I remember the days when this particular day, April 27th, was spent in bed until about 4 or 5pm with a massive hangover. Wishing for someone, anyone just to bring some water. Looking for the cat that took a cr*p in my mouth. Swearing up and down that I will never drink or smoke again. Wondering who is operating the jackhammer inside my head.
Man am I glad those days are gone. Here it is, April 27th, and I feel better than ever. I'm getting older AND better. And to think I figured I'd be dead by now. Not kidding. The path of destruction was, to me, a fun and glorious path. It was a path that was more so one that was, in reality, running from responsibility and accountability. But I justified it by some stupid high reasoning like, I'm cool and everyone else is wrong. Or whatever I had done was not my fault. Everyone else is wrong because I'm too cool to be wrong. Does this sound familiar? Do you feel this way or know someone who does?
Then the ultimate day in my life came-May 27th, 2001. I woke up in an unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar person and did not recognize myself. At that moment I had an epiphany, a moment of clarity, whatever you call it.
I was the problem. I was the wrong one. I was the a**hole.
This did not sit well...
to be continued