A Case of Deja Vu

“You lost your only friend.” –End of messages.

I sat and stared at the answering machine. I knew the voice; that was the voice that had helped me out in many situations. The message informed me that my confidant was gone. I lost my support, and now I felt lost.

Two years prior to that message I was in the worst state of mind a person could be in. Deep depression was usually followed by suicidal thoughts. I had broken many relationships with a smile. Although the smile was fake I had no other way to express my sorrows. My iconic smirk became my most ironic expression, and it took fourteen months for me to find my personality; my signature.

After my long period of self destruction I was at an end. I knew I needed a new environment, and my only option at the time was to look into old hobbies. I found solace in a pencil. I started to sketch again, which I hadn’t done in six years, and something I thought I lost. I didn’t lose my ability to draw, thankfully, but I did lose my motivation long before I picked up that pencil. Now I knew I had to focus and find myself through art. Art was my first love, but I grew tired of it. Usually it happens; to me at least, seeing as how my mind changes as often as a change of underwear. But now, now, something was different. I was more aware of myself, and even more aware of other people. I had put my focus on sketching people; reading people. I knew I had to master people’s expression to become a master at my craft. I studied art. I studied people. I studied myself.

It took me two years to get off of drugs, but my reasons to get off were done selfishly. Initially I “stopped” using to please the people in my life, but after I moved out of the state I knew I couldn’t handle the life of deception and manipulation anymore. It takes a toll on a person. When you start a lie it will just grow and grow. There is no stopping a lie, and it eventually consumes you. I was almost at the point of no return. Me moving out of the state is the only reason I am not writing this message on cardboard asking for a donation.

I spent fourteen months a state away focused on my art. I became consumed with people rather than drugs. I would wake and and sketch instead of snorting a line. I would interact with people instead of meeting with drug dealers. I would call friends to see how their day was going rather than to ease into a drug conversation. Drugs took over my small town, and they were still there when I left. While I was gone it seemed to have slowed down. Drug dealers were getting arrested, drug users were looking for help, and the rest of the users and dealers were left to rot. The town was cleaning itself from an epidemic, and it seems that I got out at the right time. Everything was changing, including myself, and then I decided to move back home.

I moved back and realized how naive I was. Drugs never left, I had left. People hadn’t changed, they had gotten worse. Some people cleaned up and were doing great, others fell deeper, and some had fallen into the never ending cycle of drugs and depression. I was confident enough to be around anyone. I knew I was strong willed and was making my life better. Before I would sleep until five in the afternoon and look for drugs, but now I would wake up in the morning and sharpen a few pencils before hitting a sketchpad. That was until I fell back into a night life. It started as nights of drinking. Sometimes weed was around, but as an artist I never saw anything wrong with pot. It is a stereotype that artists smoke pot, but one of the more accurate ones.

There is nothing wrong with drinking or smoking in moderation, but when it becomes a new hobby it becomes a problem. Now I had two hobbies. I even came to the conclusion that my altered state of mind would influence my work. I enjoyed to paint drunk. I loved to sketch high. Now I had other thoughts creeping in. How would other substances influence me? And I became interested in my old drug of choice. I wanted to know what I could produce with a more confident mind. But maybe I was a little too over confident.

One month after being back home I was different. I became an evolved drug addict. I knew people wouldn’t worry about what I did as long as I was constantly working. And that is when I started to become flaky. I was back to my old deceitful ways, and became an evolved manipulator. I felt like I had so much control over what people thought, and I did at first, but the ego has a way of exposing itself. I was becoming self destructive all over again.

“You lost your only friend.” –End of messages.


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