Since leaving home after an argument with my parents, I had continued to go down my dark path with crack. At this point, I was already living with a couple of friends. They were also
Since leaving home after an argument with my parents, I had continued to go down my dark path with crack. At this point, I was already living with a couple of friends. They were also users, so I was at least thankful to have a place to live. At times when I wasn’t high, I decided to pick up my guitar and practice. Some days, I used crack regularly as a way to help me function. There were days when I just wouldn’t feel like playing at all. I was already letting this drug get the best of me.
On days when I would play, I would take the train to Chicago and busk at one of the train stops or some part of the city. I did it every day of the week to make money. No one didn’t want to hire me because of my poor attendance and performance with my past jobs. And my summers of cutting grass were over. I had no longer had the desire. But my ability to make music was enough to make me some money. But not “rockstar” money. I said to myself that someday I was able to make it.
Despite my addiction, things were on an upswing. I was making enough money to get by, and I was in a relationship with a girl. A girl who I thought was going to be the one I’d settle down with. Then one day, she showed up at my apartment to tell me that things were walking out. I would soon find out later that she had gotten back together with an ex-boyfriend who spent time in prison. I sent her on her way, never seeing her again. But inside, I have torn apart. Soon after, I decided that I wasn’t up to playing music. And the only thing to keep me happy was my friend on the other end of the glass pipe.