Drugs Took Me From Private Jets to Bankruptcy – Part 1

It was October 2013. I peeked into my garage and it was a total mess. I’d gotten used to being lazy around the house, but this was messy on a whole new level. Tools everywhere, bikes scattered on the floor, sawdust left over from the many half-built projects I could never seem to finish. Being addicted to opioids had changed me from an organized business professional living the high life into a nearly homeless drug addict who could barely pay his bills.

My garage was a disaster, but what about the rest of my life? Well, my life looked a lot like my garage – a complete and total mess and no one coming to clean it up.

I don’t know about your drug abuse experience but the last days of my drug use and abuse were awful. Everything in my life was a disaster. Everything, including me had suffered years and years of my drug use, neglect and downright abuse. My marriage on the rocks, my career coming apart, I was having to sell small personal possessions (ie: an iPad, power tools, collectibles) just to buy groceries and gas. Money was not usually my problem, but it sure became a problem after 13 years of drug abuse.

Me and money have always had an interesting relationship. Feast or famine is what they say, and I lived it. Either life was outstanding and I was living the high-life,or life was crap and I was wondering how in the world I’d pay my bills that month. I could never seem to enjoy the inbetween. I look back now and can see that I subconsciously destroyed my life over and over, only to build it back up to destroy it again and again. Some people are attracted to the chase, and I was no exception. I liked “coming back”, and could never seem to live in the middle and just be happy.

I wanted a bigger house, faster cars, better food, better clothes, etc. When I eventually got better things, they’d get boring to me, telling myself I needed the newer version, the more expensive one, the cooler one, etc, etc. I know now I was only trying to fill a void. The only problem was, I had no idea I was trying to fill anything, nor could I know “what” that void was until I was broken in half. Money was my drug on top of drugs, and more money was always what I was after. I had to move up and up and up. A never-ending cycle that will drive you broke if you never stop.

Rags to Riches to Rags

Once upon a time I had been a software engineer. A good one from what I’m told. I worked 10-11 hours a day, hammering away on code building very cool things for other people that not only worked, but looked great too. In 2004 I got a call from a friend who knew of someone looking for a programmer to lead his development team. He recommended me for the position. Maybe over-recommended me now that I think about it.

I did the interview, which took place at a P.F. Chang’s restaurant. My new boss loved to eat. Good food was his drug of choice. Expensive food. He hired me on the spot. The pay was lower than I’d been used to, but with nothing stable on the horizon, I took the offer in hopes it would turn into something bigger. I had no idea just how big it would get.

By 2006 I was captain of a 10-man development team at a very successful software company. I built the core software from scratch – an entire software platform that managed hundreds of multi-level marketing  companies, their products, services, uplines, downlines, commission calculators, and so much more. It took me almost two whole years to build it. Now, I had a dream team of software developers improving it daily, that helped push us to be the top MLM software provider in the United States.

Though my boss was technically inept, the one thing he could do was sell. I mean, he could sell anything. He had been selling crappy software for years and doing just fine, But now he had a fresh, polished, state of the art software to sell and no one was better at it then he was. I went to client dinners with him, listed to him talk, watched him work, always wondering if he’d made the sale. I can’t even count the times I watched people write $300,000 deposit checks at the end of a meal with him. No one could sell like him.

I can’t mention his name for legal reasons, but my boss ended up going to prison 5 years after I quit. He’d run the software company into the ground, burned bridges with his best relationships and had started selling “not so legal” services to unsuspecting people. The IRS and USPS eventually caught up with him when he mailed fraudulent documents through USPS. You guessed it, they busted him for mail fraud, and then some other charges based on defrauding innocent people.

By 2007, he’d sold the software I’d built over and over again for two years straight and earned over $10,000,000 in the process. If he had money, he made sure everyone around him had money. He was a strange character in that he was not always honest, but he was always generous. He increased my pay substantially, paid the $1400 mo. car note for my dream car (a 2003 Acura NSX) and gave me access to all of his toys. Or, should I say, business toys.

One toy was a cabin on Center Hill Lake, complete with jet skis and ski boat. Another toy was a private suite at every home game for the Nashville Predators hockey team. But, there were two more toys that were truly the most extravagant, luxurious toys I have ever enjoyed – Two Beechjet 400-A seven-passenger jets. Fricken incredible.

Doing Cocaine on a Private Jet isn’t as Fun as it Sounds

Private jet travel is like nothing else. No lines, no baggage check, no security, no waiting, no parking issues, etc. Just pure luxury and tons of time saved by avoiding the public airports altogether. Private aircraft typically land and park in private terminals. These can be adjacent to a major airport, and many are stand-alone. These “private” terminals have ample parking, fresh-hot cookies baking, free popcorn and drinks, and never a waiting line. You literally park within feet of the terminal, walk through a small building and board your aircraft. From the time you park to the time you take-off can be in as little as 10 minutes.

Private flight terminals are actually a business in themselves. They exist in every major city across the USA and cater specifically to the wealthy – people who can afford to fly (or own) a private jet. Some terminals such as Teterboro in New Jersey even have small bedrooms for private pilots, so they can get some rest on longer jaunts. Free drinks, snacks, comfy lounges and business tools are just a few of the many amenities private jet owners receive when flying into private terminals for hundreds of good reasons – Primarily, hundreds of gallons of very expensive Jet A Fuel and tarmac (parking) fees.

Just Put it in Your Pocket

Since there’s no baggage check, no security gate, etc, it’s easy to bring whatever you like onto a private jet. I brought some cocaine with me on more than one occasion. The pilots were busy flying, the door was shut, and I had the whole jet to myself. Sounds like a blast to anyone who’s done drugs, right?

As fun or awesome as that might sound, those were dark days indeed. My drug problem was mine alone, No one knew, no one to share it with, no one to talk about it with. It was me, myself and I, and it was lonely no matter how many drugs I took.

I was doing cocaine almost every day, along with my already 150 mg daily dose of Oxycodone and OxyContin. Narcotics were a given – I had to have them just to prevent withdrawal. Cocaine was just another added layer of delusional thinking – me trying to fill a void.

In fact, I even had a schedule for my drug use. We addicts are pretty organized and creative when we want to be. I think the word is “cunning”.

Every Friday night I would go to my dealers house and buy cocaine. I’d start that night and pretty much stay high the whole weekend. Sunday’s were awful since I had to come down at the end of the day. I typically took more Oxy to alleviate the cravings the cocaine left behind.

Eventually, Friday cocaine pickup’s became Thursday, then Thursday became Wednesday, and so forth. Eventually I had a full blown cocaine problem in addition to my Oxy problem. Not sure how or why, but in 2008 I stopped doing cocaine. I realized I liked the “high” from the pills better, and they were cheap by comparison.

Time to Get Serious About My Drug Use

In 2012 I bought some oxycodone pills from a friend who’d bought them from someone he knew. I got the woman’s phone number and called her to ask about buying more oxycodone pills on a regular basis. I bought pills from her for a couple weeks and finally asked her, “Where are you getting these oxycodone pills?”. She told me about a Dr. R. C., who’s name I’ll hide for privacy reasons.

Dr. R.C. was supplying her with a ridiculously high number of pills each month. More than I’d ever seen prescribed to one patient at a time. She was getting 90 of the 50 mg instant release oxycodone pills, which is a LOT of pills. That’s 150 mg per day, which is enough to kill most people who don’t have a tolerance built up. She happened to mention in passing that Dr. R.C. had written books about the many benefits of opioids, some even addressing how opiates can “cure” bipolar. One book he wrote titled “The Opiate Cure” became very controversial in the medical community since it made claims to not only a cure for bipolar, but using opiates to do it. The books also mention the better lifestyle these patients have as a result of taking opiates.

Clearly, I had found my doctor!

I went to see Dr. Rc. C. in September of 2012 and told him I was a fan of his books. He then said to me, “Oh, so you’re a believer?” Of course I replied with, “why yes, I sure am.”

Dr. R.C. then put me n a monthly supply of OxyContin and oxycodone that I know for a fact I could not get anywhere else. I believe he prescribed me 4 of the 30 mg oxycodone tablets and two of the 40 mg OxyContin (extended release) tablets. Needless to say, I was in heaven. I was finally getting more pills that I could consume and spent the next few months “floating” on my newfound oxy train.

I’m Retiring, so You’ll Have to Find Another Doctor

The last thing in the world an addict wants to hear is the possibility that they’re going to be cut back on their medications. Dr. R.C. told me that it was time for him to retire, and that he would only be seeing me for two more months. I asked why he was retiring since he appeared to be of good health. He told me that the State of Tennessee Medical Board had “recommended” he retire vs. face possible litigation for his prescribing habits.

Turns out, Dr. R.C. had prescribed more opiates that ANY other doctor in the State of Tennessee for the last 9 years. He was in fact the Opioid King in Nashville. He was the guy everyone went to who wanted to get serious dosages because he believed opiates could improve quality of life and even cure some mental ailments.

I’m Going to Have to Cut Your Dose in Half

Two months passed and Dr. R.C. referred me to another doctor. At my first meeting with my new pain management doctor he told me he would have to cut my dose in half. The words reverberated off the walls and through my brain in that moment. I knew I was in a very bad place and there was no easy way out. He filled my newly-reduced prescription and I doubt I made it two and half weeks before nearly running out. I started buying as many pills on the street as possible just to prevent withdrawals. Withdrawals that seemed to come every two to three hours if I didn’t get a heavy dose of OxyContin or oxycodone.

I struggled daily over the next 10 months and life got its very worst during that time. All I could think about was pills, pills, and more pills. I never once felt like I had enough. I was always on the edge of withdrawal, always scrounging for pills and half way into withdrawal. Life absolutely sucked.

… to be continued …