August 8, 2020

I had reached a point where I didn’t trust anybody anymore. Not even my well-meaning parents or sister. At 31 years old, I drove around the shady parts of Seattle just trying to find any source of drugs that I could find. I could hardly explain to you how I felt in that moment, but happiness was not even on the horizon.

I took a right into the darkest and narrowest street that I could find in West Seattle, hoping in some way or another that like-minded people would find their way here. I was desperate for any source of dopamine that I could get my hands on.

For some reason or another, all of my closest friends and family had suddenly gone cold on me. Each acted in ways that were so unnatural to them that I thought I had become the subject of a major lawsuit at the hands of my ex-girlfriend’s dad. That they were sending me signals that I too, must suddenly start being super technical. Or else she was going to sue me for the psychological damage I’d inflicted on her from my mental breakdown a couple of years ago. Either that, or that one of my parents had paid my friends to torture me so that I’d move back home. Or that my friends were actually evil assholes who had decided to torture me just for fun.

As I drove up that dark and windy road, there was a beat up Jetta parked on the side of the road — clinging on to whatever little pavement it could rest its tires on. As I slowed down to see if anybody inhabited this relic from a past era, I noticed a man much older than me taking a hit out of a pipe. Phew… my google search for “most common drug spots in Seattle” had finally paid off.

“Hey man… know where I can find some drugs?”

“Uhh… you want shards?”

“Shards?”

“Shards.”

“What are shards?”

“Crystal.”

“Meth?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck it. Why not?”

Across the country, my sister had just started her MBA at Harvard. My dad had worked hard his whole life in order to give us a life he could only dream of, let alone access to the world’s best universities. My mom had dedicated her entire life to raising me and my sister with excellent traditions and morals. And here I was, jumping into the passenger seat of Curtis’ car, excited for the first bit of solace my mind was about to receive in a long time.

Much ado about nothing. Follow me.