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Faith At My Side
"No...yes," I answered quickly to the counselor as he listened attentively to my misguided answer. "Do you miss that lifestyle, or part of it?" "No!" I answered sharply. "Are you sure, Trebor?" the counselor asked as his big brown eyes focused on my words. I didn't answer-I just stared out the window and thought of my drug abuse, and reflected on the last four years of my addicted life. I had let speed, my drug of choice, rule every miserable action of my life. I let it control my moods, my friends, and my social life. "Trebor, everything you're thinking-let it out. I'll understand." The counselor's words sounded so assuring that, for an instant, I felt at peace. "I want to tell you, but I don't know where to begin." "Begin with how it started," the counselor said with much concern. I took a sip of warm tea, and slowly the words left my lips as I began to unravel the truth that I had hidden for so long. "My drug abuse began on Halloween, 1992. I was 21 and legal. The world as I knew it sat on my shoulders. I worked at a boutique that sold clothing from a famous Italian designer. I made good money and had my own town-house. I was out to my parents, my pastor, my family, and anyone who dared to ask. I wasn't a "flamer," nor did I carry the title "straight-acting." I was me and that's all there was to it. I was adventurous and an extremist, but I knew my limit, or at least I thought I did." I paused on that thought as I remembered the evening when all my so-called amigos urged me to try cocaine, or as they called it, "TINA!" I didn't know the QV lingo for the drugs so I cautiously asked, "Does it hurt?" "No, you silly muchacho. It won't kill you," answered the leader as he sniffled his nose and rapidly began. "It won't kill you, drown you, bug you, slap you, cost you, or fuck you-it can only make you fly!! So won't you fly with me and Tina?" he asked as he skipped across the room. The leader took a mirror with six lines, a cut-up straw from under the bed, and brought it near me. "Go ahead Trebor, take a blast into temptation," he slowly whispered to my left ear. I was scared, yet daring, and in the end, temptation got the better of my soul. I did one line, which then became two. Seventy-two hours later, I found myself confused and begging the demons to give me rest and take away this poison that had consumed me. Finally, ease came to my door and-just like that-I fell asleep. Little did I know that I had opened up a world to the unknown-a world where loneliness was met with open arms that embraced addiction. Suddenly, I got up from the counselor's sofa and made my way to the open window. The counselor watched me as I stared, lost, at the great City of Angels-a city that had become such a part of me, and yet, I gave it so little in return. The city looked so beautiful from the high-rise building. I was on the 14th floor and staring north towards the valley. Off in the distance was the smog, above me were the blue skies, and down below were the demons that had taken my soul. "Are you all right?" asked the counselor as he got up and came towards me. I closed my eyes and inhaled the fumes that added glamour to this city, allowing me to forgive the mistakes of my past. "I'll be okay," I stuttered. "It just feels good to let it out-to try to find peace of all this nonsense." The counselor smiled. "Now, Trebor, the guy who gave you drugs-was he your friend?" "No!" "Who, what was he?" "I don't remember much of that," I paused. "But I do remember two things. I remember his eyes. The other thing was that, right when I got high, we were watching TV-just basically flipping through the channels. That's when we saw a picture of River Phoenix with his birth and death dates. It really was incredible to be so gone and to find out that one of the coolest movie actors was gone. He OD'd (overdosed) on the same shit I was on." "How did you feel?" he asked. "Numb. Just out of touch." "Did it mess with your head?" I thought of that night-that first night where I thought of all the answers that had no questions, and all questions that wanted no answers. "To this day, they still mess with my head." I gave him the answer blankly as I stared at the city that never ends. "What about his eyes-the one who gave you the drugs?" the counselor asked. "His eyes seemed like it wasn't him. His eyes had become red and he had a runny nose. You could say his eyes looked like two flames on fire." He listened patiently as the lid of my past slowly opened. We took a 15 minute break to relax a little. I got back to the office before the counselor did. It was refreshing to let the Santa Ana winds run through me and allow me to feel alive. The counselor walked back with two refreshments. He handed me one and smiled sincerely. I smirked as I thanked him. "Are you ready to continue, Trebor?" he asked staring right at me. "Ready as I'll ever be," I answered. The session continued as the afternoon rolled around us. I answered question after question, telling it as I knew it. The clock on the wall moved slowly as the counselor and I talked. "When did you know you had a problem?" he asked as he sipped his refreshment. "I didn't," I responded hesitantly. "I thought I had it under control and then BAM!!" I said as I snapped my fingers. "Just like that, it has you in control. It takes you, owns you, and disowns you. It eats you alive inside out, and spits you out leaving only your lost soul to fend for itself!" The words came out strong and vibrant as the counselor nodded his head back and forth. "Did you lose your soul?" he asked quietly. "Yes!" I stood up and leaned back to stretch. "There were so many endless nights. After all the partying, after all the drugs were gone, and after all the so-called friends in my life left, it was just me, my soul, my poetry book, my journals, my pen, a dark CD, and a lighted candle to melt the night away." "Go on, Trebor." I walked towards the window and stared at everything as I knew it and nothing as I perceived it. Creeping in were the clouds surrounding the sun, and I had so many thoughts running inside me like a madman on the prowl. "Those moments were hell to me. Depression and drugs battled for my soul. Sometimes I would isolate myself from the world and search for truth through a crack pipe, expecting to find the meaning of life with cut up straws." "Did you find the meaning of life?" asked the counselor with so much intensity you could see his eyebrows meet in the middle. "All the time I was doing all those drugs, I thought I had found the meaning of life. What I found was the meaning of ruining my life." I paused to let the wind run through me. "All those empty nights were wasted on me-physically, mentally, spiritually. I...I...I...put so much strain on my body that to this day the aches are still there." I took a deep drink from my refreshment. The counselor had his arms on his chest and I continued. "My mother always said, 'The evil pleasures of yesterday are the crucial aches of today.'" Slowly, the last words left my lips, creating a silence around us. The counselor studied my face as if he were searching for the aches, but to him the pains were invisible. To me, they were a part of me: ligaments torn on my left ankle (my two feet will never run the same), internal breathing problems, a constant runny nose, and recurring headaches that roam through me without forgiveness. These things constantly remind me of the past. The counselor listened as I slowly released the toxins inside of me. The sun shyly faded away, and the traffic on the I-5 was at a stand-still. Summer never seemed to go away, and as I stared in silence, I thought about the counselor and how attractive he was with his calm presence, his innocent smile, and his thick fingers. I wondered if he was straight or QV, married or single. I stared unintentionally at him, lost in thought. He was like the father I never had, the friend who never went away, and the lover who always came for more. I smiled.
I didn't hear him. "Trebor? Trebor? Are you with me?" he asked. "More than you know." I thought to myself. "Yes. Sorry, I was just..." "You looked like you were in a dream," he interrupted. "I was." "Wanna tell me about it?" I changed the subject, "Let's continue." "Okay, Trebor," he paused as if he were trying to refresh his memory. "Tell me about your spirituality. How did it affect your faith?" "I lost it, along with trust. I challenged the gods, and slowly, I almost lost my sanity," I continued. "I stopped believing in everything-the church, my parents." "But why, Trebor? Why did you stop believing?" Quickly my throat got dry, my lip quivered, my hands started shaking, and I couldn't answer him. "Trebor?" the counselor moved in closer, his hand reaching towards my knee. Shamefully, I put my head down, and I tried to block the thought from going through my head. He asked again with patience, "Why did you stop believing, Trebor? I'm hear to listen." "I..." I fought the demonic memory to release the words I had chained inside of me. I clasped my hands. "Go ahead." "I was on a suicide path. I wanted to die. My parents had found out I was..." The tears strolled down as I tried to conceal my pain. Gently, the counselor rubbed my back. I got up and looked outside. I started yelling, "They found out I was QV! I was queer, and according to them, God cannot love faggots!" I was bawling and the tears fell from my eyes like a flood. "Don't you know how hard it is to be QV? To not be accepted for loving a man? To feel different all your life? Do you know how many nights I asked God, 'WHY ME? PLEASE GOD MAKE ME THE SAME! TAKE AWAY THIS PERVERSION INSIDE OF ME!'" The counselor stood up and embraced me with open arms. I cried and cried like I never cried before-letting every angry memory be consumed by his loving arms. I cried for forgiveness, for faith, and for being alive. The weeping was uncontrollable, and he embraced me with forgiveness, accepting the defects of my life. He let me stay in his arms until I calmed down. He spoke softly and told me that weeping was part of the healing process. I never felt safer than when he spoke to me. He mentioned the three Fs: Our Father, faith, and forgiveness. I cried more about the sins I had committed. Then he smiled as I left his arms and headed towards the window. Tears of happiness found their way out, somehow. The Santa Ana winds calmed down, the weather cooled, the clouds were east of us, and Los Angeles never looked so peaceful with all its city lights and freeways. I felt free. I repeated the words, "free at last!!!" Silently, I thanked God for never giving up faith, for giving me the power to forgive and move on with life, and to accept myself as a Latino man. I cried peacefully this time and looked out into the city once again. The counselor stood next to me in silence. We closed the window and got ready to go our separate ways. "One more question, Trebor," he asked. "Yes?" I replied. "Do you have FAITH? Do you believe?" "That's two questions," I responded childishly. He laughed. I looked out the window and felt a sudden breeze sweep through me. "Yes, I believe. I believe. I believe." I repeated the words and felt an inner peace sweep through me like a child running to his mother's open arms. Silently, he nodded his head, and we walked our separate ways. I felt ready to fall into the arms of sleep when I got to my home, which never felt so safe and warm. I wrote the following poem in my journal: Today, Faith found me, before I found Him. Today, He made me believe, As the world around me went by,
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"Do you
have any regrets?"
"Trebor,
what are you thinking?"