I borrowed a shotgun from one of my friends in the complex. I showed it off, and, let people know that I wasn't messing around. When I jokingly mentioned that I was thinking about killing myself with the weapon (which I had no intention of doing), it was quickly taken back by the owner. I knew who was taking my business, because, they had been friends of mine in high school, and, we all hung out regularly. One night, I decided to confront them directly. Back in those days, I didn't own a car, so, I used taxi cabs to get where I needed to go. Before going to my friend's house to confront them, I grabbed a few knives, and, some metal studded articles of clothing. In my mind, I was going to threaten them to knock off what they were doing, even if I had to do it with a weapon.

When I arrived at my friends house (actually, it was his girlfriends mom's house where they did all their business. Her mom was involved in politics, and, was rarely at home, so, the place had become business central for those who supplied the meth from the cookers), there were numerous people hanging out. Some were merely the ones who transported large quantities of the drug from the cookers, others were friends of mine who sold it wholesale, and, there were a few drug groupies there also. I let them know that in no uncertain terms I would do what it took to keep my business, and, that, they needed to stop hanging around my apartment and diverting my customers. I was met with a chilly reception, and, when I decided to leave, I told them I was taking a cab home. I was told "good luck," by the person who did the actually selling, and, when he said, "good luck," it sounded like he said, "good luck getting home, you're not going to make it." I was also informed that the some cab drivers were employed by the police for undercover work. I decided to walk the five miles to my apartment at that point.

About a week prior to this, I had, told a person who I knew couldn't keep his mouth shut that I had purchased a handgun. I believed that he would tell those involved in the trade what I had told him, and, he did exactly that. I actually didn't have a weapon, I just wanted others to think that I did. As I was walking home that night, one of the people who transported the drugs between the cookers, and the middlemen, followed me in his car. His Camaro had blacked out windows all the way around, and, was very easy to spot. The first thing this person did was to pull over some distance from me and, continously light his lighter, and say, "it's the signal." A few weeks prior to this, I had told certain people that, I was actually working for the police, and, that, when I flicked my lighter repeatedly, that was the signal that something was going down. I had also said that my custom keychain had a microphone in it, and, that the police were listening to everything that went on in my apartment. This was just my way of getting "under the skin" of those who were trying to put me out of business. None of it was true. I was playing with their minds so to speak.

After pulling over, "T" (name withheld) would drive by me slowly as I was walking, and out of his window say, "look out, he's gotta gun." (My plan to make those involved afraid of messing around with me had apparently worked (or not) since the word had spread that I supposedly was carrying a weapon). As he was driving past me, "T" would also say, "don't mess with Marvin," who I would later find out was the person running the Hell's Angel's drug trade from prison. After being told, "good luck" on actually making it home, and, having one of the gang associates follow me as I walked, I became convinced that I was going to be shot and killed that night. While the drugs were also playing on my mind, I had become aware over the past few weeks that the ante had been upped. This was no longer a game that was played for fun. I was scared to death that I would get a bullet in the back.

As I walked home, and, "T" repeatedly passed me, I became so afraid, that, I ran into ditches along side of the road to avoid being shot at. I believed so much that I was going to be shot and killed that I began crying as I ran. I reached a Safeway supermarket, and, ran inside. I had about $500 in cash in my shirt pocket, and, went inside, crying because I thought it was over as I purchased a candy bar in order to get change for the phone so I could call my dad for help. I remember the stares from the people looking on wondering what could be wrong. I went outside to a pay phone, and, called my father, telling him that someone was going to kill me, and, that, I needed help. My dad responded by telling me that he was on his way to pick me up. A close family friend happened to be visiting that night. He worked for the state as a psychiatric counselor. When they arrived, I jumped into the back of my dad's work van, and, he sped off. As we were driving, I asked that I be dropped off at my apartment, and, said that we were probably being followed. My dad thought that it might be paranoia, while I, believed what was happening to be very real. In hindsight, I believe both of us were right.

As we drove, I kept looking out the rear window for signs of pursuit. When my dad changed course, and, we were no longer heading towards my apartment downtown, I asked where we were going. "We're going to the police," my dad said. I immediately became alarmed knowing that much of what had come about was because some people had labeled me as a narc working for the police. I knew if we went to the police, I would be shot and killed for sure. I told my dad to pull over so I could get out, and told him I would jump out of the van if he kept going. My dad changed directions, and, told me that he was going to the hospital. I still wanted to go home, but, I thought that maybe he knew what was best. The nightmare kept going on and, all that went through my mind was "They're going to kill me right here and now."

We arrived at the hospital and, I was taken to a room where I was placed on a bed. A doctor came and asked a few questions. It was then that I saw two police officers in the hall. Believing that my dad or the hospital had called the police, I asked that I be allowed to leave immediately. In my mind, I thought that if I were seen with the police, that, I would be shot. I told the hospital staff that I did not want to be there, and, they allowed my father to take me out. The funny thing was, there was a psychiatric hospital just up the hill. My father, most likely on the recommendation of his friend who was with us, took me there. Upon entering the facility, I was taken to a room and searched. The staff there found the knives that I had been carrying, and, all of the metal studded accessories. They removed these from the room. The hospital was located on a hill, and, just outside my room window was something like a forest. I kept looking out the window, convinced that those involved had followed us there, and, they were going to come to the window and shoot me then and there. Today I realize that, although what I was going through was very real, that, the methamphetamine also was playing tricks with my mind. It was a mixture of both; Reality, and, paranoia.

We left the mental hospital after about 10 minutes. My father took me to my apartment, and, he and Fred came inside. They were shocked at the condition of the apartment. Some girls had come over one night, and, we had painted scenes of the latest horror movie on the walls of my bedroom. The apartment was full of music equipment, car stereo's, and odds and ends that had been given in trade for drugs. My dad and his friend made sure I was OK, and, then left the apartment. Still being convinced that I was going to be shot and killed, I crawled under my bed, and, cried until I was too worn out to go on. As I lay there, I kept thinking that someone was going to drive by and shoot through the wall or window and kill me. I was petrified of dying like that. I remember thinking "how did this happen? How do I get out of this?" Eventually I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was to a very different life indeed. I will continue the story in another post to this website.

While it's difficult to convey what actually goes through a person's mind in life or death situations such as this, looking back, I can see, that, it had a definite impact on my life. In short, it took about four years for the fear of being killed to subside. The worst of it ended about a year later. There were instances when, something would happen, a trigger if you will, and, I would re-live parts of my past. The fear of dying, or, being killed would roll in, and, I would think that it was happening all over again, or, that, somehow, the people I had escaped from, were still trying to involve themselves in my life. What I have surmised is that, what I was suffering from was some sort of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Fortunately for me, I had become stronger because of what had happened. I wasn't afraid of dying, or, being killed, or, even suffering intense pain anymore. I wasn't afraid to confront those who I saw as trying to control my life, regardless of the circumstances. I was finally able to stand up, and, take charge of MY life. Which I did with a vengeance. To be continued.