This chapter’s gonna be a dark one. It could be sad or funny. Either way, it’s some kind of transgression. You can’t get to the tunnel of light without going through the darkness. The past year has been a roller coaster ride for me. I fell hard into the ground and got up many, many times. I’m not exactly sure how but now here I am. I don’t know where to begin but at least, I’ll give it a fucking try.

Last week, I found myself at a party in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The townhouse was rundown but it’s a spacious joint with a nice grassy backyard. Some people at that party was rolling on the grass because they’re high on mushrooms. Meanwhile in the living room, there are three girls doing lines of cocaine while a guy sitting next to them is playing an acoustic guitar with a cigarette in his mouth. I felt high the entire night but I don’t remember from which drug it was. All I remember was, every stranger I ran into offered me a spliff or cocaine. I made my way to the top floor of the townhouse and when I got there, I found a group of college kids doing crystal meth. I could tell that their hipster lifestyles are about to fade. I texted some of my minimal friends here in New York City but no one’s fuckin’ responding. Whenever I found myself reaching out to friends like I’m reaching for the fucking stars, I start to wonder if any of them are real or just hallucinations. If they’re all hallucinations indeed, then I’m completely fucked. I got bored watching the overcompensated brats so I proceeded to the next room. There were four people making out on a queen size bed, two girls and two guys, while the rest of the watchers are enjoying the scene.

All of a sudden, the fucking lifestyle that I used to enjoy is losing its taste. I don’t know exactly why. Being in the center of every debauchery in crowded rooms, I felt like a million miles away from everything and everyone. Am I getting old? Or am I enjoying myself more than I should?! I left the party and hopped on the J train on Marcy Avenue and went back to the hostel in Bushwick where I was staying at the moment. I went straight to the backyard and it was quiet, maybe because it was almost 3 AM. But the candles on top of the table in the seating area are still lit. I could tell someone was boozing there. So I sat down and lit a cigarette. I almost forgot that I still have a bottle of vodka that’s not even half empty in the fridge at the kitchen. I went back inside and retrieved it. When I got back outside someone was already sitting at the table, it was a guy with a wrist brace in his left hand while holding a bottle of Gatorade in his right hand.

“Is there vodka in that Gatorade?” I asked.
“Oh yeah sure!” He replied in a sarcastic manner with a smile in his face.
“Well, I got something better!” I replied while raising the bottle of Ketel One vodka.

“I’m Lorenzo by the way.”
“I’m Antonio”
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from Galicia, Spain. And you?
“California, from Los Angeles”
“What happened to your left hand?”
“I broke it while skiing in Switzerland”
“Well that sucks! Sorry to hear that”
“Yeah, it literally fucked up my life”
“Really?”
“Yes, because of this I was unable to play the guitar, I’m all messed up now”
“Don’t say that, you will be able to play music again” I said, trying to encourage him.

What he doesn’t notice was I was also very depressed and I’ve been filling my own void with drinking, drugs, and sex. I’ve been avoiding my own depression my doing all sorts of shit. But meeting this person reminded me that I need to be strong in my own battle. Life is fucking hard sometimes and it requires Spartan strength.

I’m sensing that this is going to be a depressing conversation so I decided to pour the vodka on empty plastic cups and started to drink myself. I sat down and offered my bottle of vodka which was ice cold because I left it in the fridge. Antonio eventually told me that breaking his wrist not only disabled him to stop from playing music but also from working out and being a womanizer. And now, he’s less of an asshole than before. I don’t meet a lot of people who are willing to admit but somehow he did. In a strange way, I found myself drawn to him, I guess maybe because I’m as damaged as he was. We ran out of vodka and I went over to the fridge in the kitchen to see if I had any booze left. Luckily, I still had half a bottle of MAKER’S MARK bourbon and I brought it down. While I was on my way back down to the backyard, I saw a guitar lying in the sofa of the living room, I took it with me and hoped that Antonio would play something. Also, I noticed that there was something in front pocket. A tiny, glass bottle of Amyl Nitrate labeled “Amsterdam” but when I opened it, I found two tabs of ecstasy with smiley faces, I placed it back inside the bottle and kept in my pocket. I don’t remember who gave it to me but I’m certain that it was from the party in Williamsburg.

“Hey look what I found!” I said while showing off the guitar while holding the bottle of bourbon on my other hand.

“You talking about the bottle of bourbon?” Antonio asked.
“No dummy, I brought you a guitar!” I replied.
“I will not play the fucking guitar!”
“How would you know that you’re never gonna play it?”
“Because the doctor told me after I fucked up my wrist!”
“You believe and follow every logical instruction in life?”
“Well yeah”
“I don’t, I’m all about taking risks!”

We started drinking the bourbon which ran out pretty fast. Then we talked about our battles with depression and suicide. He asked me how I contemplated suicide and I told him that I’ve thought about sleeping pills and whiskey. I don’t know why but when I told him my suicide procedures, he seems to be relieved that he wasn’t the only one who’s feeling low-fi. I took out the tiny bottle of Amyl Nitrate with the label “Amsterdam” and placed in on the table.

“What’s that?” He asked.
“It’s not what it looks like!” I responded.
“It’s a bottle of poppers..”
“No it isn’t”

I opened the “Amsterdam” bottle and took out the two tabs of ecstasy. Seeing the two tabs of MDMA peaked Antonio’s interest. We took the tabs of ecstasy and thirty minutes later, we were both high as fuck. I asked him to play the guitar for me.

“I will only play the guitar if you give me a hug!”
“OK, fine.”

I gave him a hug and then he took off his wrist brace and showed me the damaged wrist. It looks a little twisted.

“I’m not supposed to play the guitar but since you asked, I will play it”
“Fuck yeah!”

He asked me what song I want to hear and I told him that I would love to hear the “RING OF FIRE” by JOHNNY CASH. Antonio started playing it and it sounded fucking awesome. The wrist problem that he had didn’t appear to bother him as played the strings of the guitar. Seeing that was very impressive. That alone made me realize that nothing should stop you from living your life, no matter what happened or what anyone said.

After Antonio played the guitar, we ran to the bathroom upstairs and tried to make out. For a minute, it was cool but then we both realized that it’s not something that what we want. That we were both just passing through a moment and eventually need to “move on”. He went back to Europe the next day and I felt the need to apologize to him on Facebook the next day because of what happened because I felt like I influenced everything that occurred. He replied that I shouldn’t worry about it because he had a good time even though it was a little weird for him.

I was a million miles away from reality during that night but I lived in a moment. And sometimes, it another person to make you realize that you need to keep on living.