The Voices in my HeadAlready? It's Only Been Three Years...PART ONE
October 28th 2006 19:52
The following is the result of an overactive imagination of a rabid Alice in Chains fan. While much of this is based on interviews and an actual performance of AIC, on MTv Unplugged in 1996, it is written as a fictional account of that event.
The pounding on the front door woke him up out of his drug-induced haze. Layne couldn't open his eyes for fear that the sunlight streaming through the window would blind him. His arm hurt like hell...he couldn't remember why but it hurt to even move it.
"Fuckin' GO AWAY!" he screamed and buried his head under a pillow. He had almost managed to go back to sleep when the door threatened to come off the hinges with the next series of poundings it took.
"Goddamn it, KNOCK IT OFF!" As he started to get out of bed, he looked down and noticed blood all over the sheets.
"What the fuck?!" Layne asked the sheet out loud, half expecting an answer. God knew there wasn’t anyone else to ask.
Between the blood, the sunlight and the confusion of the pounding still going on, he felt disoriented, sick and highly pissed off.
Blood had coagulated on the sheets from the needle he had put in his vein the night before. It was an easier way to keep his veins from collapsing so he could shoot up more than once a night. He would shoot up and then tape the needle still lodged into his arm in place. That way, he only had to get the needle in once, which was taking longer and longer to happen now. The open vein made the road to perpetually fucked up much easier and these days, he was all about easier when it came to existing.
Getting high didn't really do it for him anymore...but he had no choice. He had to keep doing it; there was nothing worse than drug pain. Whatever had to be done, was in order to get his drugs. The heroin and cocaine voodoo seeped through his veins several times every day.
Whoever was knocking his door down wouldn't give up. Whoever it was would get their ass kicked...it he could make it to the door.
“Why is anyone even fuckin’ here anyways?" he thought. He hadn't had company since the week before, when his dad had come by for drugs and money. Easing back onto the dirty blood stained sheets, “Who gives a shit?" he asked out loud.
Finally, the door came open and he looked up in time to see Jerry come through the door. Jerry stood there for a minute. It always took Jerry by surprise but he didn't know why it did anymore. Jerry mentally calculated the number of days since he had last seen his best friend. Layne had been holed up in his apartment for 7 days on a binge.
There was trash everywhere. Pizza boxes with a slice or two removed littered the kitchen, hallway and living room. Soup cans sat on top of the stove, half opened. Jerry crossed the room kicking pop cans and beer bottles aside to make a path. As he had many times, Jerry shut off the burner that had been left on again. He wondered how many days the stove had been left on this time. Jerry’s vision blurred for a second. He shook it off and shook his head. He knew better than to even care at this point. It was too late.
"God, man, you stink. C'mon..." Jerry's voice trailed off as he entered the bedroom door and went straight into the master bathroom on the left side of the room and turned on the water. As Jerry came back into the bedroom, all Layne heard was, “…shower. We gotta get shit done, man.”
“Fuck off, man. Really. Get the fuck out…” Layne's voice muffled by the pillow he had just pulled over his face to avoid the sunlight streaming into the room now that Jerry had opened all the curtains. “Shut the curtains…that shit is bad for you, I don’t wanna get cancer.” He laughed hysterically at his joke while Jerry was trying to pull the blankets off of him.
“Come on, man! MTV! TODAY! UN-FUCKIN-PLUGGED!” Jerry screamed at him. Jerry jumped on top of Layne in the bed and bounced like a little kid. “C’mon, man.” He begged Layne. “Just today.”
Layne smiled, his teeth ragged and half eaten away by heroin…”Fuckin’ A!”
Jerry helped Layne to the bathroom. Jerry’s arm was wrapped around Layne’s back and Jerry could feel every bone in Layne’s emaciated back. Layne didn’t like to eat much when he was on a binge. It took too much of the drug to get him off then.
Jerry wondered how much weight Layne had lost in the week since he’d seen him. He didn’t ask. He was long past asking. Jerry cared. He had always cared. More than he should have but he knew better than to let Layne in on it, Jerry thought to himself as they stripped Layne's filthy clothes off to get in the shower.
Layne hated that people adored him, loved him, cared for him. Even the fans. Layne called them all dumb asses. Layne would spit into the audience and watch fans try to catch it. He had no respect for anyone that had respect for anything he did. Self-loathing was a heavy foundation of Layne’s use and Jerry knew that Layne would be gone soon. There was nothing that could be done now.
Layne was already shitting himself without control. His liver was gone and there was no way he would ever be able to get new one. Not with his using. Not without serious detox and rehab. Layne had no interest in it anymore. He had given up on beating the addiction a long time ago. There just wasn't a way out...Layne was dying. He knew it and so did everyone around him.
As Jerry got Layne into the shower and leaned him up against the wall long enough to lather a washrag for him, Jerry felt like puking. He always did when things got this bad for Layne. It was such a damn waste, Jerry thought to himself. But he did what he always did, instead of caving to the desire to run away from Layne's problems, Jerry cracked a joke about a drug-loving, pedophilic Republican senator. While Layne was distracted from laughing, Jerry very carefully removed the needle dangling from Layne’s arm and washed away the caked on blood the way a mother would take care of her child.
To be continued
(I apologize in advance for any irregularities in regards to shooting up, drug use, etc. I have never done it. )
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Comment by Homer Joyce
I will certainly not be writing anything drug-related due to the fact that I am a method writer ...
Alcohol-induced stupour writing is about as far as I would go ...
Love the disclaimer.
Homer ...
Hovering ... as always ...
Comment by The Voices in my Head
The Voices in my Head
I decided to combine my two favorite things, Alice in Chains Unplugged MTV performance with my writing. This is how I pictured it must have went just prior to the event.
Come back, don't leave, stay...
Voices~
Comment by DuskDevi
Rugby World Cup 2007
Why kill someone or something that doesn't appreciate the value of the life they will lose?
I simply cannot understand what hell be this...
Thank God for the Disclaimer Voices!
This reads so 'real'...but of course, you already know I am "humbled and awestruck" by your words...to be able to 'drop' yourself in another's 'zone', to narrate their life without living it...wow.
I feel sick.
Sheer brilliance Voices.
DuskDevi
My Disclaimer:
I'm a square. I get high on life (Homer, stop vomiting)...and Tequila. The only way Tequila mocking world...
Comment by The Voices in my Head
The Voices in my Head
I didn't write this to make anyone hate him and I so do hope that if you truly feel that way about him, that I had nothing to do with it.
I love him, still. I wrote this to make people understand his passion...and the sadness that surrounded it.
Of course, these are just the imaginings of a rabid fan, but anyone who could watch that performance, see how incredible he was as an artist, to pick up and just go with the music, despite the fact that when he took off his sunglasses for 'Sludge Factory', you were almost made physically ill by how much of the drug had to be in his system for his eyes to look like that...it is not difficult to imagine what may have taken place to get him on that stage.
But dear god, the sheer brilliance that came from him...I get choked up thinking about it.
There were also very subtle glances from Jerry, as if to ask Layne if he was ok. There were private smiles between them. They had a tremendous love and like for each other. It is easy to think that Jerry probably took care of him many times in this way that I have described.
And so...this came today...in appreciation for the artistry but also for the friendship that was there, despite everything. We should all be so fortunate to have that friendship somewhere in our lives but never the circumstances to find out.
Come back,
Voices~