Location: Heathrow Airport
Monday I slept in, woke up and felt pretty bad from withdrawal, Molly text me and I didn’t bother returning it, I just went back to sleep. When I woke I had to make it to the post office to mail Molly’s letter and pick up my laundry. I took just enough MDMA to prop myself upright and ran my errands and made it back to Sir Arthur’s just after dark, when I watched movies and took Valium until Monday turned to Tuesday morning. I recognized Tuesday that I was back on the highway to my doom, I didn’t care honestly, I didn’t want to return to the states, I was feeling like my freedom was being robbed from me, the girl of my desires was so very far away and the drugs were just at hand. I managed to do enough Mdma throughout the day in order to stay focused and avoid withdrawal hoping for the package to arrive that night in the mail. With Fentanyl you’re literally rolling the dice every time you take that much more. I was pushing my limits and I knew it. When it comes to my self-imposed misery, I figured I might as well make it worse. That’s the dark logic for you. I hate and love that about myself at the same time. I told Molly what I had been up to and she responded classically. “Please look after yourself - your body and your soul. I've laid claim to some part of that, after all.” her response made me tingle a bit, nearly enough to stop, but that was the joy of it, and possibly the reason I was dancing with the dragon all together. Who knows, fact is her response was 1 of 1000 warnings to take it easy and somehow it actually made it through to my real brain, beyond the addicts brain. Most days those little cartoon hearts swirl around my head and I swear it’s the girl, and her beauty of body and brilliant mind. Other times, I only fall for women when it’s impossible: to see them only to have visas, countries, continents and oceans separating us, the complications of dating a woman from another country and culture is astoundingly difficult. I wonder which of the two reasons is the true motivation here?
That Wednesday I made a run to get to the tattoo shop on the far side of London for my consult with Valerie, (my favorite living & in her prime tattooer) she accepted my back piece for the coming fall and I put as much sterling down as I could to set my tattoo in motion for the following autumn. So it looks like I will be returning to the UK for a few months after some time in the United States. That afternoon I Facetimed with Molly, which was lovely and I turned into a little puppy again staring into the eyes of the woman I adore. I was still high on Mdma to keep the withdrawals at bay, which added to the cartoon hearts swirling around my head. We had a short but enjoyable little talk, both smiling ear to ear. I asked her to mark off two weeks at the end of August so we could do something fun, she agreed, which I am taking with a grain of salt and will believe it is happening when I see it. If I had a penny for every time people have said “ill meet you there” and never show, id be the richest man I know.
Thursday I received two more grams of China White and like the slave I am, just as my body was adjusting to being off opioids I dove in, that night I overdosed again, so heavily that I feared laying down and just sat on my knees for what must have been a couple hours, unable to really see in focus or function, I sat there in fear I could die if I fell asleep as my body went through phases of incredible yet dirty synthetic waves of euphoria and stupefied intoxication. A couple of hours past and I was nearly scared straight. I had taken just a few grains too much. The next morning, exhausted from being too high, exhausted from my final weeks workload and everyone trying to cram into my schedule, exhausted from the prospect of heading back to the states and being even further away from my gorgeous belle and finally exhausted from what was certainly the most intense 5 months of working and traveling I had ever done. I woke up, cracked open a redbull and did more of the potent mix of fentanyl and mannitol. I ran hard, fast and far that morning, trying to fill up the hole in me, trying to beat the dragon I invited in. I ran until I was out of time and my heart felt like it was about to burst from my chest, did my yoga, showered and headed off to work, only half of me really arrived at the shop that morning. I worked hard that day, and had nearly matched all the money I had just paid in tattoo vouchers to get ahead of the curve for my appointments Valerie.
In my last few days, I was cleaning and tattooing all while high. My last two tattoos were on my new favorite client Lewis and co-worker Doc. I did a big lettering piece on Doc and was pretty stoked on the outcome. Then I said my goodbyes, polished the last of the things at Sir Arthur’s while I packed my remaining drugs into gel capsules and packed them away in the mess of other pills in my carry on. Then, before I knew it I was in an £100 Uber on my way to Heathrow.
On the way to the airport, super high from the last blast of drugs I did at Sir Arthur’s I realized I'm a sad person, and I do things to purposely make my self more sad. I don't know if that's unique, this die-hard self-defeating approach towards life but I recognize my need for it as I'm simultaneously frustrated by it. The last time I left my country to be this traveling dreamer and was on the cusp of returning, I stood on the top tier of the ship that would ferry me across the atlantic and tears ran down my face, mixed emotions from disgust to fear raced around my head. This time I found it’s no different. In my desperate pursuit to find meaning in my existence I have currently fixated on Molly, who by being nothing but wonderful is caught in this battle of mine. Part of me wants to save her from this mess I call my life, the other part wants to sacrifice her to my self defeating cycle of woe, the clear minded part of me wants to just hold on to her tightly and never let go, knowing somewhere deep inside she may hold the balanced relationship I have always desired. But is that fair to Molly, to put that hope in her? Am I just waiting to get gutted and find myself on the road again, only to restart this whole thing from the beginning? Is all this fucking crazy?, that I travel the world, fall in love with someone that is so far away I cant develop my feelings for her in real time? Is it fucking crazy to know that I have been through all this before, time after time and it always ends in horrible heartache? Am I just going down that same road to create more misery for myself again? Is that ultimately what I want, that misery to draw from in order to create something beautiful? If I had the answers this would be a much shorter post. Truth is, I don’t have any, and I will never have any no matter how hard I look or try and unravel my psyche and myself. If I tried to talk to her, or anyone for that matter I would be misunderstood, no one cares how far you’ve traveled, what you’ve learned or how monstrously difficult it may be to exist for you, and that’s the verdict, no one can understand this position, this unreachable goal I've set, traveling for the sake of some unquenched lust for learning that is ruining my life, or any chance at one that means anything, one that I could share with someone. Poor fucking me.
In the perfect world I would have the girl of my dreams by my side, both riding out these last few years on the road and then retire from straight jacket traveling to a pair of hammocks, empty pockets, real romance and wine that was disgustingly cheap but made wonderful by that girl and our warm evenings by the sea. Oh how I wish I could make that perfect world but it requires two.
I got to terminal 2 at Heathrow, although my ticket said terminal 5. I checked in with United, was surprised to be drilled about my tattoos and the equipment I was shipping over. I got my VAT refund and was pleased at the speed in which I had it finished. Since I had arrived at the airport early, so early that I paid the £40 to hang out in the premiere lounge for the remainder of my day and wrote and caught up on the things I had hanging over my head. I boarded my plane after a couple hours of walking in circles doing drugs in the premiere lounge, trying to numb the fact that I was returning to America and the fact that I would be kicking my first week back.