Chapter 5
JASON
Digging in deep, that was what therapy was supposed to be for me. I was told I had serious control issues. I couldn’t dispute the claim. I needed to get to the root of why I was doing all these self-destructive things. I wasn’t skydiving out of airplanes, bungee cord jumping or playing Russian roulette. I was doing drugs. I had been speed-balling off and on for a few years. I could admit to that much.
I’d grown quite fond of heroin but I wasn’t averse to coke, pills, and booze. I know I shouldn’t joke about it. But I didn’t and don’t think I have a problem. This line of thought always seemed to get me into trouble because admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. It took me a long time to want to actually recover. Drugs freed my mind of all my problems, my thoughts, my nightmares, and all my massive responsibilities.
I’m not normally a liar. But I lied and said I have a drug problem to appease the people around me. Or was I now lying to myself? I wasn’t going to reject this rehabilitation process. I was going to make an effort to embrace it as best I could. I was here dealing with it and myself. This was apart of the recovery. I wasn’t a coward. I faced things head-on and this would be no different. I was a winner in everything I did and I could win at this as well.
My days were structured. Fiona made breakfast. Eating healthy and regularly was in my strict routine. This morning I wolfed down the tasty meal and I still had time to work on the song I started a few days ago. There was something about this lazy town that fostered my creativity.
I was down the stairs in enough time to walk into David’s office for my daily eight o’clock talk until your mouth was dry session. The Doc was sitting in his chair looking the same as the day before. His brown hair was pushed back from his thin face. He never shaved or hadn’t since I moved in. His brown beard had a few specks of gray throughout. He was wearing a brown sweater with patched elbows, tan trousers, and old ragged trainers, he called them gym shoes. The shoes were a brand I’d never heard of but seemed to be his favorite pair.
I sat in the huge leather chair across from Dr. David. He had extensive education in all the addiction stuff. He wanted to be called David instead of doctor and I was obliged to do so. He had this way of making me feel like a huge disappointment. I didn’t think he did it on purpose. Was this the way of all trained psychiatrists? This was my first time with a head shrinker. I probably should’ve seen one at the ripe age of ten but that never happened. Now I was here trying to desperately sort out my depressing life.
“How’d you sleep?” He always asked this.
“Like an infant baby on his mum’s jubblies.”
“On a scale of one through ten, how are you feeling today?”
“I’d go with a proper eight.”
“Why an eight?”
“I don’t know. I feel all right. I’m inspired to write without the burden of feeling like I have to do it. I’m not in contact with my mates so I don’t have that added pressure. I’m well-rested. I’m eating meals regularly. I’m not shagging so that’s rather frustrating for my willy. Therefore the number is an eight.”
“Is having sexual relations that important to you?”
“Yes, no, I don’t know.” I leaned to the side.
“But it’s worth two points on your happiness scale?”
“No, not two points, one point.” I corrected.
“And the other point?”
“I don’t know. It seems you need that spare in order to stay humble.”
“Do you think of yourself as humble?”
I had to think before I answered this one. “I come from humble beginnings. I haven’t forgotten. It wasn’t that long ago.”
“True, but you’ve been famous and living your life out in the public for some time now. Can you even really remember your humble beginnings?”
“Yes, I can. The beginning was some of the happiest times in my life. I felt full.”
“What do you feel now?”
“Empty, like an empty cup that’s constantly having heaps of water poured into it. But the trick is the cup has a hole in the bottom so it never gets full. It just stays empty but wet around the edges.”
“Have you ever thought that you are the one that is removing the bottom of the cup? You made the hole.”
“It doesn’t feel like it. I mean seriously. Why would I bloody do that?”
“I don’t know. Could it be self-sabotage?”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“Well, why do you think you feel this way? Empty?”
“Probably because bad shit keeps happening to me, all around me. For fuck’s sake, it’s like I’m cursed and blessed all in the same life.”
“Do you really think you’re cursed?”
I had to think about it. “Well, is there another word for it. I have no family, no friends outside of my career.”
“You have a family.”
“Not really, I only have my aunt.”
“You have your band. Your family doesn’t necessarily have to be people that you are blood-related to.”
“Rubbish! They will turn on me just as soon as I ruin everything. If I went solo they wouldn’t be happy for me. They wouldn’t stay my mates. They would think I abandoned them.”
“I don’t think you really believe that.”
“It’s true. When a band breaks up everyone stops talking to each other.”
“Do you want
