My Life Part IV: G.H.B. Continued

I became very dangerous during this time in my life.  I became a liability, and the people I bought my drugs from were concerned.  …To the extent that they cut me off.  We were doing really stupid shit.  Too many people knew what I was doing; Going into strip clubs, throwing money around, passing out in a g-hole inside the club, bouncers throwing me and my friends out, banning us from the club.  I was sloppy.

My life was as low as it could get.  …Or so I thought.

Driving to the store to purchase some beer, I went into a G-hole behind the wheel of my vehicle.  Really, I don’t remember that much.  I’m lucky I didn’t kill anyone.  At 55 mph, I drove into the rear end of a parked car.  The impact of the collision brought me out of the ‘hole.’  High on drugs and strung out, I’m a mess.  Luckily I am able to pass a sobriety test.  I am released. Something clicked in my head that day.  I remember thinking to myself, ‘What kind of friends let me drive like this?’  I knew I needed help.  I got a hold of a friend who was willing to help me.

She took care of me and got me back right.  I needed to slow down.  At that point, things were out of control.  What I needed was a court-ordered rehab.  And, man, the shit I put my loved-ones through.

G.H.B. was a fairly new drug, one that most people weren’t familiar with.  Here I am, with this woman who is trying to help me, and I’m sneaking my drug.  The trick was not using too much.  Flying under the radar is what my girl used to say.  This is hard to do with G.H.B.  Every batch made has a different potency.

During this time of trying to clean up - or leading people to believe I am – I’m invited to the wedding of a childhood friend.  I want to attend.  I ask my friend if she will take me.  She agrees.

We get plane tickets.  The wedding is in Indiana, the state where I was born.  My parents will be there.  They don’t really know what’s going on with me.  No problem – I can handle this.

I pack a bag.  Then I empty a bottle of Listerine mouthwash and refill it with G.H.B.  Add some food coloring and I’m good to go.  We get on the plane and arrive in Indiana.  Then we rent a small S.U.V. and head out.  We reach our destination.  My family will be staying at the same place as us.  So far so good.

My friend knows me too well.  The second day into our trip she suspects I’m high.  Her suspicion leads her to go through my stuff and she finds my drug.  My G is poured down the toilet.  I was irate.  I could have strangled her.  It’s possible I threw some shit at her.  I most definitely had some choice words for her.

(Better-looking than shit hitting a fan)

With any drug there is a physical addiction.  There is also a mental addiction.  Shortly after my drug is flushed, I begin to mentally withdraw.  And my demon begins to talk to me.

If you’ve ever been an addict, or you use right now, you will know exactly what I’m talking about.  An emotional rollercoaster ride.  First the sweats.  Drenching sweat.  Then anger.  My friend sucks because she took my drugs.  Who invited you to this damn thing anyway?  Fuck you!  Then the low.  I want to stop.  Why can’t I stop?  Why won’t this thing let go of me?  Why do I have to live like this?

All these emotions are raging, and for the first time, my family sees this.  It tore them apart.  I’m my parents’ eldest son, big brother to five kids, and I’m falling apart.  Drugs are eating me from the inside out.  

I remember telling everyone what I thought they wanted to hear.  I’ll get help.  I’ll get help.  The truth was, the drug was stronger than me.  That drug hung onto me like no other drug has.

During that trip I basically completed a withdraw.  As soon as I got home, I dosed again and was back at it.  I thanked my friends who loved me and tried to help by running off and doing more.

I have been in G-holes on the beach, in clubs, the movie theater, the back seat of cars and behind the wheel of a car.  I have woke up from a hole and been in a house I don’t recognize.  …In the back of a truck two or three times.  My body just goes on auto-pilot.  I seem to know I’m going to crash, so I find a spot to lay down.  Then there are the times my auto-pilot failed me….

For a while, I drove a show truck around.

To the chick who gave me the truck with no door handles… what the hell were you thinking!?

I hope you can see this truck.

Please notice there are no door handles.  A remote control pops the door open. 

People, I’m a blonde.  Sure, you’ve heard all the jokes.  Ha. Ha. 

Not only that, but I'm a blonde on drugs.

So I get this truck.  The first day, I lock the keys in it.  You don’t even have to lock the door to lock the keys in it.  Just close the door and without the clicker you’re locked out.  So I’ve got to go get the second set of keys.  About this time, the truck is making me feel like a retard.  Thank god there is a slider window in the back.  I unlock it.  Now I can climb in and out to unlock the damn doors.

Let me also explain that I am 5’9,” a blonde-haired, blue-eyed beach rat.  I am tattooed and look like a skater punk.  Here I am, climbing through the back window of a $50,000 truck.  The looks I got were priceless.  You have to know me, but I am a jackass.  I would climb into the back and wait until people looked, holler, “Don’t worry.  I got this,” then jump through the window.  …Reach up, snag the keys out of the ignition, then raise my tattooed arm, holding the keys, back through the window.  Some people laughed, some just shook their heads.  But it was fun.

Perhaps you’ve heard the expression ‘wing man.’  Well, that truck became my wing-man.  Whoever owns that truck now – I filmed Girls Gone Wild 5 in the backseat… more than once.  Do I have any diesel lovers out there?  This was my first time owning a diesel truck.  They are loud as hell.  I would pull into the drive-thru and try to place an order.  The guy on the other end of the mic is telling me he can’t hear me.  Me and all my friends are in the truck, high, laughing our asses off.  Can you hear me now?  How about now?  Dumb ass!

Another time; “I’ll take a… hold the… with… use mayo….”

Every day we were doing some dumb shit.  G.H.B. made me a social butterfly.  If I ‘flew under the radar’ I was ok.  Problem was nothing about me was ‘under the radar.’

During this time, a friend of mine got me a job working for her brother.  I was back running big machines again.  Back at a job that was supposed to start at 7 a.m. but I usually started about 8.

Why all these people put up with my shit, I don’t know.  I was using so many drugs, anything I sold was to support my habit.  My life was one big party.

Women came and went.  By now, those simpler days of mud trucks, BBQs and family fun were gone.

Then the busts started.  All these guys I know were being popped by the cops.  A whole task-force devoted to G.H.B. was taking everyone out.

My homeboy who was my connect went down.  It seemed like overnight they took down almost everyone selling G.  Here I am, wondering what to do.  I stocked up and had reserves.  I picked up a couple gallons, but that would only last so long.  What I needed was a plan.

During my years of dealing, I dealt with the scum of the earth.  Then one day I wake up, and I am one of them.  These people were robbing, stealing, breaking and entering.  One guy I had dealings with was shady, and he always had some hustle.  He really pissed me off.  I hated being around him.  I mentioned the guy who comes by with a trailer of lawnmowers?  This is that guy.  He got me a couple of times.  …Like he’d have me drive him somewhere, then come running back out yelling, “Let’s go!  Let’s go!”  …Always had a gun on him, and a huge target on him.  I was worried I would be sprayed by a stray bullet one day just being around him. 

So I’m looking for options.

As a last resort, I go to this dude.  We sit down and he explains the new hustle.  Usually information like this would come at a price, and I suppose it did.  The last time I was with this cat, they shot at us, ran out of shells, then rammed my truck.

Now here I am, having a sit-down, listening to him tell me how to ‘Doctor shop.’  Basically, it was going into numerous pain clinics and getting prescription medications.  I listen to how this thing works.  Seems easy enough.  There’s plenty of money involved.  Sure, count me in.