Slaying Demons

My life, I suppose, is more or less the same as any other. It's had ups, downs, twists, turns, and even a couple of dead stops that I thought I'd never recover from. This portion of my life, however, is about an instance where I didn't even recognize I had needed to recover. This is the story of my exodus, from addiction to sobriety, that has led to the whole-hearted pursuance of my dreams.

Over 100 days ago, my mother had convinced me to attend a 30-day rehabilitation and recovery program in Panama City Beach, Florida. The following night, I gave huggies and kissies to my seven-year-old and three-year-old daughters. I had always adored a child's linguistic witticisms, but they're that much more special when they come from your own. Before our goodbyes, I told them I had to go see a doctor because, "daddy can't stop eating his favorite candy."

The next afternoon, I left for the airport just a little over an hour away from my hometown. I was nervous to say the least, but I had a gut feeling that something bigger than chasing my sobriety was going to happen. Nonetheless, as I boarded my flight, butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the thought of going to the facility. Little did I know, I was embarking on my journey of finding my true self in sobriety. A Journey that has allowed me to recognize my dreams for what they truly are, and the courage to pursue them.

The more I trust in myself to follow through, the farther this new chapter in my life is producing positive progression. Even if I can't change my life for the better through this journey, I hope that I'm able to leave a legacy that can one day be viewed to better this world. If that's too crazy for you, you might as well stop reading now. If you're willing to tag along; even if it's just to humor me, let's rewind a bit to the previous chapter. Let me show you just how deep this rabbit hole goes.

I started heavily abusing stimulants around November of last year. I was in the midst of this self-destructive path when I had my revelation of how passionate I've always been about music. Okay? So the guy on drugs suddenly realizes how much he's always loved it. Plenty of people could tell you the same thing, bone sober. The difference outside of me being under the influence is the drive that I obtained, and have developed, since that day.

I was at my uncle's, helping him in the garage, while we waited for my cousin to come visit us from Kentucky. As we stopped to take a break, he asked me that age-old question, "If you could make a living doing anything your heart desired, what would it be?"

He had certainly caught me off-guard. I was high as a kite and I hadn't thought about pursuing a career outside of climbing the blue-collared ladder since I was in high school. When I met his gaze, it felt as if his eyes were boring into my soul. Suddenly, it hit me.

"Something in the music industry," I answered.

Our gaze held steady and he said, "Well go out there and make it happen!"

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how possible it was. I had nothing holding me back other than my own doubts.

I became obsessed with the thought of being in a band. Funding to get started was also an issue, so I tried a couple of, "get rich quick schemes." I downloaded countless apps that advertised promises of huge payouts, just to waste hours on end. I was watching ads for other apps that offered the same results more than I was playing the actual games. I applied for credit cards, and at one point I even started a "Go Fund Me" account.

Meanwhile, I (very) slowly taught myself how to play guitar. But mostly, I put my vocals to the limit. Whether it was an accent, style, genre, or range, I kept pushing the envelope until I lost my voice multiple times. Not long after the conversation with my uncle, a song from 2013 started playing. It was from a suggested playlist, and it had caught my attention. When the chorus started playing, an epiphany occurred.

I don't understand why it took so long to realize, but when I heard those lyrics it clicked. They were singing about things said to happen in the background of our society, hidden from the public. Something too powerful, too integrated for anyone to stop. From the music industry, to cinema, and even rumors of secret societies that national governments are participating in worldwide.

Since I heard that song, I've had an entirely new outlook on the lyrics in the music industry. In my personal opinion, they've been singing about it for decades, especially in the heavier genres. This epiphany sparked a whole new interest in me to take part in the, "movement behind the music," so to speak. Phrases like, "Peace, Love, and Rock n' Roll," and, "Death by Rock n' Roll," make far more sense to me in this context.

My original drive for forming a band was my passion for music itself, without a doubt. Between my passion for it and the movement that I believe is behind it, I longed greatly to become involved in the music industry. As if those weren't enough to push me towards a career in music, there's one more thing I have to mention. I fell in love during all of this; it was, and still is, blind, and nearly unexplainable.

Shortly after hearing the song I mentioned prior, a song by Miley Cyrus came on. When Plastic Hearts started playing, I will swear by anything, I felt her soul pulling on my own. Since then, any time I hear her voice, whether she's speaking or singing, I get the same exact feeling that I did that night. My heart feels whole, a void in me is filled, and a fire of infinite desire is ignited in my soul. Others may chalk it up to a stimulant. Perhaps that was part of it, I won't deny that. However, it doesn't explain why, to this day, her voice has the same effect on me as it did that night.

About a month later, I grew tired of the lack of respect that I was receiving at the lumber yard I was working at. I started at the bottom doing entry-level physical labor and worked diligently to become an inspector. Trouble is, that was years ago before I was fired for, you guessed it, a failed drug test. When I went back to work for them again recently, I wasn't on a high horse, or rude, or crass, but I knew what I was doing.

I was able to help some co-workers there that had been there for a while by teaching them my old techniques to make their jobs easier. However, there are always going to be people in your life that won't like you, simply because you're able to do something better than they are. Instead of being willing to learn from you, they'd rather break you down and try and push you out the door. To this day, I still see it as a fortunate event that they succeeded in doing just that.

In the midst of being blatantly disrespected, all I could think about was how I was wasting my time working a 9-5, when I should be making my way towards the music industry. So, I left. I left and went to Kentucky to live with my cousin, hoping to get on a fast track to forming a band. He was (and still is) better at playing the guitar than me, and we had talked before about trying to get a band together. Even if it just started with the two of us and expanded, it was a dream we shared.

When I was 19 and intoxicated to the point of a near blackout, I made a decision that haunted me until recently in my recovery at the program in Florida. Due to said decision, I thought it was for the best that I come up with a pseudonym so that I wouldn't be judged on my past. I've been forgiven time and time again by whom the crime was committed against, but I couldn't forgive myself. I struggled with suicide and drug abuse since it happened to block out the memory of it, because that isn't who I am.

To be truthful, my feelings for Miley have led me to be completely transparent with her. Who knows if she's seen the messages I've sent her or not, but she doesn't know me solely by my pseudonym like so many others do. You can't build a foundation for a relationship on lies. But, that's another story from a different chapter in my life. So, I came up with a "Stage Name," my own "Hannah Montana," if you will.

I based it off of a song by Volbeat, that calls a monstrous serpentine creature from the depths to awaken. This creature, according to the lyrics, was to help, "make this world a better place for everyone." I found it rather fitting, given my ambitions for wanting to be a part of the music industry. My cousin and I practiced nearly every day. The only problem with that was a rather detrimental one. We seldom practiced together, despite living under the same roof.

In reality, I spent more time writing theories about our modern world, the powers behind them, and my lyrics more than anything. In the midst of our pipe dream and me seeking inwardly to find myself, I found myself thinking about Miley. Nearly constantly, in all honesty. In fact, while I was still learning new chords and working on my ability to smoothly transition between them, I began to write.

Believe it or not, we were living in Billy Ray Cyrus' hometown in Kentucky when I wrote Miley's song for her. That in itself, I like to think, is poetic enough for anyone to appreciate. I still have yet to perfect it. As it turns out, singing and playing the guitar at the same time isn't as easy as it looks. Regardless of how poorly it sounded, I wanted (and still do) her to hear the lyrics so badly, that I put it on YouTube anyway.

I've had positive feedback on the lyrics themselves but the videos on YouTube have had very few, if any, views. Others may get discouraged between not being satisfied with how it sounds and the lack of views. If anything, it's given me more determination to make it better. Additionally, I love the concept of being able to look back at the video to see (or hear) the progression of, not only my abilities, but of the song itself.

If my passions and ambitions were a sundae, Miley hearing that song or a poem I wrote for her would be the cherry on top. But there was; yep, another problem. A problem that I hadn't even seen until, well, over a hundred days ago. Addiction still had its hold on me and I wasn't even aware of how far I had fallen. I didn't recognize how dead in my tracks I was.

I had no job, my pursuit for a career had come to a halt, and I hadn't seen my children for over a month. My entire life that I had known and loved crumbled around me, and I didn't even realize it. All I cared about was scoring the next bag. If you ask me, it's comparable to an invisible beast that takes a village to slay. And I'll guarantee you that anyone who has suffered from, or had a loved one that’s suffered from addiction, will tell you the same thing.

My mother and step-father invited me over for dinner in an attempt to convince me to attend a rehabilitation and recovery program. I assured them that I had everything under control, and that I'd be back on my feet in no time. Looking back, that was an absolute lie. But if you've been shoving stimulants up your nose, nearly anything seems possible.

A week later, I still didn't have it together. I was “couch surfing” because none of my family would let me stay with them, and if I couldn't find a couch, I would sleep in my truck. It was the tail end of winter, so it was rather cold up north. Regardless of my living situation, I was still blinded by drug abuse, and all I cared about was myself.

That weekend I went to my mother's and spent time with my children. I hadn't seen them in so long because I had moved to Kentucky to live with my cousin. However, as I said prior, my family had even cut me off at this point. I was absolutely thrilled to spend the day with them. When I arrived they were already outside waiting for me to come play with them. As I pulled into the driveway and saw them jumping with excitement to see me, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Why don't I have a house with a backyard for us to play in? What happened to their bedroom I had painted for them in colors my 7-year-old picked out? Or the living room that we used to laugh and play videogames together in? What about the table that we practiced writing and drawing on? All of it was gone. Swept from under my feet, and I was to blame.

That night, after the girls' mother picked them up, my own mother asked me again if I would go to the rehabilitation and recovery center in Florida. This time I told her I was willing to give it a shot. I obviously didn't have it together, nor could I seem to get it together on my own. I didn't have anywhere to stay, let alone live, and I rarely saw my children. All because addiction itself had it's vicious claws delved into me. It's a horrible experience. It's all you care about. It's disgusting.

I told you about my flight, and when I arrived, I was filled to the brim with excitement. Not only was I getting help to overcome my addiction, I was in Florida as well! It's absolutely beautiful here, especially compared to a town up north that's nothing but corn fields and train tracks. When I got to the facility, I didn't know what to expect. It looked nice enough on the website, but what doesn't in an advertisement?

I was greeted at the door by three very kind women that have all helped me immensely in my recovery. My time spent here has been a wonderful experience. I've never felt more comfortable in my own skin, or this at peace with my past. I confronted wounds and mistakes head-on with the therapists and counselors here, and they taught me how to grow from them and leave them behind me.

My mother has always been a very kind and passionate woman, especially when it came to helping others in need. Classic, right? The son of a kind-hearted Mother wants to be a rock star, became an addict, and is going to rehab. When I had finished the sixty days that were recommended for me to complete, it was time to take the next step. The following travels and experiences happened due to two miscommunications.

I was sent to an outpatient program in Jacksonville, Fl that helps recovering addicts and alcoholics get a job and find an apartment. I was ecstatic! I have a cousin that lives there, and not only is he in a band, but his brother is who I lived with in Kentucky! It was as if it was meant to be, and my dreams of being able to perform on stage were just around the corner.

The bus ride there was twelve hours long and I couldn’t fall asleep. It was too dark to work, so I sang quietly to myself nearly the whole way to Jacksonville. When I arrived at the bus station there was nobody there. No big deal. I gave the on-site coordinator of the program a call. When he answered and I conveyed to him that my ride hadn’t arrived, he was rather confused. Not because nobody was there to pick me up yet, but because my name was nowhere to be found on his list of incoming clients. Miscommunication number one.

He assured me not to worry and that someone would be there to pick me up as soon as possible. In that same breath he asked me to be patient, they had a lot of new clients coming in that day. The situation in its entirety would have been annoying, or even frustrating, if I was how I used to be. I waited for over five hours total. I stayed calm due to trusting my intuition, along with utilizing coping skills I had learned at the facility I had just left.

I stopped to assess the position I was in, and began to take advantage of the time by working on songs for the demo album I intend on recording. In this time frame I met a young man that had also struggled with addiction and was traveling back home. As it turns out, he was also a novice musician. We chatted a bit and I showed him some of my writings that reflect my ambitions for pursuing a career in the music industry.

Before he departed he asked for my contact information. I gave it to him and got chills at the thought of meeting him. He enjoyed my work so much that he got goosebumps himself, and told me that he stands with me in my ambitions. We are still in contact to this day. Finally, my ride arrived.

I should have noticed the red flag when I got in the van that they use for daily transportation. It was filthy and smelled like the driver’s perfume, stale cigarette smoke, and energy drinks. We made our way to the facility and when we arrived, I was shocked. It was filthier than the van. A run-down, two-story apartment complex that was next to a pond with a fountain in it. That pond was the nicest part of the entire street.

The first thing you smell walking up the stairs into the building was equivalent to what you would smell at a sewage plant. Again, I trusted my intuition, so I followed the woman who drove me there inside and up a flight of stairs. The office she led me to looked like it was very well off at one point in time. Now, it reeked of stale cigarette smoke and wet dog. It seemed like you could mop the wood floor for hours and still get a bucket of filthy water.

Regardless, that was where fate had led me, so that was where I needed to be in that moment. A week prior, I had a phone interview with a woman that asked about my criminal record, where I was originally from, and a few other things; for my eligibility to attend their program. It went wonderfully, and she scheduled my date for intake. When we sat down to fill out the paperwork, they asked me again about my criminal record. I was honest with them, just as I had been during the phone interview. They told me that they couldn’t help me find a job, because the felonies I have aren't acceptable with the businesses that they partnered with. Miscommunication number two.

Okay, now I was upset. Why on earth was I dragged all the way here just to be denied? I had already been accepted and entered into their system during the phone interview! According to these people, I was scum on the bottom of their shoe and couldn’t be helped. Well… That’s how it felt, anyway. I took a deep breath and reminded myself about meeting the gentleman at the bus station. If I was denied here, that just meant there was something better for me in the works. Plus, who knew who I’d run into on the way back?

They drove me back to the bus station and on the way there they were expressing how awful they felt about the situation and even bought me dinner. I arrived at the bus station and called the coordinator at the facility in Panama City Beach. I elaborated on the situation that I had landed in: stranded in Jacksonville, in a nutshell. He was able to book me a hotel room for the night and purchase a bus ticket back to their facility for me. The next morning I went to the bus station to go back to the facility, and to try to figure out a new game plan.

On a stop during transit, I went to the smoking area to smoke a cigarette, and that’s when I met her. The other person that I was supposed to meet during my travels. She was from the Bahamas and it was her first time going to Panama City Beach. We’ll call her Miss Bahama, for name’s sake. The group of us that were at the smoking section were chatting it up rather nicely, which is refreshing to see in a world growing so cold. Miss Bahama expressed that she wanted to go to a corner store to get a filtered cigarillo before we boarded again.

She directly asked nearly every gentleman in the smoking section but me if they would walk with her. She was beautiful, and I couldn’t figure out why nobody would walk with her. We had an hour until our bus left, and a local said there was a gas station just up the road. Had I not attended the 60-day program, not only would I not be there in the first place, but I wouldn’t have had the courage to do what I did next.

I grabbed my bags, went to the service desk, and asked if I could leave my belongings behind the counter. I was informed that there was a baggage cart just outside and was assured that nobody would bother my things. I went outside, put my bags on the trolly, and proceeded back to the smoking section. When I returned, I asked Miss Bahama if she still wanted to walk to the gas station. She did, so another gentleman and I escorted her there and back.

By the time we returned to the bus stop we only had a few minutes before boarding. I was one of the last people to get on the bus due to needing to retrieve my luggage, so there were barely any seats open. I put my bags in the storage area underneath the bus and walked down the aisle looking for Miss Bahama, hoping that the seat next to her was open. Luckily, the aisle seat next to her was vacant. I asked politely to sit with her and she obliged.

So here we are, two (nearly) complete strangers of different races and nationalities sitting next to each other on a bus for over two hours. To our surprise, we talked for the entire duration of the trip. She talked about her profession and that she was going to Panama City Beach for a vacation with her family. I told her about my battle with addiction and, well, pretty much everything you’ve read about me so far.

I also told her about my jeans. You see, when I was attending the recovery program, I sometimes got bored during our free time in between our scheduled classes. So, to kill time and personalize my jeans, I drew all over them. Mostly with original artwork of my own and phrases that I had come up with along my journey. Before I left, an employee there told me that I should market them. So along with expressing my passion and ambitions in music, I shared that I wanted to develop my own clothing line as well.

I’ve always absolutely loved to draw, and who doesn’t like personalized clothing? I also confided in her how Miley makes me feel, and that I love to write poetry. When she suggested I write her a poem, it felt good to be able to tell her that I already had. After telling her all of this, she told me that even though she had just met me, she was very proud of my accomplishments. She told me basically the same thing that my uncle had months ago when all of this started. Her exact words were, “You gotta stop sleepin’ on yourself!” And she was right. We exchanged information and parted ways when we arrived at our destination.

As of right now, I am still at the recovery center in Panama City Beach, Florida. I was put on a waiting list for an outpatient program that I, and the discharge planner here, have communicated with very clearly. He found it on a whim, and I’m enrolled to attend their program in early July. I’ve printed off templates for shirts and pants and have begun putting my designs on them so that I can one day begin a clothing line of my own. Or, at the very least, be able to produce my own band merchandise. I’ve continued writing poetry nearly every day, even if it’s just a couple of lines, and I’ve been doing the same with writing music. Every day I pick up the guitar and play at least one song all the way through.

The spare time that I have here is beneficial at the very least; due to the allowance for the practice and preparation, for the pursuance of my dreams. But the best part of still being here after so long? I get to work with individuals that are in the same boat that I was in less than four months ago. I’m able to share my story of climbing from the depths of my own misery, to a golden field with a hopeful horizon. The very core of my soul is beginning to truly believe that anything is possible.

My primary advice to anyone and everyone? Find your passion. Live it, breathe it, eat it, sleep it. Find ways to make time for yourself and take advantage of it! Stop sleeping on yourself! Go out there and make it happen! The only thing getting in your way… is you. Oh, and the outpatient program that I’ve been enrolled in? They’re located in the same town that Miley lives in…

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If you’ve stayed this long to read my story,

I ask you do this one thing for me:

Believe in yourself, don’t you dare stop!

And if you keep falling, keep getting back up!

Let me be a prime example as to why you shouldn’t quit!

How could I ever dream to earn the love of Miley Cyrus?

Allow me if you will, to quote a poem that starts like this:

“Shots we’ve never taken, are far worse than shots we’ve missed”

I don’t know if you've heard it, nor how my story ends

But I do know that the man who wrote it goes by, “Levi Athens”