Sober 2.5 Years

I love this suit.  I still have it.  I purchased it with my own money and Michael Macko's Details discount for being the biggest male fashionista this side of 5th Avenue.

A photographer named Klaus Enrique, based in NYC, charged me only 300 bucks and what I got was the biggest bang for my buck.  I had more requests for castings than I had ever received in my life.

I was sober.
I was clean.
I was... so far from happy.

It's sad, but I can be one of the best actors on the planet.  I remember when I was locked in the psychiatric hospital in Houston, mandated there because... well because, basically I hadn't liked the idea that a curiously short, Chinese cop (okay to be honest he could have been Korean, or Taiwanese, or Japanese).  Okay, lets start again, I didn't like that this curiously short Asian cop thought it kosher to drag my druggie ass out of  the lobby of the Derek Hotel in the middle of the Friday night Who's Who of Houston jamboree.  He definitely through me into the back of what I thought was a police car and began to drive me away from what was familiar.

First came fear.
Then came panic.'
Then came fear, again.
Then anger.
Then rage.
Then insane violence.

All of a sudden, words were coming out of my mouth.  Racist, violent bursts of language.  My legs began kicking against both doors, screaming to let me out of the fucking squad car that I knew was a fake they borrowed from TJ Hooker.

Every orderly and nurse at the public psyche ward in Houston reminded me of how not fake they were by giving me an injection of something so powerful I stopped screaming for nine full days.  Okay, maybe it was three.  Regardless, I was just happy I was wearing my glasses that particular day, because had I been wearing my one a day disposable contact lenses, I would have definitely missed some truly amazing moments behind rubber bars... like the 90 year old roommate I had, who looked like an extra they found on the Lord of the Rings set.  He had a long white beard, well more yellow than white, that hit the floor and about every 45 seconds (Yes, I timed it out.  There's not a lot to do in the psyche ward...) he would snap his fingers.  After a while it became quite soothing.  Amazing how the brain is so adaptable, isn't it?