Meth, a fire and death.

Joy. I met her through Jose, the carpenter I worked for in Florida. She was an author, masseuse and a leader. She had a holistically healthy body, beautiful curly hair and maybe in her 40's at the time. I did a lot of work for her around her house in St. Petersburg, Florida. She had a couple of other houses. One in another part of the U.S. and one on an island somewhere. I can't remember where. I do remember the pictures. Clear blue beaches, wooden bridges through the island trees, and a small villa just offshore. Her little home in paradise. Having these other properties, she traveled. I think she wrote another book too. Which leads me to why she was gone.

Heather and I were staying at Joy's while she was away. As house sitters, we just occupied the space to make sure it stayed kept up. Like drug addicts, we used it as a sanctuary to use safely. Our drug of choice during this era of my mental emancipation?  Meth. Method of use. Injection.

We were in the yellow two-story house which rested behind the Floridian vegetation. A short walk up the concrete steps and onto the creaks of a wooden porch would bring us to the front door. The wooden floors were covered with area rugs. Still, creaks creaked while stepping across. Forward through the door was the small kitchen and beautifully decorated dining area. To the left was the quaint front room attached to the stairs which led up to the 2 bedrooms and screened in porch. The bedroom attached to the porch is where we'd reside. 

We came home late this night from a day of making money to supply our party. With our meth ready to go, we plunged the plunger. The moment the crystals went into my vein a warm feeling followed. Then the cough, which preceded my accelerated heart. Eyes wide, I'm on the ride. 

Image result for House on fire
Our friend Taylor was there. He was now a she. I really never knew him as he. We were talking when I noticed one half of the room hotter than the other. Instantly fear filled my body. The house was on fire. It had to be. I thought. That's the only explanation. I went outside to get away from the fire. I went out the back door into the yard. The house had heat waves coming off of it. A different kind of flame. A fire nonetheless, The more the investigation ensued more evidence manifested. I went upstairs to warn Heather and Taylor of the fire. I walked to the 2nd-floor porch. Looking down into the front yard were chard trees. "You've got to get out this place is on fire!" I ran out the door and down the brick road. 

Enter the reality of insanity. Where the imagination skews creation into a dreamlike delirium. As I'm running I forget what I am running from. Bricks under my feet and streetlights illuminate the night. I am running perilously down the center of the road. I see a man running early morning before me in a white jumper. The sprinklers go off. After the man, I run over the speed bumps of the street. The mind rationalized realities disguise. 

My mind flashbacked time to the overdose which left my son behind.

There I lay on the hospital bed after my overdose. My life left, my bowels empty. As urine bleeds through my jeans, my brain creates the sprinklers of my dream. The doctors pull out the defibrillator "Clear!" With each dose of electric shock, I dash over a speed bump manifested. "If I catch up to this guy I live. I have to keep up with him! Fuck. He isn't stopping. He keeps running faster and faster. Oh my god, I don't want to die yet! No. No. I have to keep going!" Only my thoughts could be heard from the volume of my breath. Tears began running down my face as I realized I wasn't going to make it. I just didn't have it in me.

I'm walking through the corridors of my mind. I lost the race to live. Sprinklers are going off all around me now. My bowels are being completely released. All I see are blue houses and white house. The colors of the hospital. Doctors in their blue scrubs and white from the walls and light. Alone at night, the loser of the fight I walk trying to make sense of my life. 

  I reach in my pocket and grab my wallet. I threw my things in the sewer. I didn't need an identity anymore. I needed peace. 

Andre. My best friend at the time lived nearby. I just had to find his house. The only colors I could trust are green and white. Nature and light. His hammock. I need to get to his hammock. My thoughts are creating this reality. I can't think about cops. They will come. Eventually, I navigate through the urban nature to his house. I hopped his fence. Into his hammock, I went. As it rocked back and forth it reminded me of memories of my infancy. 

"Eric, is that you?' Andre said from his window. "Yeah, I have got to tell you what happened," I said.

Today I can reread the past chapters of me and see just how crazy I came to be. I can understand the awesome power our beliefs have on the world we live in. I now comprehend that the person who I was then, couldn't even begin to live where I am now. If we want to create new worlds around us and have new experiences, we can not remain the same. Looking back, it's our own identity we must blame.  

Lesson Learned: When our identity is to blame, if we want peace we cannot remain the same.

If you enjoyed this please go to the top of the page and hit subscribe or the side and hit follow so you don't miss a post. There is a lot more content to look at. Feel free to browse and check out my blogs on the drug dazefitness and other speeches. If you'd like to reach out feel free to comment or like my Facebook Page Airek Dilley. Thanks!

The BA2L is real,
Be Addicted to Life.

Eric (Airek)


Popular posts from this blog

How to be remembered.

The Mayhem on Memorial Day

The Transition Handbook Pt. 1