By Tommy Vē
I SAW THE SIGN :: Another ordinary night at work; I started my opening bartending shift by messaging people to come in during the initial quiet. A group of university friends stopped in, and one of them brought along someone new.
He was a dashing young man, but he seemed generally disinterested and my friends weren’t including him in their conversation. I decided to engage him with introductory pleasantries because I really wanted to put a name to his beautiful face.
Sam* didn’t like the bar scene, I learned, but his mood shifted from “get me the fuck out of here” to “this isn’t so bad” when I suggested we smoke some weed before it became busy. His sweet and genuine laugh in agreement to join me was rudely cut off when the friend he came with called him away.
As the bar filled up, the mindlessness of slinging drinks to a steady crowd took over my thoughts – until Sam reappeared, waving me down. He said he was going to leave so I reached to shake his hand. Instead of a handshake, he held my hand with both of his, saying how much he enjoyed our conversation. As he did this an overwhelming sensation came over me. Something I had never experienced in my life. A voice that spoke a simple thought:
“He’s going to be in your life someday.”
It sounded like my voice, but sweeter and far more nurturing than I’ve ever been towards myself. Sam let go of my hand leaving a large nugget of marijuana in my grip. I was grateful for his generosity, but confused about where that voice came from. How did it know this person would get involved with me?
This was the first of many soon-to-follow experiences of what I call simply “a sign from the universe.” I just wasn’t aware of it yet.
Some months passed and another weekend began at the bar with the completion of my opening duties. A group of six walked through the front door. I was on a first-name basis with three of them and the rest were faces of frequent customers I recognized from a distance. We bonded over shots and talking music, and I managed to learn everyone else’s name.
Eventually the group decided to move down the street until the bar grew busier. Saying goodbye, I embraced each person and felt a sense of gratitude for having such a good time. One of the group, Adam, didn’t make an initial impression but when we hugged – BAM! That voice, that little serene sound saying the same damn thing again:
“He’s going to be in your life someday.”
We lingered a moment until we let go and our eyes locked. Did he feel that? Did he hear it? Was I making this up? The same voice and message about another person? I was confused by my own awareness of what was going on. Clearly, I needed to pay attention, but to what?
At that time in my life I didn’t trust my judgment or my senses, so those moments were quickly buried under the wreckage from years of habitual anger and distaste for life. Goals I had set for myself were not my own, they belonged to my family, yet I pursued them, seeking validation as an adult.
In fact despised almost every facet of my existence. I despised working multiple jobs. I had little passion for what I was studying at university. The house I was living in had been a construction zone for three quarters of the time I inhabited it. Romantic relationships? No one would date a gay bartender.
Along the way I turned to pills, and crystal meth. And I was ashamed of everything about me. I wouldn’t even go home to visit family because I anticipated their negative judgments and couldn’t bear being on the receiving end. They saw me slowly spiralling down, when I couldn’t see it for myself. I was numb to everything.
One day, with all this anguish bottled up inside, I hit a breaking point and contacted my dealer for a PNP session. I went over to his place and he hooked me up with an unnecessary amount of meth in exchange for using my body at his disposal. I didn’t care about anything in that moment. I felt useless and alone and I needed to escape from the misery that had swallowed me.
I loaded up a few syringes and slammed them over the course of two days. No eating, no sleeping, just non-stop fucking until I’d had enough. I didn’t want to stop, but I knew I had completely overdone it. My dealer didn’t want to let me go home because I was clearly unfit to drive. I probably should have listened because I was tweaking out. I swore I could hear someone in the closet and I thought they both were going to tie me up and rape me. I had to leave immediately so I gathered bottles of water, along with my belongings, and left.
As I sat in my car ready to drive home, thoughts of death pervaded my mind. Every part of my body was expressing its disdain for continuing to live. Hysterically crying and hyperventilating, the pain had complete control of me. I couldn’t even drink water without spilling it all over myself.
“What have I done? I have no purpose. I fucked up. I’m a waste of space. End it now. I’m done.”
This is the first half of Tommy Vē’s I Saw the Sign – The Intervention. Look for the conclusion next week. * Names in this story have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
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 singer-songwriter 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}