#13: The Feral Artist REBOOT

Hi. Remember me? I haven't posted in nearly a year. in between post former and latter my life's... wow. Fuck. Seriously. Where do I start? OK, between April, 2010 and July, 2010... a lot of the same (unemployed since May '08, no health insurance, no income whatsoever unless you count all the CDs and DVDs I sold). Oh, with the exception of going to see "Tool" with Eric, and it kicked ass! How do I get the following story out with any sense of lucidity when every time I think of July 16th my mind blacks out and I stare blankly into the ether? A mutual friend of Eric's and mine, Rich, emailed, texted, called me all within a few minutes with a message to call him. The warning light in my mind began flashing. Rich doesn't call, email and text me that often... maybe a few times a year. So I pretty much knew it was about Eric. Was he in an accident? Did he have a relapse and go back into alcohol treatment for the third time in as many years? Was he in jail? Was he sick? I called Rich immediately... there goes my blank brain stare again... Eric... died. Eric is... dead. He... killed... himself. His sister Lori found him the day before, and from what I understand, Eric had been there, dead, for at least two days. He had a relapse, binged all weekend prior, and in my mind, couldn't bear the thought of going through the whole fucking treatment/relapse/addiction/depression shit anymore... he found his final solution in pills and a blade. And you know what? I don't blame him. I can't blame him, especially when the same solution had crossed my mind more times than I could calculate.

Between 2005 and 2008 I was on opiate painkillers for my chronic pain, namely oxycontin. A schema-mutating drug which is twice as potent as morphine and can and does fuck people up in a myriad of ways. I felt physically ill for two years straight, from the pain, from the meds, from my job. So what was my solution? Take MORE painkillers. "You need to get to work, bitch!" I'd say to myself. So I'd set my alarm a half hour before I needed to get up so I could dose up on oxy and adderall. When the second alarm rang, the meds had kicked in and I'd be feeling pretty good. No pain. No nausea. Is that a burst of energy I feel? WTF is that?! Chronic pain AND chronic fatigue, all fixed with a few pills. But in the end I felt like I had lost my balance running down a hill, and as I'd attempt to right myself I would stumble even faster to the inevitable conclusion: hello pavement. So that's why, even though I never seriously planned it, suicide was another viable option to take. And that was Eric's choice. There have been moments in my life in the last year when my family would call to check in on me and ask "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" This was one of those moments. No. At least, not yet.

Over the course of the next few months Eric's family was in contact with me, mainly his sister, Lori. The family decided, and according to Eric's last wishes to make sure his friends were taken care of, I got to walk through Eric's townhome and basically pick, choose, and take anything I wanted. Even before his other friends. I was humbled. Eric keeps giving to me even after he's gone. So now, in my one room which I have to myself, I'm surrounded by Eric's 'earthly remains'. The artwork he bought from me over the years... meteorology books... X-Files DVDs... and his prized Simpsons sketches he fished out of the dumpster at Fox studios when he lived in L.A. Needless to say, I think of, and 'see' Eric every day. Lori even drove out of her way to pick me up, load her SUV full of Eric's things, drive me home AND unload everything. She did this on two separate occasions. Lori is easily one of the sweetest, selfless and genuine people anyone could hope to know. We vowed to stay in touch and try to get together again.

A little over a month ago I received a certified letter from a law office in Mankato, MN. I was foretold it contained a letter from Eric's family along with a gift in thanks for my friendship with Eric and the family. A gift? But I have my inheritance from Eric already. And as far as thanking me for my friendship? That's as necessary as thanking yourself for breathing, eating, etc. Eric was a true kindred spirit. He gave of himself freely. He was there for me, literally in some cases, every step of the way. So thanking me for that just seems unnecessary to the Nth degree. But nonetheless appreciated. I was... completely gobsmacked. Blank brain stare....... The Jacobson's gift has changed my life. For the first time in years I look forward to the future. I now have the tools to start the next chapter of my life. Thankfully I'm virtually pain free now without opiates. I feel better physically than I have in the last four or five years. That's not to say I don't have permanent reminders of my time immersed in opiates. My muscles atrophied. The big curve in my spine grew. I have hernias, and my memory is intermittent. The important lessons in life are the hardest to learn. Class dismissed.