Jonas Does Portland: A Year Of Sobriety

A little over four years ago, I packed up all my shit, jumped in a moving truck with my comedian girlfriend and my cat, and took a 49-hour drive across the country. In hindsight, I don’t recommend that, because we have three roommates and didn’t need more than a quarter of the stuff we took with us. We live in a bedroom, with three other people, and there are still boxes we never unpacked, sitting in the closet (because, we don’t need whatever is in them). We needed two backpacks, cat stuff and our happiness. Also, I’m not sure if you’re aware of it or not, but staying in a car with someone for 49 hours turns love into hate, really quickly—by the time you hit Nebraska, you hate every single thing about each other. It’s a true test of a relationship that, in the end, didn’t last. She and I are still great friends, but the relationship ended. We had a lot in common, whether it be comedy, taste in music and movies, or any other love of the arts. The one thing we had in common that wasn’t good, though, was addiction.

I’ve been an addict for a long time. It’s in my blood, from both my parents. Personally, my poisons of choice were whiskey and cocaine— I loved them like they were my own children. My ex-girlfriend was also a fan, so we bonded over those things. To give you an idea, our first date was a whiskey-fueled night of insanity at a strip club on Valentine’s Day. Holy brown liquor Jesus, did we get fucked up that night! I used to buy coke at a Hawaiian bar that shall remain nameless, which had a coke dealer who waved goodbye to me when I left. Do you understand how fucked up that is, Portland!? Only in the whitest major city in the America, could that be considered even a little bit okay. In Portland, I did cocaine out of someone’s asshole in my living room. It was like I was a cast member in Wolf Of Wall Street, except it was Division Street. You get the picture I’m painting here—we were fans of the drugs. Once we moved to NYC, it got worse.

In NYC, drugs and booze are everywhere. Comedy is an absolute free-for-all of using as is, but it is so much more accessible in a city as big as NYC. On every corner, there was a bar or two with bathrooms full of coke-snorting alcoholics. NYC was the place we were going to die, if we let it kill us— and, if I’m being honest with you all, I’d have to admit that it almost did. My ex-girlfriend’s drinking got to a point where it was dangerous. Night after night passed with line after line of cocaine going into our brains and it got to a point where I had to do less and less—just to babysit. After a while, it got to the point where I’d completely forgotten I was an addict, because I was not keeping up with my girlfriend. Then, we broke up and that all changed.

I had been clean for a few months, and after we broke up, I had a relapse. I’ll spare you the gory details, but I’ll just say I tried to sleep to death with pills and only ended up curing my insomnia—I tried to kill myself and ended up curing a pre-existing condition in the process. You can’t fuck up a suicide any worse! That was on June 9, 2017, and the following day was the first day of the rest of my life.

On July 10, 2018, I celebrated a year of full sobriety. This is the first time in my life that I’ve been sober this long, I’ve never been happier and it’s fucking weird. I’m not some militant sober person, mind you—I think y’all should smoke weed all day long. I miss weed. But, I’ve gained so much in the last year, that I honestly couldn’t turn back at this point. I’ve gotten healthier and happier with myself. I’ve lost over 100lbs and reversed health issues. My dick is way better than it used to be, too! Holy shit, was that a great side effect. My comedy has gotten better and more tight. But, here’s the biggest thing I’ve gained: I learned to love myself again. I realized that I hated myself so much for so long, that I kept on snorting and drinking away the trauma, rather than deal with it. It was sitting there waiting, as soon as I stopped, too—it was real pissed off that I left it there waiting, by the way. Apparently, trauma is impatient. I dealt with the issues head-on and it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. I’ve made some extremely fucked-up decisions in my life, hurt people I’ve loved and chased a high, in place of being there for people in need...so many times. I’m happy to say that I’ve stopped that shit, I deal with issues as they come, fuck better, write more and love myself again.

This July 4th, enjoy yourselves. Drink, do all the drugs and eat all the food. Do it for me, since I can’t anymore. Just do it safely and don’t let it take over your life. Happy 4th, Exotic!