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13 isn't going to 30.

I’ve been editing this week's blog for two weeks and I’ve hated every revision. Fuck it, I’m starting over. Sometimes you gotta get the bullshit out and start from scratch. I’m hoping this blog comes off a lot more natural … I was stiff before… stick in the butt stiff. Lets loosen up.

Disclosure: South Park is also to blame.

I lost a friend 2 weeks ago due to an accidental drug overdose. We bartended together for close to a year and a half and every shift we worked together was full of smiles and laughter. This man was so jolly; he had the most beautiful teeth, smile, laughter, brows, eyes, hair… he was so handsome but what really shined was his personality.

How the fuck is this possible? I don’t know but he was naturally blessed.

His positivity lightened up our days in the darkest place (our job). It was so easy to love and favorite him, I looked forward to seeing his smile and sometimes having to fake laugh at his jokes…. It was worth it.

*I can only imagine how much he’s loving to hear this shit, lol.*

An accidental overdose.

Fuck man. I’ve had more than my share of drugs and alcohol and this is what I fear the most. I ask myself when is too much? You’re already high, why do you have to do another? Is enough ever enough? Are you ever okay with the amount that you’re consuming?

If you’re like me, you’ll keep going and going and going until you outlast the dude that’s been rapping to himself the entire night. I thought this was a skill that was worth building since I was 13.

I used to be proud of it but now I’m like…

You’re a fucking loser dude, you’re 31. Wtf are you doing?

I’m not saying we can’t have fun but the type of partying I’ve been doing doesn’t end.

My doctors have brought this to my attention and with a lot of thought, I figured; they’re right. I’ve been trying to go to AA (alcoholics anonymous) for 6 months now and I barely made it through one class without thinking, I don’t belong here. (next weeks topic)

When is enough? Is it really going to take a trip to the hospital to get my shit together?

I mean, nothing's happened to me.

I’m smart about it, I can handle anything.

My tolerance is high and my body is used to it.

I’m fiiiiiiiiiiine!

Wrong bitch.

You’re an idiot. You can’t think this way!

I am very aware that my lucky stars will one day run out. I’m losing a lot of friends due to overdosing and suicide and I could be next. The universe has its own way of slapping you in the face to get your shit together.

West Hollywood is my playground. It’s where I’ve met some of my best friends, friends, family, enemies, ex-girlfriends, girlfriends… I’ve worked here for 8 years, it’s home. Unfortunately, it’s a broken home in which I had to move the fuck out of; my life depended on it. I began to spiral, every day; at work, out of work, in-between work, my days off. It ate me up and instead of letting it spit me out, I crawled out of its butt, gasping for air. I worry about every single soul that I’ve known and loved for 10 years, it’s all we know. We’re a community, a family.

Immediately I text all my friends after finding out about his death and told them how much I loved them, cherish them and hope they’re taking good care of themselves.

“this is happening way too often”

They took it the exact way I wanted them to take it, I scared them but filled them with love. I had to make sure to reach out the way a parent does. A little bit of advice, concern and a dash of tough love. I received text messages back with the same love and concern. When one of us hurts, we all hurt. I try to do my part to show my people, all people, that they are not alone.

I am always here.

I’ve been going through a transformation since I left West Hollywood, I lost control and with the little 10% of will I had inside, I’m currently building myself up to save and better myself, as you all know. It’s not fucking easy and I thank you for going on this journey with me. I figured, no one else is going to do it for me, I either sink or swim.

And honey, I’m not a sinker.

I can only swim… and when I’m tired,

I float.

Lucky for me I skipped the search for a doctor and connected with an ex-girlfriend who works in the field. I text her for advice and she sent over the referrals… I owe her my sanity… thank you, N.

I don’t have insurance,

And I didn’t do my research.

I’m the type that I just have to jump in order to get results.

I quickly made my appointments, marched myself inside, sat my ass on the couch and committed myself to therapy. No thoughts, no questions, all action. Swiped my credit card after an hour session and paid $150. Without insurance, I’m lucky to consider that a good deal.

It’s what I pay for a pair of shoes, girl.

I don’t have a choice.

I never thought I had a problem because I was surrounded by peers that are going and doing the same thing… I was never concerned about my partying, it’s all I’ve known since I was 13.

And it took that sentence for my doctor to say, “this is why you can’t let go of the party. You’ve been doing this for 18 years. It’s all you know and you fear letting go because you don't know who you are without it. It’s time to get to know yourself. Who are you without the entertainment?”

I mean fuck, I was expecting her to tell me who I was for what I was paying.

But yes, yes, I know… it doesn’t work that way.

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