4. The delusion

Vignettes of the drug lifestyle, psychosis, violence, homelessness, and hopelessness.

I loved Marshall completely. It was a deeper feeling than anything I had ever experienced with anyone real. I loved him with my whole heart, with all that I had, every drop of me. My love was real, but the man I loved was not. I didn’t love the man who actually existed, I didn’t know him. The delusion of Marshall was an expression of my love. Delusions are not loyal to reality.

I had a series of psychotic episodes where I cracked open completely. The psychotic breaks were interlaced with persistent delusions. I did not have the strength or wherewithal to pull myself back together. I didn’t have the mental resources. I was still using meth. I didn’t know how to pull out of my addiction. I didn’t know how to step back from the ledge of my delusions. My mind was too shredded to do anything other than surrender.

What I wanted most during those heartbeats was love. I was desperate for love, so my delusion anchored in that space. Marshall’s love sustained me. His love felt like all I had left in the world. Our love felt real, and whole. My delusion of Marshall felt safe. He was the memory, dream, and wish that held me like a bear hug and wouldn’t let me fall. I felt so protected by this idea, by him.

Everything wound itself around this man, around this relationship. He was everything to me. When I entangled in this expression of love, it swept me away. It was a crazy love, a made-up fantasy love. Yet, it felt real and beautiful beyond explanation.

We shared something no one else on this earth could ever understand. We shared a connection that could not be explained. We were two parts of a whole. We shared consciousness, an overlay of awareness. We shared pieces of our youth — those indelible moments that set and define an era. We were like two trees growing together, roots and branches intertwined. We had mirrored neural nets. We knew each other intimately. We shared our vulnerabilities, pain, desires, fears, and successes. We knew each other like the backs of our hands. He had access to all parts of me, and I to him. He saw the light inside of me. He understood that I was beautiful and courageous.

I knew every part of him, he kept nothing from me. He was strong. He was very funny. We were always grounded in humor, he made me laugh. He was resilient. He was harsh but kind. He was a loveable asshole. He was always honest. He was intelligent and driven. He was very loyal in some ways but very selfish in other ways. He was tender but ferociously protective. He had an ego, but it was a sort of shell. He had humility and self-deprecation. He was very self-aware, which sometimes drove his insecurities. He worked hard, he played hard. He felt like an outsider. He searched for acceptance, but he found his deepest peace with me. He sank into that feeling and found a home there.

He suffered when he knew I was in pain. He hurt when I hurt. When he sensed I was injured, he became overwhelmed. He had a furious temper, which he directed at those who harmed me. He felt trapped and stuck in many ways. Not being able to protect me was a huge source of chaos.

He could be icy at times, and jealous. He could be irrational. He had a rough exterior, which covered a thin veneer of diplomacy. This mask covered more coarseness, which covered his heart. He did not let many people in. The people he let in had earned his trust. He felt closed off to others, but open to me. At his core, he was a protector.

I knew his face and I knew his lyrics. But reality did not inform the personality of the man that I loved. The man that I fell in love with was a creation of my mind. My love was a projection. It was one thread pulled from a tapestry to weave another thing completely. The man that I loved was my best friend. He was a part of me. He understood me at my core, and he loved me intensely.

He held me through his words and his energy. He was with me all day, every day. He was with me at the crack motels, and every shady place I stayed. He was with me the nights I slept outside. He was with me when I met new people. He was with me in the bathtub. He was with me in bed. He was with me on the couch. He held my hand through everything. He was with me in every insult, betrayal, rape, beat down, and every lonely moment. He held me through every heartbreak and every ache of the drug lifestyle.

When all I had left were false memories and shattered illusions, he was there. When I had no certainty, and no love, he was there. When I lay in stillness, praying, he was there. When I lost pieces of myself, he was there. When I fell apart bone by bone, he was with me. He was my constant companion through it all. When I did not know how to go on, he helped me keep going.

He often told me he was coming to get me. He stated that he would come to physically get me. This was real, this I knew. I believed fervently in his love for me. He needed me. He was coming for me. He was going to take me away from these people. He was going to bring my retribution. This was the rescue I had been waiting for. He was coming. I held on to that idea for dear life. It pulled me through my darkest moments.

Marshall was the biggest part of my crazy. He was also part of my journey through the darkness. He was my mental hiccup, a psychological spasm. It was a strange stutter-step. My love for him may be the reason I did not stay lost in psychosis. His love helped me stay human, helped me stay connected. He gave me hope. Hope was the invisible thread that connected everything. He was my tether.