I was born the son of a wealthy banker. An only child, my younger sister died when she was four. Parents divorced after she passed, and since then Iâve spent my entire life living with my father. Growing up with a wealthy father meant I got everything I ever wanted. Toys, video games, a dog, cat, another dog, if I wanted something I got it. I even got a bottle of Whiskey, an eighth of Bluedream, a pack of smokes, a few Cuban cigars, and $1000 for my eighteenth birthday. All from my father, with love.
I loved my childhood.
Getting everything that I ever wanted, however, fouled my personality in my adolescent years. I was a total bully, a complete asshole. I acted like I was better than everyone else, and I truly believed I was. I was the king of the âPopular Kidsâ and everybody wanted to be me. I could have any girl that I wanted, and I did. I took advantage of everything and everyone.
It deeply saddens me to say that this personality, this persona that I have lived, has led me to do a many number of things that I regret. Many unforgettable, unforgivable things. Vile things, malicious things. Things so inherently evil that even the Devil himself, in the flesh, would visit me after hours. He would nod his head, large ivory horns wretchedly twisting up out of his skull, and flash wicked smiles of deep admiration and approval. His late, after hour visits kept me awake for days at a time. There were only two words that he would ever speak to me, two simple words, but when he said them my stomach would flip, turn, and churn. A terrible wave of regret would wash over my mind as he spoke those two simple words, âMy son.â He would stand at the foot of my bed, smiling, and like a broken record his deep, hollow voice repeated, âMy son.â His hellish presence making it impossible to get any sleep at all.
In the silence of the blackness of the night, as I lie awake, I would listen to the beating of my own corrupt heart. There in the âthumpingâ silence, in the daze of seventy-two hours without sleep, on the edge of a mental breakdown, I would bring my nightmares to life. A fate so terrible that I couldnât even wish it upon my worst enemies. Stuck in a world so terrifying that even Poe, master of the horror story, would shake in his shoes, I was soon seeing dreadful phenomenon that no man should ever see. Awful, twisted, agonizing visions. Always intensely vivid visions, like my dead sister crawling on all fours, her head twisted toward the ceiling, eyes as black as my heart, and a bloody knife clenched between rotting teeth.
Once one has seen such horrible things, life becomes immensely darker. An idea crept into my head, that the only way to stop the nightmares, and Lucifers terrorizing gaze, was to off myself.
Suicide.
However, before long, because I am a pure blooded genius, I quickly found a cure to those demonic visions, those infernal nightmares, that damned insomnia.
The Key to curing âliving nightmaresâ and insomnia is the perfect blend of reality altering substances, self-medicating. A chemical cocktail, if you will.
Starting with breakfast at 8:00 a.m. I would consume my cocktail, consisting of:
Vivarin, 200 milligrams. (caffeine)
Cannabis Sativa/Indica, .5 grams. (smoked)
Hydrocodone, 5 milligrams. (stolen from my fathers bathroom closet)
All of this was washed down with the first of four cups of coffee, each with a shot of Wild Turkey bourbon thrown in. Followed by a Cowboy Killer, a Marlboro red, 100, I donât fuck around.
I consumed the same cocktail at lunch and dinner, except at dinner I swapped the Vivarin out for Tylenol PM, and swapped beer in for the coffee. I did my four shots of Wild Turkey, and then drank Whiskey and smoked cigarettes until I couldnât remember going to bed. I didnât have to work, my father paid for everything, so I didnât give a flying fuck about anything.
I did this every day for almost 667 days
and...
...for a while the cocktails worked wonderfully. I started to believe that the idea for them had come straight from God himself, a heaven sent. My manic visions were gone. Lucifer and his haunting words were gone. Sleepless nights were a thing of the past.
I thought it best to talk to my family doctor.
âDoc! I canât take much more of this! This hopeless depression! All of these sleepless nights, Doc! Iâve been awake for eighty-four hours, and Iâm telling you that I canât take much more of this! Iâm having real nightmares Doc! Doc! Doc? Are you listening to me? Iâm telling you, I can not take this any longer!â
âMhmm...Yes. I see, I see. Tell me, my son, are you feeling anxious?â
âAnxious? Hell yes, Doc! Hell yes I feel anxious. Once youâve been up for seventy-two hours all you feel is anxious! But Doc, I donât know if Iâm anxious because I canât sleep, or if I canât sleep because I am anxious. Itâs really quite troublesome, Doc!.â
âWellâ he said smiling, âMy son, Iâll tell you what, here is what I can do for you. Iâll prescribe you Alprazolam for the anxiety, and Zolpidem to help you sleep.â
Ahhh, that sweet taste of victory...
...without me even mentioning my chemical cocktail to him he decided to contribute to it. I had played my cards just right and won the whole pot! I picked up my new cocktail ingredients as soon as I left the doctors office, and I started mixing right when I arrived home. I added one milligram of Alprazolam to every cocktail, and I added an extra .5 milligram of Alprazolam, insufflated, and two Zolpidem to my dinner cocktail. The new recipe was a brilliant success! The doctor had given me just what I needed to perfect the chemical cocktail.
I soon found myself blissfully soaring through the days, full of joy and euphoria. I would nod whole days away. Nightmares no longer existed, or at least, they no longer presented themselves to me. This new cocktail gave my life such a feeling of ecstasy that at times I thought I was living in a dream. Days blurred into weeks, weeks blended into months. It was perfect. I loved my life. I felt like a child again.
But that good shit, it never lasts.
After extended use of the cocktail I fell into a dayless daze. A chemical coma, reeking of permanent psychosis. I became lost in the euphoria of the cocktail for so long that I had lost sight of reality. It soon was quite clear to me that I was stuck in a lucid dream. I was actually living in my dream. Living a fake reality. A reality I could not wake myself up from. I came to this sudden, but clever realization when Lucifer was once again standing at the foot of my bed. I knew I was dreaming because I have been taking my cocktail, and when I am on my cocktail I can sleep. I donât have anxiety or insomnia. I donât bring my nightmares to life. The chemical cocktail was still working, I just had to wake myself up.
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