Confessions of an Addict

During my six year friendship with Jon Lovelace, it was painfully clear that he suffered greatly from several addictions.  No matter what, I never turned my back on him, even if I did not agree with the choices he made.  There were many times where we drifted apart due to his drug use or the urge to travel the country and do as he pleased.  However, no amount of weeks or months being separated could actually put a dent in our friendship.  Surely I missed him and often wondered if I was part of the reason that he so often sought refuge in drugs and alcohol, even tho I now understand that I had no influence over his actions one way or another.  In the end, he wanted to be free of certain things in order to persue a serious relationship with me, but unfortunately Fate had something else planned.

The following is a selction of Jon’s writings that truly capture the essence of his struggles with addiction and what he called ‘demons’.  While I may never know what exactly it was like inside his mind, I feel these words give at least a brief glimpse of the things he endured.


Don’t really remember the last time I took a road trip……tripped on the road and fell into adventure just exploring whatever came my way.  Guess it didn’t help that I wasn’t allowed to leave the state for a while, but that’s been sorted out now, so I’m free range again.

Memories came of my younger, wilder, didn’t-give-a-fuck-about-anything days. Y’know, those good ol’ days when you could get drunk as fuck, get blind on the Moonshine, go out and cause some chaos without getting thrown in the can for it.  Miss those days more than I realized. There were too many things that got in the way of having fun, and somewhere along the line I forgot what it was like.  Which was the purpose of the trip.

Had been so focused on what I was doing that I drifted away from my roots.  Well, the moment I was back on southern soil, it all came to me.  Spent my time with good folks, just knocking back shots and cutting up jackpots, not having to worry about anything.

The holiday passed without me blinking an eye, and that’s the way I wanted it. Had my fill of tears for the fallen. Mourning them ain’t gonna bring them back, and I’ve learned to let them go.

The new year was celebrated with much booze and setting off fireworks in the back yard.

Made some resolutions.  Shot them to hell with Johnny Cash and his blues.

Juvenile pranks that would leave a bad taste in mouths shortly followed. It was a fuckin’ riot.

Things have been good since. No one’s come around asking for me or anything like that, so I guess the message came across loud and clear.

Currently in AC……rollin a joint to keep myself here and not go out to the casino since I just dropped some acid.  Wish she was here.  She belongs beside me with that intoxicating laughter and addictive smile.

Wish those assholes next door would turn down that fucking porn.  Ruining the fantasy over here, circle jerk a little quiter, please?

Sent those assholes next door a nice gift and now that they’re quiet…have her all to myself.  The release is never satisfying.  When that fails, might as well amp up and go for a swim.

Will see her tomorrow and try not to let certain things get the better of me.  But these thoughts…they just don’t seem to want to go away.

Again?  Really?

Going for that swim now.


The worst part of having a bad heart is all the fucking time spent in the hospital.  Will say it loud and clear right now…ain’t a fan of them.  Have a hard time trusting doctors, since they could never seem to agree on my condition when I was younger and carted around to every fucking specialist in Jersey.  They talked in whispers even though I was still in the room and heard every word, not really understanding most of it.  All I knew was that my heart had problems; it worked harder than it should and had weak spots that would only get worse over time.  Lost count of how many visits I had to the ER, being cut open like a fucking animal so they could make my heart better for a few more years until something else happened.

Of course getting into coke when you’re not even old enough to buy cigarettes didn’t help things, but a mind isn’t thinking in a rational manner all the time.  Once I got in I couldn’t get out, and I still have a weakness for the fine china.  Drive it deep into the head and wait for the hallucinations to come; it’s a whole different trip from acid or mushrooms, and it’s not always there.  When it’s not, the euphoria is what keeps me doing line after line after line until I can’t tell the difference between numbness from my accident and numbness from the drug.

Everything catches up to you at one point or another, and almost losing my life again this Summer wasn’t any more help than the drugs and whiskey.  So it was that a few days after my AC vacation, I had to go to the hospital, the one place I loathe even more than the graveyard.  People are packed into the waiting room, some of which look as though they really need to be attended to.  You fill out a form for a nurse with an expression of boredom on her face as she loudly chews gum and watches t.v.  Eyes dart around the room and you wonder why it’s a process just to be poked and prodded and sent an expensive bill in the mail.  They always seem to find their way into the garbage.

In any event, they had to replace a vein that was last installed about three years ago.  Gave me the usual speech of being careful, keeping the stress down, eating right and getting plenty of exercise.  Lies put on the form keep them from getting up on a soapbox and telling me I shouldn’t smoke, drink or do drugs.  That’s for myself to decide, even if a small part of me knows these things aren’t helping my poor heart.

Spending some time with a friend made it happy, even if momentarily.  She always brings a smile to my face, and I can see the same on hers the moment she lays eyes on me.  When I take her in my arms for a hug, it’s hard to let her go…and the more we see each other, the less I want to.

Those thoughts always seem to be easily erased with a few shots of Moonshine and lines.


Had to check myself into the hospital again due to massive chest pains the other night.  Quite frankly, if it wasn’t for the concern of a very dear friend, I wouldn’t have gone.

These days, thanks in part to having an actual job, I also have insurance and don’t have to worry about paying the surmountable bill. That used to suck up whatever money I had, but not any more.

Back to the point.  I am still recovering from the surgery I had a few weeks back.  Was suposed to go to the doctor for a follow-up, so that they could make sure ev’rything is going okay inside, but I never went.  The pain came while I wasn’t doing much of anything; the subsequent visit to the hospital was like a nightmare.  They opened me up yet again and found that my body decided to reject the new veins and they were immediately replaced.  Had I waited any longer, who knows what would have happened.

Long story short, I have new stitches and ev’rything is on the up and up.

Drowned my liver for the first time since I tricked myself into believing moderation was key.  Don’t quite remember anything after that, but it involved something I haven’t done since my accident last year, that maybe I enjoyed but would really hate myself if I found myself trying again.


Life seems to have come to a screeching halt for me since the massive party.  It feels like that was years ago, and yet it wasn’t.

There is no motivation for me.  Work doesn’t exist.  I enjoy receiving my weekly checks for doing jack shit, but it’s also a glaring admission of my uselessness.  Haven’t tried to hustle in a while, despite the fact money keeps being handed out.

Am I useless?

There’s a resounding NO from somewhere inside me, knowing that I have a purpose.  My friends enjoy my company.  We drink and smoke and laugh.  That time always is too fuckin’ short, come and gone before I get a chance to really enjoy it.

Take for instance the outing I had with a dear friend, whom I miss more than I admit sometimes.  Nights like that used to be a regular thing for me, but not any more.  I only get that once in a while chance to see her…..she who I care for more than anyone, yet am so far away from.

I get to be close to some, those who have my back no matter what.  They don’t make me feel the way she does though.

I want to do so much for her, as I used to.  Giving what I can of myself, emotionally and financially.  Money don’t mean shit to me, and I never had a second thought sending her a little bit here and there to help out.  Still don’t.

Lately I feel like I’ve become one of those sad saps you see drowning their sorrows in whiskey at the bar, lamenting about “the one that got away”.  I always swore to myself that I wouldn’t be one of those men.

How does that old saying go?  I don’t fuckin’ know.

But I’ve been hanging in the bars.  It’s dark when I go in, and the sun is up by the time I come staggering out, drunk again on whiskey.  I go home and lay in bed, wondering how things would be if I made other choices; if I didn’t take this path; if I could let her in.

Edgar Allen Poe wrote about his lost Lenore……and I most certainly can relate.

Now she’s happily involved, and I can only sit and wonder what could have been, drinking my tears and whiskey.


summer has arrived in its usual fashion…….fast and hot.

i shouldnt complain too much.  the ocean is right in my backyard, so its not like id have to go far to cool off. the humidity isnt bad either. i been in worse heat down south, and that shits downright unbearable. i definitely have that sticky salty feeling.

the days are no longer kind to me.  im too damned stoned to give a shit about anything.

what a fool i was to think that itd be that easy to kick the old habit, when i can get what ever i want, when ever i want it.

been spending most of my nights down by the water; that seems to be a peaceful place for me to go.  sit down in the sand and watch the waves roll in……just listening, drinking in that ocean aroma as dope courses through my veins, a bottle in one hand and blunt in the other.

i could spend hours out there doing that, for no reason at all.

sitting now and looking out the window, at that dark expanse of sea, fresh needle mark on my skin…sometimes i wonder if its the pain of the needle that i crave, or really the substance ive convinced myself im not addicted to.

heroin kissed veins and coke in my head wont let me sleep……and when im awake, i cant sop thinking. but everything is a jumble in my head, its a wonder that these fingers can still write……the numbness is setting in.

a drive would do me good, but i know that  im in no condition to be behind a wheel.  id rather have another hit……keep my thoughts from straying where they shoudnt go.

why i do this to myself……i dont have the answer for that anymore, but drugs dont let me care.

good for nothing junkie.  thats the way i see myself.  i have the power to stop but i dont.  if anything, i should do it for the only one that ever mattered in my life, and still does.  but shes not mine…..and i just have to fuckin swallow that fact, even if it leaves a cold hard lump in the pit of my stomach.

looks liked ill be drinkin tears and whiskey again to put me to bed.  at least that way i can get some sleep.

sleep……hahahah…….more like self induced temporary coma.  knock myself out so i dont have thees thoughts and feelings.

valium might help. anything is better than this fucking pain.

dope is kicking in so i guess its time for bed.  pill will wait for tomorrow…today…what ever fuckin day it is.  just another excuse to remove myself from the world……drown out the noise in my head so i can have some peace.



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