Desperate for solace that eludes me, I lie awake, the ceaseless churn of my thoughts making sleep a distant dream. I toss and turn, shifting from my left side to my right, seeking comfort that never quite materializes. Beneath the covers, my Boston Terrier, Kelvin, curls against my calves, his head resting on my knees. The warmth radiating from his small body turns the air under the blanket into a suffocating convection oven. I marvel at the surprising heat a tiny dog can generate. Rolling Kelvin over, I grab my phone and begin to write.
My life has been a tapestry of misadventures—driving stolen cars, orchestrating Home Depot return scams, fleeing from the law. Years ago, another twist of fate led me to one of the world’s largest strip clubs, where I worked as a security host and contracted dancers. The stories from those days are rich enough to fill a book.
After leaving the strip club scene, I began to reflect on my experiences. I started jotting down notes and drafting a manuscript in March 2017, driven by the desire to share my story. Despite my initial trepidation, a writer-friend named Alice encouraged me to start a blog, suggesting it could boost my visibility and attract publishers. Her advice resonated, and I ventured into the world of blogging, using it as an extension of my manuscript and a means to build an audience.
However, as I dipped my toes into the online realm, I faced an internal struggle. I wanted to share raw, personal stories but hesitated over whether they should be made public. My business depends on social media, and I feared that sharing too much might alienate clients or spark debate among those who know me personally. The dilemma was stark: how much of my truth should I reveal?
Truth is a double-edged sword, both for the teller and the listener. Fiction and redacting personal details could offer a safer route, but they risk diluting the authenticity of the story. For me, the power of a story lies in its ability to make readers feel deeply, to immerse them in the character’s mind and emotions. I aim to craft a manuscript that is both impactful and genuine, which necessitates honesty and transparency.
A recent visit to Hartford, Connecticut, reminded me of Mark Twain’s words etched into a cement wall: “When in doubt, tell the truth.” This insight galvanized me to confront my reality. For seventeen years, I have wrestled with drug addiction, a battle that began in January 2001. Unaware of the drug’s potency and my susceptibility, I smoked meth for the first time and was immediately ensnared. Outside, law enforcement had already set up surveillance, leading to my arrest at gunpoint.
That night, I experienced a clarity I had never known before, only to be confronted by the harsh reality of my situation. As I sat handcuffed on the curb, my life unraveled in ways both high and low. My addiction led to countless relapses and rock bottoms, but the longest period of sobriety I’ve ever had is now providing me with the space to reflect on my tumultuous life.
I now see that my refusal to let others in, to shield them from my pain, has been a major obstacle. This secrecy has perpetuated a cycle of unfulfillment and isolation. By sharing my story, I hope to release the burden I’ve carried for nearly two decades and to present my authentic self.
My intention is not to seek pity or attention but to be honest about who I am. I believe I’ve finally met the real me and, for the first time, I don’t view myself as irredeemable. I ask for your understanding as I navigate this new chapter, seeking to find my place in a world that has often seemed foreign and hostile.
Living has always been a struggle for me. It’s my hope that my story might offer solace or support to others who face similar battles. Perhaps now, with this truth laid bare, I might finally find some peace and, maybe, a semblance of sleep.