Showing posts with label Drug Addiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drug Addiction. Show all posts

Saturday, April 9, 2022

Make It Stop

It seemed like the world’s cruelest April Fools joke to live every day in a place like Meat Grinder City…except April Fools wasn’t just limited to one day of the year. At least the flames around the buildings and streets weren’t as tall as they once were. At least the sausage puppets walked normally down the sidewalks instead of jiggling around like lynched corpses. 


When their cyclopean eyes popping out of their mouths gazed harshly into Joel Upton’s soul, the sensation was only mildly chilling across his already sour stomach. He pulled the hood up on his thick rain jacket and tried not to draw too much attention to himself. Then again, he was already under this unforgiving city’s microscope as someone with no permanent residence outside of a garbage dumpster here and there. The smell wouldn’t come off no matter how hard it rained.


It wasn’t the sausage puppets walking past him that set Joel Upton’s brain on fire. It wasn’t the smaller-by-comparison fires that jolted his brain like a paper clip in a light socket. It was that laugh. That deep, throaty, horny laugh from behind that caused his heart to pump intolerably fast. The only breaths Joel could muster reeked of dumpster residue and rancid ashes. He slowly turned around and his worst tormenter towered over him as though Joel was dog shit underneath somebody’s shoe.


He almost snapped his own neck in half just to gaze upwards into the heartless eyes of Chainsaw Fist, a bulky, piss-stinking ogre with a metal jaw, an apron covered in blood, a necklace pieced together with skulls and intestines, and of course, a chainsaw/drill combination that just had to constantly be on fire in order to solidify the overkill of Meat Grinder City.


“Make it stop,” Joel whimpered. “Somebody please make it stop…”


Chainsaw Fist bellowed so hard that his garbage breath almost bowled his victim over. “Nobody’s going to make it stop, you weak little piss stain! Your writing career was a joke from the start! Nobody loves you, not even your own family! Why don’t you just quit like a little bitch!” He revved his flaming chainsaw. “I will make you tap out one way or another, you slimy sack of whale shit!”


Joel didn’t even have time to react before Chainsaw Fist tackled him to the ground and drilled his weapon into his victim’s gut, releasing a tidal wave of blood and spiritual energy. The sausage puppets drank the vile fluids like dogs lapping up garden hose water. The volcano of blood just wouldn’t stop. It kept exploding and destroying everything in its path. The spirits flying out of that festering wound laughed at Joel the entire time. And then…


“You’re weird,” said a little girl holding onto her father’s hand. The father mildly reprimanded her before the two of them left a writhing and screaming Joel to his devices. And just like that, Meat Grinder City was Seattle. Ordinary, urban Seattle with rainy weather, urban sprawl, and non-sausage puppet citizens wondering what the hell was wrong with Joel.


Having snapped back to reality, Joel rolled over onto his knees and frantically searched his raincoat, pulling a broken needle out of his breast pocket. “No…no, no, no…” he whined to himself. “I need more…where is that goddamn pharmacy?” He searched his coat again, this time for money, but all he could muster up were a few pennies and some broken lug nuts. “Make it stop…just someone please make it stop…”


The rain came down so hard upon Joel’s back that he flinched in pain. And there was his answer: they weren’t rain drops. They were scorpion tails. “Not again.” Scorpion tails continued to pound and stab him before he was thrust right back into Meat Grinder City, the flames around the buildings bursting sky high while the cutest of cute kids jiggled around like the sausage puppets they really were.


A familiar beefy hand pulled back Joel’s hood and slashed his skull open, laughing like a demonic pervert yet again. Once his brain was exposed for the whole world to see, the scorpion tails morphed into little gray kobolds with blade-like fingernails and childish cackles. They laughed and hee-hawed as they jumped into Joel’s head wound and started bouncing around behind his face. The headache was so intense that he covered his eyes out of fear of them popping out. They did anyways, but not without snake tentacles holding them in their mouths.


“Give up your career, you waste of shit and piss!” Chainsaw Fist roared. “This world hates you! Hell doesn’t want you! Heaven is disgusted by you! You’re a fuck-up of the very worst kind! You deserve to die like the pile of diarrhea that you are!”


“STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE! MAKE IT STOP!” Joel screeched, holding his aching head while the snakes and kobolds partied in his brain.


“You want to quit, you little bastard! Do you want to quit! Then quit like the little bitch baby you are! Tap out!”


The kobolds, sausage puppets, snakes, and Chainsaw Fist himself formed a circle around Joel and chanted for him to quit. The flames of Meat Grinder City grew to their maximum limit and caused Joel to suffocate on the ashes. Chainsaw Fist continued to slash and murder his lone victim. The kobolds made incoherent jokes about his suffering and laughed like hyenas on crack.


“…I quit…”


“I’m sorry, what was that? What did you say, you little cum guzzler?!”


“I QUIT! I QUIT, I QUIT, I QUIT!”


Joel’s broken body could finally relax even though he ached literally everywhere, even in places outside of his flesh suit.


“Wow…you really are pathetic, Joel. You really are the weakest bastard I’ve ever met. Let’s go, quitter!” Chainsaw Fist wrapped his intestinal necklace around Joel’s throat and dragged his exhaustively bloody body across the ashen cement. He was too destroyed to care. He had lived in Meat Grinder City for far too long. There were several moments during his homelessness where he could have quit. He wanted to believe there was still life left in him. But if there was, he’d put up at least a little bit of a struggle against his worst critic.


“You can’t quit mental illness, Mr. Upton,” said a throaty, yet gentle voice that belonged to a hairy demon with spikes all over his body. The room Joel found himself in was still covered in flames. But these were warm flames that glowed like an outdoor campfire. They hurt like hell. They burned down the last of his brain cells. But even in Meat Grinder City’s loneliest prison cell, Joel knew he could relax.


Then again, he had no choice since he was chained to a wooden table. He also had his head shaved and a metal helmet strapped to his naked scalp. The furry demon used his talon to jot down a few notes in his wizard’s spell book. “You probably don’t believe me right now, but this is the safest place you can be. The streets should be nobody’s home.”


Entering the prison cell were three porcelain mannequins, all of which had snakes growing out of their heads. One of them had muscles etched into his torso, another had the feminine features of a Greek goddess, and the third was a child no taller than an average human’s waist. The woman’s sweet voice struck a familiar chord with Joel. “Everything will be okay, honey. We still love you.”


Tears welled up in Joel’s already bloodshot and battered eyes. “Wendy? Is that you?” The face of the woman he fell in love with all those years ago formed behind her gorgon façade. And then the face of his daughter broke free from porcelain permanence. But who was this strange man who accompanied them?


Wendy held Joel’s hand while the snakes in her hair smiled at him. “You’ve been gone for so long ever since you had your breakdown. We never forgot about you. Yes, I have remarried, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore. I was so worried about you. Our daughter had nightmares.” The snakes wrapped around Joel for a hug. And then the daughter’s snakes wrapped around his legs. And the new husband’s snakes gave him the warmest grins.


“Wendy…I’m so sorry I didn’t seek help earlier. I didn’t want to quit what I poured my heart into for so long. I was so obsessed that it drove me insane…All I had to do was quit…”


“You don’t have to be strong anymore,” said Wendy with tears in her own eyes. “It’s okay to quit when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Nobody’s ashamed of you.”


“But what about those jerks on the street who laughed at me?” asked Joel through a stuffy nose.


“Fuck ‘em” said the new husband, which earned a round of laughter from everybody in the room.


Wendy and the daughter broke their embraces. The gorgon mother of his child said, “We’ll visit you for as long as we need to. If you need anything, we’re always a skip and a hop away.” She kissed her palm and waved goodbye, the daughter waving as well while the husband gave a thumbs up.


Joel’s tears accumulated as he watched his old family walk away, leaving the hair-covered demon doctor to do his duty. He pulled a snake fang out of his fur and attached it to a miniature spinning chainsaw. “You desperately need a vacation from your mind, Mr. Upton. And when you awaken, we can try some cognitive behavioral therapy. But for now…relax…and enjoy the darkness…”


Joel didn’t even try to fight the injection into his arm despite the fact that the needle resembled Chainsaw Fist’s favorite toy. Fire and poison flowed through his body, but they were just formalities to a much-needed vacation from a schizophrenic mind. He switched between Meat Grinder City and the psychiatric ward of the Seattle hospital while simultaneously drifting off into sleep. The furry monster became a friendly old man before morphing back into his nightmarish form. 


Back…and forth…back…and forth…the transformations resembled the motion of a baby in his mother’s arms…back…and forth…back…and forth…until darkness and snoring were all that remained of Meat Grinder City. Joel’s snoring did sound like a revving chainsaw, but that nasty ogre was nowhere to be found in such a black void of relaxation. No dreams. No hallucinations. Just hours of nothing. Getting lost in the nothing was a better vacation than Hawaiian beaches or Canadian architecture, both of which would have burst into flames anyways.

Tuesday, October 19, 2021

He Hates His Penis

He hates his penis and all that it stands for

He hates his tastes, wants to be a sad bore

If anybody knew what kind of shit he liked

He’d be locked in darkness without his rights


A broken lamp, but there’s no genie inside

No way to get rid of the parts he must hide

Take a razor blade and cut his dingus off

And the sack for which he turns and coughs


The thoughts don’t stop, he wants to drop

Before he gets his ass beat by the keystone cops

Throw the TV out of his window pane

Before a Huggies commercial drives him insane


No where to turn to, no one to talk to

Want to stab him to death? He won’t stop you

He never asked for his brain to be fucked up

Nobody would choose it, it’s just tough luck


Where does he go from his lowest point?

Does he just light up yet another joint?

Numbing his pain with drugs and food

He lived another day, stabilized his mood


He’s a monster without the claws and fangs

A warmonger without the guns and tanks

A devil without living in the hells below

That shit’s on earth, in case you didn’t know

Sunday, March 4, 2018

"Through the Shattered Glass" by Jeanie Clarke


BOOK TITLE: Through the Shattered Glass
AUTHOR: Jeanie Clarke (with Bradley Craig and Neil Cameron)
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Nonfiction
SUBGENRE: Wrestling Memoir
GRADE: Mixed

Whether you know her as a villainous valet in WCW and WCCW or the one who told Steve Austin to drink his tea before it got “stone cold”, you will get an even deeper look into Jeanie Clarke’s life in this hard-hitting memoir. Toxic marriages to wrestlers Chris Adams and Steve Austin, seventeen years of pill addiction, estrangement from her daughter Jade, and a miserable living situation have all taken their toll on this poor woman to where she contemplated suicide at one point. Going through a successful rehab in her home country of England along with telling her own story was exactly what Jeanie needed to exorcise her psychological demons.

As compelling as Jeanie Clarke’s story is, the way it was written didn’t give me the chance to feel her emotions and turmoil early on. Typos aside, the writing style felt a bit rushed, like I was bouncing from situation to situation without being allowed to settle in. I like a good fast-paced style, but not at the expense of sensory details and showing instead of telling. I realize this is a celebrity memoir, but a fast pace and descriptive writing don’t have to be mutually exclusive. Don’t believe me? Ask Chris Jericho.

The rushed writing style only lasted for the first half of the book. Meanwhile in the latter half, the stories Jeanie tells about drug addictions, being stalked, living with racist neighbors, and having a borderline abusive marriage with Steve Austin are easily the most terrifying her memoir has to offer. She took all of those pills as a way to cope with her stresses and it soon spiraled out of control. I know it’s easy to judge people who choose drugs as a way to get over their problems. But to borrow a phrase from Dr. Phil, “I don’t look at her and ask why is she doing this. I look at her and ask, why not.” You want to cheer for Jeanie to get better and have a solid foundation for her children. Spoiler alert: she’s been clean for years now. It’s safe to say she earned her ending, and then some.

If you want some insight as to how the wrestling business works, you’ll get plenty of that from this memoir. The exhausting travel schedule, the injuries, the constant pain, and being creatively stifled are just some of the problems wrestlers face on a day-to-day basis. Taking prescription pills is just one of the ways they cope with it all. This was happening long before WWE started their Wellness Policy in 2005 following the untimely death of Eddie Guerrero. If stricter drug testing had been implemented earlier, who knows how many lives could have been saved. It’s depressing to think about and you feel that depression near the end of the book when Jeanie almost dies of drug-induced shock.

While a mixed grade isn’t the most desirable one I could give, I don’t want it to turn you, my audience, away from this book. Jeanie’s story is one worth listening to despite the rushed writing style. Drug addiction isn’t just something that “weak” people go through. It’s a universal affliction with so many psychological triggers that it’s amazing anybody can be rehabilitated at all. If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, seek help before it’s too late. Jeanie Clarke found help and she’s a better woman for it.