I found this journal entry I wrote exactly seven years ago, and it oddly shares much of what I’ve been thinking about recently, albeit in an entirely different environment.
If you were to tell me 7 years ago what my reality would be in 2023, much of it I wouldn’t really believe, but a lot of it you could say in one way or another, that I already knew.
Things like my current well being, mentality and life placement would be a little shocking and likely very relieving to be honest. I can tell you exactly what I did on July 9th 2016, for the most part.
The thing about drug abuse, much of the time blends together. We addicts are habitual in all our shit, especially routine, and more so when you have a physical dependency. But I’d probably argue that in 2016 I was in a worse state of being than any other part of my decade plus drug binge.
On July 9th 2016, I had just dealt with a warrant for my arrest, and prolonged my case in court that had begun with a bad late August 2015 arrest sweep in Lawrence.
I had been using heroin IV heroin for 5 years by this point, and about 9 years total on opiates. I was 22 years old and had spent most of my time from 19 on getting arrested, in jail and on probation.
This summer day i was in the darkest throws of a speed ball habbit. I think with everything going on with my case, I had totally thrown what little bit of self preservation was left in me, and focused more on chasing the intense rush, similar to my first shot of dope.
Speedballs had killed Johnny, best friend to my brother and I in a brutal fashion about two years earlier (see "How Johnny Died" Entry)
I was at the point where the rush from a shot of coke was all I really focused on. I wasn’t writing, or drawing or painting, I was barely holding down my jobs working sites and doing fire prevention installation. I was staying at an apartment in Lawrence, spending a lot of time with my friend Austin.
And July 9th 2016 was two days before my Brothers 27th birthday, the only birthday in his 20s where he was clean, and in a sad twist of fate, it happened to be his last, he died 39 days later.
These details may seem a bit all over the place, but thats how I write, and how im able to slowly discern out relevant information towards my story and the lives of those who can no longer tell their own. The decade plus of grief, loss and self destruction is a whole lot for me to confront.
So like I said, from my current situation sitting here writing this, I have a a great girl with me for the past 5 years, in a stable lovely home, and we have goals and aspirations that we know are obtainable based on what we’ve gotten through already. This is something that I wouldn’t have been able to truly appreciate in July 2016.
However what i would know for sure, is that my Brother would be dead, along with Austin as well.
Especially my brother though, it was something i just fucking knew, for years, was coming, and when it happened, it was the closest thing to a moment in time that I had already experienced. Further then dejavu, it was like stepping back into a reality I had briefly escaped.
That relationship with my brother, of him being a tangable, living person that I could make memories with was gone. And its been gone now for 7 years, now we are in the phase of our relationship being stories, and me writing this shit down at 5 in the fucking morning.
I rant because of the journal i wrote exactly 7 years ago today, and in the light of my current eyes, it holds an eerie relevance to what i’ve been doing with my own art and writing,
so i will now leave you with just that journal, in the context I’ve placed above.
I think what really connects a person to those they are influenced by on a deep level, the level that when put together like a puzzle builds who you are, is when you look at someone either in person, through an artistic medium such as paintings, drawings , writing, or by hearing what they have said, and being able to identify a part of their pain. Not everything that pains them, but an indescribable feeling of pain that you know better then anything else. You know it well enough to pick it out instantly, regardless of being coherently conscious of its presence, it taps into your pain, and they become the same. Any individual living or dead, you can feel it through whatever they put out into the world that leads it directly to you. By no means was this a mistake. Sadly I don't believe identifying a conjoining happiness has anywhere near the clear inherent meaning and absolutism that this connection brings. They were or are who they were to put out that part of the puzzle, and though it's useless to most, it can be everything to one. And when it is. That's the purpose on its way to fulfillment. Don't be afraid, it's all that you are. - Brett Colby July 7 2016