I had the most beautiful best friend in the entire world and was lucky to spend 15 years of my life with her in it. Keri was an absolute riot - tall, blond hair, gorgeous smile and eyes, knockout bod and tits for days. She and I actually dated for a brief time in high school before she introduced me to my first boyfriend. We both partied, starting in high school, to varying degrees. X, coke, ice, alcohol.
I had a date with this wonderful guy and for the life of me, just couldn't figure out why he wasn't interested in dating me. I took a good look at myself and my party habits and realized that I didn't even want to date me! That was about 4 years ago and at that point, I finally decided enough was enough. I picked up my bags and moved to the other side of town away from the bars and all of my "friends". I spent time remodeling my apartment (yes, I know that sounds crazy to invest that kind of time and energy into someone else's property, but this is my story, so just listen). I really realized that all that time and energy spent partying had taken away all the things that I really enjoyed doing - art, working out, gardening, working on various projects, selling stuff on eBay and making a killing on it. I had put all my dreams on hold and after getting away from all of that meth mess and going to a therapist (which, funny enough, is what I went to college to become) and got on some decent antidepressants, I realized that for the first time in my life, I was truly happy - imagine that? I didn't have to lie to my parents on the phone anymore or wake up feeling guilty for the things that I had done before or worry that I would lose my job for calling in sick on Monday again. Funny enough, quitting meth was also like getting a giant pay raise as I now had all this extra money!
In the meantime, Keri, my best friend, was going in the opposite direction and we were moving further apart. I had told her that I didn't want to do drugs anymore, and she would just criticize me for it. She wound up injuring her back while working out (she was a workout model at one point) and later had surgery for it. A week later, she was out partying and wound up hurting her neck again. I was dumb founded. She had just had an experimental neck surgery and was out dancing around at bars high and cracked out on pills - what was she thinking? Things sadly went downhill from there very fast. At one point, she called me after getting out of the hospital as she had been in a coma for 3 days from taking meth, drinking, and of course, her daily regimen of prescription meds. I told her that she was going to wind up dead and that she needed to get help or she would wind up dead. I also recommended that she watch the movie "Gia", and this time, pay attention to the ending.
The last time she was I saw her was October of 2003. She had come down and we ran around, she got cracked out and lost her purse with my keys. She found her way to a hotel with a local bartender where they fucked and smoked ice. When I saw her, she had been up for days and was complaining that her neck hurt and she couldn't sleep - go figure. I tried talking to her about it, but it was truly like talking to a brick wall.
A month later, her boyfriend who had been supporting her, called to ask me if he knew how she was doing. I told him that I had separated myself from her because she was so out of control and that there was no talking to her. I told him about her "friends" with whom she was hanging out and smoking ice. Anyhow, he said that he understood my predicament and was feeling the same way. A couple days later, I received a phone call from her former boyfriend, who was also a drug dealer. Strangely, I had been feeling something was wrong or missing for several days and expected a call. She had been dead for several days when the police finally found her in her house, locked from the inside. She had overdosed on a combination of antidepressants, alcohol and meth and simply "stopped breathing". She apparently hadn't even done much of any of those, but it was just the combo. She was 29.
I can't even describe the year of torture that her death brought. Constantly thinking that I could have done something - blamed someone - just anything. It felt as if I had died inside. At one point, I partied one weekend. The following week was the most miserable week of my life and at one point, I contemplated if my ceiling was strong enough to hold a bike hook so that I could hang myself. Luckily, that never happened and I realized that I never ever ever ever wanted to touch that stuff again.
I also realized that what I wanted more in life was to not live the way that she did, but to live in a manner that she would have been proud of - being a success, being a physically and mentally healthy person, and finally, not live my life with appreciation that Ii can get out of bed every morning and stand able-bodied in a country that is free - when there are so many people who can not.
I'm not going to lecture anyone that drugs are bad - you have to figure out what is right for you. What I can tell you is that I am happier than I have ever been in my life - my only regret is that my best friend Keri wasn't able to find that for herself and can not be here to enjoy it with me.
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