I read a quote once that said, “If you cannot say what you have to say in twenty minutes, you should go away and write a book about it.”
I don’t remember the first time I got the idea to put all this down on paper, but I pro-actively began saving my emails from March 2004 on, after I found Kurt on that phone line, realizing this section of my life was one of major importance and only by looking at how the small individual moments combined to make up the big picture would I ever understand. Like that painting by Georges Seurat, “Sunday Afternoon on the Island of la Grande Jatte,” where the tiny dots are just dots up close, but stepping back you see exactly what he was painting. Life is like that, it’s unfortunate we usually can’t see past the dots.
The analogy I always used regarding Crystal Meth was I’d been dancing with TINA and the reason it hit me as such was it felt like one of those dance marathons from the thirties, couples going for hours and hours, even days, until they’d finally drop.
Coming out of the closet at twenty-one, there were a few months throughout the years I was single, but once I started dating, I never stopped. Constantly in a relationship, I never learned how to swim. Although maturing from one relationship to another, essentially I was co-dependent, always looking for acceptance and wanting to be loved. I suppose we all want that, we’re human, after all.
The very day Matthew broke up with me I walked into a movie musical of a romance that gave me everything I thought I wanted. A handsome, vibrant man who said he loved me, yet, since every other man I’d dated had been on the level, I still hadn’t the education to show love doesn’t come so easily and you can’t trust everybody. But, trust I did and I got hurt. This time however, co-dependency and I weren’t as tied together as in my younger years, I started to walk away first, but he beat me to it and my self-esteem was affected. With an operatic ending, I’d reached the deep end of the pool, flailing all over not sure what was going on.
Call it God, fate, guardian angel, whatever, but a hand took mine and led me down a hallway filled with doors. TINA the drug, lifted inhibitions and allowed me to see extreme behavior in others and myself, opening all those doors a little faster than they normally would have opened. Lessons moved logically from one to another and I was content being single. More than that, I knew I’d be okay no matter what happened.
Of course, shortly after the sunlight hit me, boom, a truly nice man plopped into my life and I must have been ready for it.
The most important thing I learned from all this was in order to get on with life and be happy, I had to walk away and let go. Once I love, I love in some small way forever, and it was always hard for me to stop dwelling on the past. While I might sulk about losing someone (and those emotional fears follow me still,) I eventually grew up enough to realize those people were not sulking over me. However they may have hurt me, be it intentionally or unintentionally, I had to lead my own life and be content with all the good things I had at the moment, not what I didn’t have.
As much as I may add humor into things, I want to make it clear this period was no joke for me. I may call it an “adventure,” but I wonder if I’m putting that spin on it to alleviate my own responsibility.
I did have a drug problem, no question about it, whether or not I was an addict, that’s for you to decide, but I was using drugs to get through my own insecurities and if you call that an addict, then I was.
Worrying at times I’ve been too light hearted about all this, at others I think I’ve been too negative and angry. Life will move on and many other things will come up here and there, but I’ll tell you one thing, TINA only complicates my problems, not solve them. It may start out as an escape, but it ends up as a dungeon. How long does it take to clean up the mess of one night, or twenty nights, or a hundred nights? Because I have no other choice right now, it has to have been worth it in the past though.
As much as I may add humor into things, I want to make it clear this period was no joke for me. I may call it an “adventure,” but I wonder if I’m putting that spin on it to alleviate my own responsibility.
I did have a drug problem, no question about it, whether or not I was an addict, that’s for you to decide, but I was using drugs to get through my own insecurities and if you call that an addict, then I was.
Worrying at times I’ve been too light hearted about all this, at others I think I’ve been too negative and angry. Life will move on and many other things will come up here and there, but I’ll tell you one thing, TINA only complicates my problems, not solve them. It may start out as an escape, but it ends up as a dungeon. How long does it take to clean up the mess of one night, or twenty nights, or a hundred nights? Because I have no other choice right now, it has to have been worth it in the past though.
Because this is my story, I saw things in my own personal way. If you had been me, you may have seen them in a completely different light. There is no right or wrong here, no judgment about people’s choices. You do what’s right for you. I just hope I’ve conveyed that while drugs start out fun, they don’t necessarily end up fun.
What would I say to someone thinking about doing TINA for the first time? Of course I’d say, “Don’t do it.” Meth is some bad shit and in the long run the trap isn’t worth that one moment of feeling sexually or emotionally free.
It did not take courage for me to finally step out of that rabbit hole, far from it and I don’t deserve one damn bit of praise from anyone. Fear and cowardice drove me out of there, my emergency exit being a natural instinct to run away from being hurt. That’s not courage, it’s fear.
To me, this is what I see as real courage. To be addicted and have no reservations at all about what you’re doing, to actually love the confidence and constant sex you’re having, to have no moral issues with it.
Then, once you realize how over-powering TINA can be, you walk away because you realize you have to. To fall down, to get back up, to fall down again and again, yet keep at it until it finally works, that takes real courage.
And for that I applaud you, because I often wonder if I could be that strong.
I hem-hawed around, trying to come up with a decent ending for this journal/manuscript/soul-searching/self-involved introspection in pink, whatever you want to call it. Every time life reached a perceived conclusion or crossroads, another event or episode would intrigue me enough to write about it.
Shit, this could go on forever, I thought, I’ve got to have a happy ending…so, I’ll simply backtrack a few years to Halloween, 2005.
Two entire years had passed, almost to the week, since I heard the words “I’m afraid I can’t be your boyfriend anymore.”
For the first time in three years I wore a costume. I used to dress up every Halloween, but it took a back seat to “Peyton Place” which played return engagements in my head for several seasons. Now “Leave It to Beaver” returned to its regular time slot.
Chris pulled a renaissance outfit out of the closet for me, there were dozens he’d made over the years and I went as Hamlet with the skull, a frilly tunic, tights, the whole deal.
Tina dressed as an Elizabethan Tart, a cinched-up corset with her chest popping out like groundhogs in spring. Chris wore another Elizabethan outfit and Art, now I have to hand it to Art. There is nothing cooler than a heterosexual man so secure with his masculinity he doesn’t mind walking around in drag. Originally, he wasn’t going to wear a costume, but at the last minute I got the idea to put him in a tuxedo coat, hat, fishnet stockings and heels. Tina would do his makeup and voila! Judy Garland in the “Get Happy” outfit.
Not sure, he’d do it, when I sheepishly asked him, he replied, “Hey, man, it’s Halloween, why the hell not?” and he did, and more people recognized him than us. Guys yelling out of cars as we walked down North Halsted Street, “We love you, Judy!”
Running into a guy I knew from Des Moines who’d recently moved to Chicago, I introduced Tina, then said, “And this is her husband, Judy Garland.”
Art shoved his hand out, “How’s it going, Pal?” such a good sport. He still looked like a straight man in heels, but a good sport, nonetheless.
One guy asked, “Would you take a picture of me with your friend’s boobs?”
Sort of an odd request, but Tina was up for it, pushing the family heirlooms up and out, almost giving the guy a black eye in the meantime with them. Art asked me, “Why are gay men so obsessed with women’s breasts?” to which I had absolutely no answer.
Another bar patron looked at poor Yorick’s skull and asked who it was. I told him “My last husband.” Guess I’d finally come to terms with the word “role-playing.”
Barbra Streisand walked into the bar as Dolly Levi, to which I shouted out the obvious, and she yelled back, “Well, Hello Hamlet!” handing me her matchmaker card. Chris took the card away from me, saying I didn’t need it, uptight Elizabethans. Keep him in the twenty-first century and he’s fine with it, knock off four hundred years and he’s a prude.
Tina walked up to Aquaman, smacking his chest, sending him a good three feet back while complimenting his costume. Turning back to me, I asked her, “You know who that was you just belted across the room?”
“Aquaman, who else?”
It was the twenty-three year old paramedic, the first guy I hooked up with online after I took up oat farming full-time. Tina raised an eyebrow and asked if his hands had been webbed then, too.
Roman emperors, angels, devils, movie stars, we saw it all. In the future, I’d never miss out on that dress up fun again.
To me, this is what I see as real courage. To be addicted and have no reservations at all about what you’re doing, to actually love the confidence and constant sex you’re having, to have no moral issues with it.
Then, once you realize how over-powering TINA can be, you walk away because you realize you have to. To fall down, to get back up, to fall down again and again, yet keep at it until it finally works, that takes real courage.
And for that I applaud you, because I often wonder if I could be that strong.
I hem-hawed around, trying to come up with a decent ending for this journal/manuscript/soul-searching/self-involved introspection in pink, whatever you want to call it. Every time life reached a perceived conclusion or crossroads, another event or episode would intrigue me enough to write about it.
Shit, this could go on forever, I thought, I’ve got to have a happy ending…so, I’ll simply backtrack a few years to Halloween, 2005.
Two entire years had passed, almost to the week, since I heard the words “I’m afraid I can’t be your boyfriend anymore.”
For the first time in three years I wore a costume. I used to dress up every Halloween, but it took a back seat to “Peyton Place” which played return engagements in my head for several seasons. Now “Leave It to Beaver” returned to its regular time slot.
Chris pulled a renaissance outfit out of the closet for me, there were dozens he’d made over the years and I went as Hamlet with the skull, a frilly tunic, tights, the whole deal.
Tina dressed as an Elizabethan Tart, a cinched-up corset with her chest popping out like groundhogs in spring. Chris wore another Elizabethan outfit and Art, now I have to hand it to Art. There is nothing cooler than a heterosexual man so secure with his masculinity he doesn’t mind walking around in drag. Originally, he wasn’t going to wear a costume, but at the last minute I got the idea to put him in a tuxedo coat, hat, fishnet stockings and heels. Tina would do his makeup and voila! Judy Garland in the “Get Happy” outfit.
Not sure, he’d do it, when I sheepishly asked him, he replied, “Hey, man, it’s Halloween, why the hell not?” and he did, and more people recognized him than us. Guys yelling out of cars as we walked down North Halsted Street, “We love you, Judy!”
Running into a guy I knew from Des Moines who’d recently moved to Chicago, I introduced Tina, then said, “And this is her husband, Judy Garland.”
Art shoved his hand out, “How’s it going, Pal?” such a good sport. He still looked like a straight man in heels, but a good sport, nonetheless.
One guy asked, “Would you take a picture of me with your friend’s boobs?”
Sort of an odd request, but Tina was up for it, pushing the family heirlooms up and out, almost giving the guy a black eye in the meantime with them. Art asked me, “Why are gay men so obsessed with women’s breasts?” to which I had absolutely no answer.
Another bar patron looked at poor Yorick’s skull and asked who it was. I told him “My last husband.” Guess I’d finally come to terms with the word “role-playing.”
Barbra Streisand walked into the bar as Dolly Levi, to which I shouted out the obvious, and she yelled back, “Well, Hello Hamlet!” handing me her matchmaker card. Chris took the card away from me, saying I didn’t need it, uptight Elizabethans. Keep him in the twenty-first century and he’s fine with it, knock off four hundred years and he’s a prude.
Tina walked up to Aquaman, smacking his chest, sending him a good three feet back while complimenting his costume. Turning back to me, I asked her, “You know who that was you just belted across the room?”
“Aquaman, who else?”
It was the twenty-three year old paramedic, the first guy I hooked up with online after I took up oat farming full-time. Tina raised an eyebrow and asked if his hands had been webbed then, too.
Roman emperors, angels, devils, movie stars, we saw it all. In the future, I’d never miss out on that dress up fun again.
The following day we headed to our usual Sunday haunt, Side Track at North Halsted and Roscoe in Boystown. As usual, we had a blast, there was just something special and festive about that bar, I’ve never been anywhere quite like it. Scottie, Tina and I sang away, arms around each other, voicing the praises of Saint Judy and Our Lady of Merman. Toward the end of the evening a video came on and I immediately said “Oh shit.”
Tina asked “What’s wrong?”
“Just wait and see, I know what’s gonna happen.”
It was a clip of Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel from the original cast of “Wicked.” Now that the show had started touring and had one semi-permanent company in Chicago, everyone was loving it. We were no longer exclusive and couldn’t act like hick snobs anymore.
When we saw the show in New York, the final song had really touched all three of us and just as it did two years earlier, right before this whole weird adventure started, that song meant something to me, this time a great deal more.
“Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better, I do believe I have been changed for the better and because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”
The lyrics of the entire song summed up those final feelings of letting go and forgiveness, to Kurt, Peter, my parents, anyone who had been a part of my life over the last few years and…to myself. I had loved hard, I’d laughed hard, I’d hated, betrayed. I cried, I cared, screamed, abused, I had walked away and I had forgiven. I had finally lived…really lived.
Tina asked “What’s wrong?”
“Just wait and see, I know what’s gonna happen.”
It was a clip of Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel from the original cast of “Wicked.” Now that the show had started touring and had one semi-permanent company in Chicago, everyone was loving it. We were no longer exclusive and couldn’t act like hick snobs anymore.
When we saw the show in New York, the final song had really touched all three of us and just as it did two years earlier, right before this whole weird adventure started, that song meant something to me, this time a great deal more.
“Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better, I do believe I have been changed for the better and because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”
The lyrics of the entire song summed up those final feelings of letting go and forgiveness, to Kurt, Peter, my parents, anyone who had been a part of my life over the last few years and…to myself. I had loved hard, I’d laughed hard, I’d hated, betrayed. I cried, I cared, screamed, abused, I had walked away and I had forgiven. I had finally lived…really lived.
As far as TINA the substance was concerned, I really don’t know if I’d
been changed for the better, I like to think I had, and by letting her go I had given myself new freedom. I don’t feel any shame for having waltzed with her, I learned a great deal about myself since she was such a frenzied partner. Still, my dance card was now booked up with other priorities and TINA had retreated to the sides of the ballroom, standing alone by herself like a wallflower.
Regarding life and recovery, I don’t know that time really matters to me anymore, my focus is on “today,” and all those little “todays” may add up to forever. Just like that painting with the little dots.
Always looking for happy endings, I realize now there are none.
Only hopeful sobriety.
been changed for the better, I like to think I had, and by letting her go I had given myself new freedom. I don’t feel any shame for having waltzed with her, I learned a great deal about myself since she was such a frenzied partner. Still, my dance card was now booked up with other priorities and TINA had retreated to the sides of the ballroom, standing alone by herself like a wallflower.
Regarding life and recovery, I don’t know that time really matters to me anymore, my focus is on “today,” and all those little “todays” may add up to forever. Just like that painting with the little dots.
Always looking for happy endings, I realize now there are none.
Only hopeful sobriety.
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