September 9, 2020

Seven weeks ago I had what can be described as a days long manic episode induced by alcohol and LSD. The date was July 19th in sunny San Diego. I worked security at a wedding, was gifted a bottle of wine and went to work. Then one tab wasn’t enough so I took another. The perks/perils of addiction.

Hours later, after an intense non-physical altercation with my mother, I’m on a Greyhound bus in the middle of the pandemic headed to my hometown.

The high was the alcohol and the LSD, the low was the bus ride to the one place I’ve tried so hard to get away from.

Midway through the bus ride, my friend Rodney picks me up in LA for lunch during a brief layover. Everything he told me was exactly what I needed to hear. But it wasn’t resonating. I was still down (thinking to myself ‘goddamn you fucked up again’).

The highs come again when I get to my aforementioned hometown. I immediately see my aunt and what do we do? We do what we do best. Drink.

I spend the rest of the night in the backseat of a drop top driving through the streets of Tulare County sipping on Budlight. The next day is more of the same: drinks throughout the day with my grandparents and my homies like it’s 2012. I thoroughly enjoy this.

I envy my grandparents and my friends who are content with drinking with such freedom and joy. But this can’t last forever. I stay with my aunt and she sets ground rules: smoke all the weed you want, but do not fucking drink. I agree to this without hesitation. I want to get right. I need to get right. The grand mania finally subsides. The daily “mood swings” are still there, but it’s manageable.

Two apparatuses become my saviors: my bike and my bong. I cycle through weed quickly and put in 60–80 miles a week. I’m growing stronger. I feel good and I’m finally mentality sound, then the call I’ve been waiting for for months comes.

My boss tells me we’re back open. I call my mother and she welcomes me home in what she says is a test trial.

I’m now writing this with a heightened outlook on life. The few days I’ve been back in San Diego have been lovely. I know the world is hurting right now. Oregon and California are on fire. I’m scared for my friends directly impacted by the carnage.

That being said, I am so fucking grateful for everyone that has helped me on this journey.

Thank you Rodney for speaking wise words to me even though you knew I wasn’t listening. Thank you John and Christian for driving down to San Diego to retrieve some of my belongings. Thank you Sergio for eating burnt seafood with me. Thank you Ruben H. for joining me on a bike ride. Thank you Joe for skiing with me one last time. Thank you Alex for telling me the one thing no one else has. Thank you Grandma and Grandpa for doing everything you’ve ever done. Thank you Nate for the brotherly bond. Thank you Alejandro for looking up to me and inspiring me to be a better brother, son and person. Thank you Isaiah and Vincent for telling me about our dad and letting me connect with y’all. Thank you Patrick for having my back. Thank you Lindsay for loving me. Thank you Chris for the weed, Wendy’s and I can’t think of another word that starts with ‘w’. Thank you Cory for putting me on to ’90s rap I was oblivious to. Thank you Fonzi for the hot sauce. Thank you Leo for cutting my hair. Thank you Michael for believing in me. Thank you Austin for making me laugh every time we talk. Thank you James for allowing me into your home with open arms. Thank you momma for allowing me back into your home.

Lastly, thank you for everyone that has made me me, especially my aunt. You’ve taught me things my mother and my father never did. You’ve told me how it is regardless of how menacing the words can be. You’ve been there time and time again. You never fail to impress me. Thank you 💜

I love all y’all.