why I wasn’t given a choice.

I regret that decision. No. I hate myself for that decision.

There were no hidden mysteries to unlock, only chains which I happily shackled to myself after burying my potential in an unmarked catacomb. It was all a sham concocted by the dragon that now haunts my sleep.

With the coming of the new year the dramatic increase in drinking concerned my roommate. Unsure how to help, instead he immersed himself in a new relationship. It quickly escalated from casual dating to her spending three nights a week at our house. The more that she came around, the less it felt like the place I’d called home. It’s not fair to blame her though.

David has a very aggressive demeanor which comes through in ways I’m not sure he realizes. Efforts that he made to better understand my recently actualized sexuality came across as offensive and discriminatory. He considered himself the pinnacle of masculinity and as such asserted himself as the head of household. My grievances were dismissed as irrelevant, which he justified due to my alcoholism and mental condition. I was marginalized and alienated in the place that should have been my sanctuary. The longer this continued the more I felt homeless.

During all of this I was frantically searching for a new job. A year prior I had taken a new position with the company that I had worked at for over a decade, KDL. I gave up my desk and moved into an office in the warehouse to manage operations. With the added responsibility came a myriad of unexpected complications.

I immediately began the massive undertaking of fixing everything that was wrong. With each day our systems improved and I would move on to the next problem. Within six months I had solved everything that was within my control but there was one that stood out above all others still.

Upper management had made a critical error in a moment of desperation and hired on the spouse of one of our sales people. They ignored her ineptitude and unwillingness to learn even the basic functions of her job. Her shortcomings were rationalized by blaming my unrealistic expectations. The entire staff and I were held hostage, I had to get out.

Everything seemed to fall perfectly into place when I was offered a job at University of Washington Medical Center. It offered me a way out of the hell I was suffering in everyday, while also affording me the chance to go back to school. It was everything I had ever wanted.

Leaving KDL had a greater impact on me than I had thought it would. The final months were so toxic I didn’t even consider that after 13 years my coworkers were more family than friends. It was my home and I was leaving it behind.

I was also still struggling with an identity crisis. I had no idea who I was or who I was supposed to be. I wanted to find my place within the gay community, but found myself spending more time having to convince people that I was actually gay. I would go out and drink to fight the anxiety I felt in being out. Then I’d drink too much and embarrass myself, or worse not remember, which would then result in depression and further anxiety.

Dating was even more tragic. For so long, I have wanted to find someone I could make a home with that I was blinded by future tense. I let a long distance relationship go on for far too long and it ruined any attempts I made to have meaningful connections with people near me. I kept going back to the same lackluster situation simply because I saw it as a comfortable place to wait for space to dissipate.

The distance between us was such a prominent dilemma to our relationship that it blinded me from any other warning signs that presented themselves. Then one day it all came to head and ended in an alcohol fueled rage. I will always regret the way I acted that day.

Then I met someone who I wanted to be with. Both of us still needed to heal from past relationships and I couldn’t see that. I thought that if I just tried harder I could make it work. I didn’t want to accept, just as a child impatiently watching water boil, I was powerless over time.

Any one of these factors would have posed a challenge for me. Combined they served as the setting for the perfect storm. Each element lending fuel to the next in an ever accelerating spiral of anxiety. When it came for me again, I went willingly.

“Blink.”

Take the pain away.

“Close your eyes and follow me.”

I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

“I can make it all go away. Just follow me.”

What are we waiting for?

---

I’ve tried reflect on what had taken me to the edge countless times. I have four other documents in which I got a paragraph in and couldn’t think of the words that come next. My fingers paralyzed by the thought of reminiscing on a point in my life that was so painful. I had no intentions of writing about it today and this is merely just an overview, but it hurts to relive all the same.

It’s been said that those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. It seems coming to terms with what brought me here in the first place is to be the final revelation I had in mind. As for a momentous event to to punctuate my departure, given the relatively short time we have here, I think the rest of my life will do nicely.

Neuroses - Day 36

My flight to Seattle is booked. I leave Monday at 8:45 pm. I have one layover at LAX and another at SFO then arrive in Seattle around 11 am. Cue the neuroses.

What if I get delayed and miss one of my connections. It happened on my way here. Now there's twice as much potential for things to go wrong with two layovers. It’s already known they over book the flights.What if I can’t even get on the flight leaving Honolulu and I get stuck here, left to suffer in limbo, always trying to get home but never able to find my way off this isolated rock in the middle of the Pacific.

Or it could be that I get on the plane and the same thing happens as last time. I’m waiting for take off when all of the sudden I get overwhelmed with a crushing bout of anxiety, shaking so much the flight attendants are called in even though there is nothing they could possible do to help alleviate the situation, so they only make things worse. In my panic what if I grab too many trazadone and then after all my efforts to stay alive til I got back home I’m loaded off the plane directly into a wooden box.

Maybe it’s not just me who’s doomed, maybe it’s everyone. Quietly sipping on a miniature glass of ginger ale when suddenly there’s a smell of smoke, the sound of creaking metal and then without warning the entire cabin splits in two as we all fall to our watery grave.

That seems a little extreme I’ll admit. But the most concerning thing right now has nothing to do with the flight or the plane. What do I do if I get back home to find that it was all just some dream world in my head and that no one really wants me to come back. What if they all moved along with their lives and found that things are just easier without having me around. It’s possible all of my excitement is misplaced and all I’m doing is setting myself up for the biggest disappointment.

I don’t know what to do if that turns out to be the truth. More concerning is I don’t know what I’ll do.

Departure - Day 35

My initial diagnosis of moderate anxiety disorder seems to be a gross underestimate of my condition. In the eight days that I spent there I was in a constant state of elevated anxiety and experienced a number of panic attacks. The staff was either untrained or unwilling to help and as such I left the treatment facility.

Future posts will explain more about my time and experiences with at the Pahia residence. There is far too much to cover in a single post. I also need a few days to reflect on exactly what has happened over the past week before I attempt to put it in words. I am sure there are many instances in which I am largely at fault, as well as the staff, but I need an opportunity to calm myself and fully process all angles of the situation.

Amazingly, despite everything that has happened I have no desire to use. Even the thought of picking up a needle right now seems absurd to me. The few urges that I’ve experienced are quickly dispelled as the connection is made between the situation I just left and jabbing a needle into my arm. No high is good enough to risk going back.

At this time I am going to make arrangements to leave Honolulu in three days. I would leave sooner, however some of my possessions (most notably my phone) are being held at the administration office and will not be available to me until Monday.

Since leaving this morning I have spent most of my day researching and contacting organizations in Seattle that may be able to offer me some assistance in my recovery. That being said I believe any kind of formal treatment is going to be successful I first have to get control of myself. If my mind is capable of creating the intense anxiety that I experienced there, I have to believe is it also capable of redirecting that energy to overcoming it.

I was unsuccessful in completing the program offered by Po’ailani but that does not mean that I will be unsuccessful in beating my addiction. My resolve is more alive than ever. I am more determined than ever to take back my life.

To my friends and family, know that I love you. I look forward to seeing you more than you can possibly imagine. Oahu has been an experience that I wouldn’t trade for anything but it’s finally time for me to come home.

Treatment - Day 26

At 2:39pm this afternoon I received the call. I am scheduled to meet with an intake specialist at Po’ailani tomorrow morning at 8:30am. I will be admitted for an undetermined amount of time. I’m going to treatment.

I have been told I can bring two bags of clothes and personal belongings with me. I’m going to pack my clothes, a handful of photos, my personal hygiene products, a stack of blank notebooks and the portal bell. Everything else will either stay in Chinatown for when I’ve completed the course or be shipped back to Seattle for when I return home.

I cannot bring my computer with me and will not have internet access while I’m there. I had been warned that this would likely be the case. However just because won’t be seeing regular blog posts doesn’t mean I won’t be writing. Upon my discharge you can expect a flood of posts from the time I’ve spent there. There’s a good reason I’m taking a multitude of notebooks.

I’m experiencing a range of emotions right now. At first I was excited. After four months of fighting I’m finally at the end. I’m getting exactly what I was fighting for.

And then the fear set in. This isn’t the end. There is no end to this battle. I have done well so far on my own, but I’ve only touched the surface. What happens when I unearth the things buried even deeper? What if I can’t handle it? What if it makes things worse? Is that possible?

The most horrific face of God has taken the form of Phobos. I have been staring at it for over seven hours now.

“You aren’t ready. Blink.”

I’m never going to be ready, but I not willing to wait any longer. No.

“I am still holding back, this will only force me to hurt you more. Blink.”

I am familiar with pain. No.

“Hahaha, you have no idea the maelstrom I am about to unleash upon you. Blink.”

You are right, but you are not what I fear most. No.

“There is nothing you could possible fear more than me. Blink.”

Dying here on this island. That fear is stronger than you could ever be. No.

“Fool! You have only told me how to break you. Blink.”

I’m going home and you’re coming with me. No.

A Matter of Time - Day 23

“You've got to be calling them everyday.”

I'm calling at least twice a week.

“You're not getting a bed that way. By the time one becomes ‘available’ it'll have been long enough that they'll say you don't need inpatient.”

What if I don't actually need inpatient though?

“You need inpatient.”

What makes you so sure?

“You're drunk right now.”

He was entirely right. About everything. He always was.

For three days now, dope is the first thing i think about when I wake up and the last on my mind when I go to sleep. It is all I can think about with little exception, and those moments are very short lived.

I had hoped that after three weeks it would start to get easier. Today has been the hardest day by far. That's why I got drunk. That's also why I answered when I got a message with just three letters: “wyd”.

I have a rule when I meet with NRD now. It always has to be in a very public place. Most commonly it happens somewhere in the heart of Waikiki. I don’t trust myself around him  and with good reason.

“You’re going to relapse, it’s only a matter of time. Everyone does.”

I’m sure I could right now if I wanted to.

“It’s right there, not even 12 inches away. You just have to reach in and grab it.”
C’mon now, I don’t even have to do that.

“You’re right, you can just stand there, I’ll hit you.”

Thanks, I’m good.

“You still want it.”

I did want it. I want it right now. I could take a shot right now and I’ll still want it. That doesn’t mean that I need it. The desire alone doesn’t mean I have to blink.

The truth is I probably will relapse. An article from January of this years states, “After three years, only 12% of people who went to rehab were still sober. 5% of people who didn’t go to rehab were still sober at that time.”

There is almost a 90% chance that before I’m 38 I’ll be right back where I was three weeks ago. When you look beyond three years the numbers get even more dismal. Meth addiction isn’t something that can just be cured, it’s an affliction I will carry with me my whole life and possibly beyond.

Does that mean that I should just give up? Some days it definitely feels that way. It is a rare day that you meet a meth addict who has made it more than five years clean. The fact that I was able to make it eleven years is not something many people can say. I have to remember that I’ve done it before.

“Alright man, that’s my ride.”

Good seeing you as always, I do value your insight.

“Oh, shut up. Call me when you relapse.”