By Tommy Vē. If you missed the first part of this story, click here to read it.
Then it happened again.
The soft voice came through telling me something. I clenched my eyes closed to focus:
“You’re ok, Thomas. And everything is going to be ok. Don’t be afraid. You’re ok.”
I hadn’t heard the voice so long. It came when I needed it most. A sense of calmness washed away the thoughts of death. The darkness I was plummeting deep into shifted to light. With my attention caught, I understood this experience was my body’s response to the choices I had made. I was in withdrawal and the voice became my guide. “What does your body need in order to get through this, Thomas?” I let it take the lead and a list of priorities came to mind effortlessly:
Get food – It doesn’t matter what, just get something in your body that can get you through this drive home.
Get Sleep – After you eat, go to the closest rest area and sleep. You must be awake for the hour and thirty minutes to get home safely.
Go to the hospital – You over did it. This withdrawal is not to be messed with on your own. Get professional help and get yourself back in good health.
After a buffet of Burger King and 30 minutes of half-sleep at a thruway rest stop, I called my roommate to tell him what was happening. I then went to the hospital closest to my home. The withdrawal symptoms were beating me down to a pulp and the only thing I could do was ask for help.
I checked in at the hospital and found a seat. “Now what?” I asked of the voice. “What do I do next?” I realized I had been asking these questions out loud when I noticed people staring at me, so I went to the bathroom. Shivering and restless, paranoia coming through, I splashed water on my face. I returned to the waiting room, choosing a seat behind a half wall to mask my hysteria.
“What do I do now? I want to get better. I want to be whole again. I want to be happy. Tell me what to do, please.” I reached into my pocket for my phone, opened the notepad app and began vigorously writing.
My affinity for writing has been the only thing to ever consistently bring me peace. I’d convey my feelings in this manner so they could be somewhere outside myself. It always ended up being poetry too. I’d structure my writing as if they were songs with verses, choruses, hooks, and bridges. I wasn’t formally trained in music, but I’ve always adored the way my favorite musicians communicated feelings through lyrics. The half wall I was hiding behind became my own little sanctuary. My words began to flow with ease:
Why can’t I see you’re no good for me?
You don’t need to be the air I breathe
Why can’t I be completely incomplete?
Finally, won’t you let me be free?
I wanna be free from your reign over me
I wanna be free, shed the skin I don’t need
I wanna be free even if I can’t leave
I wanna be free from what you do to me.
It was a desperate cry for help. I had nothing left and nothing more to live for other than the love inside me. I sat there, scared and alone, and realized what was happening. I was embodying MY inner voice. I couldn’t hear it because I was living it. It was me all along. Even as I waited in the examination room, I continued to write. I lived out what might’ve been the most miraculous moment I’ve ever experienced, or so I thought.
After being evaluated and treated by several doctors, I went home to curl up in bed and reconfigure my life. It was the most peaceful night’s sleep I’ve ever had. I rose from a twelve-hour slumber feeling refreshed, but still lethargic. I was exhausted from what my body had endured. There was so much that needed to change. It was time to quit my jobs. It was time to move out of this dump. It was time recreate my goals. It was time to take back my life and also time for food.
My roommate and I ventured out because “the new me” still loved Mexican food. I needed all the love a quesadilla had to offer, with a side of nachos, guacamole, and whatever dessert available. It was literally, figuratively, and spiritually calling my name. I expressed my disgust for the shape our house was in and demanded we go somewhere clean to eat.
When we got our food, my roommate said a friend could host. I knew how he operated and “host” could be an anonymous trick or a best friend. He said we were going to see a cute boy he met at a summer party. We made our way to the guy’s house and my impatience transitioned to frustration. I wanted to eat the food I was carrying NOW. My roommate knocked at the front door. My jaw dropped when the door opened. It was Sam!
We said hello, but we knew we had met before. Time completely stopped. What kind of sick fucking joke was this? Was it planned? Was I supposed to be here?
I B-lined to the dining room table and got down to business with my food. They packed a bowl to smoke some weed, but I wasn’t interested. I needed clarity because something was happening again. Something placed me here, at Sam’s house. They engaged in conversation while I appeared to be having the most beautiful love affair with my Mexican dinner. I only wanted to be there for the clean space to enjoy my food. I didn’t care to join them and they didn’t mind. Just me, my food, and a glaringly obvious sign from the universe who was sitting opposite me at the dining room table.
This was the second half of Tommy Vē’s I Saw the Sign – The Intervention. Click here to read part 1.
Tommy Vē is a Buffalo-based pop singer/songwriter whose EP “My Lucid Nightmare” can be found on all major music streaming platforms today. Watch for his new single coming later this month and catch him on June 1st performing for Buffalo Pride Week’s EXIST, an Allentown First Friday Artwalk experience.
 is a personal story by Tommy Vē of hitting rock bottom and losing himself in drugs and sex, until he begins to listen to his inner voice that guides him to quit drugs, and change his life once and for all.){kind=link}