CHAPTER 1
PART ONE:Flying Too Close to the Sun
:: Mania's Flight and the Fall into Darkness ::
I. MANIA AND SELFMEDICATING
The moonlight sliced into the alleyway, its sharp lines making a beautifulcontrast between everything it touched and the black shadows that Ilay in. Opening my eyes, I stared up at the night sky. The stars werelost to the city lights, but the moon was full and bright, its cool bluehue making the alleyway seem cold. My head throbbed, and the worldspun gently when I tried to move. The cold, hard cement I was lyingupon felt oddly soothing, but even with all the alcohol and drugsflowing through my veins, my mind was still racing. I was twenty-oneat the time, and even though I was still drunk and high, I was achingfor drugs and alcohol. It would be a year until I was told that thosefeelings were related to what professionals called a manic episode. I wasself-medicating in an attempt to slow the world down around me, butit wasn't working.
This was not the first time that a mixture of drugs and alcoholhad left me passed out in a less-than-ideal location. I had woken up inworse and far more dangerous situations, yet I never thought anythingabout it. Not once did it occur to me that my actions were not thoseof a normal mind, especially when I was simply desperate to calm theunrelenting torrent of racing thoughts rushing through my mind. Theworld seemed bright, I felt powerful, and I had no ability to stay focusedor any desire to rest.
Although I was now of legal drinking age, legality had neverbothered me, and I had a history of using and selling drugs. To me,alcohol was a child's drug—not that I took any drug seriously, no matterwhat chemical or form of delivery. At the time, I had the potential to bea good person, but something had always steered me away from warmthand kindness. I was a selfish individual. Although I could be nice if itwould benefit me, I could also be extremely cruel, having the abilityto pick out someone's deepest insecurity and exploit it when I felt suchinsults were needed. I was lost to my own reality, and I didn't much careabout myself, let alone anyone else.
Sitting up took more effort than I had expected, but slowly I liftedmyself to my knees, leaning back and taking a deep breath of thecool night air. Looking back, this moment would have been perfectfor self-examination, but at the time I didn't think twice. I thoughtI was doing great. My grades in college were good, I had quite a fewromantic relationships that were flourishing, and I was working ona groundbreaking fiction manuscript that would bring me fame andfortune. I believed I was beyond brilliant and there wasn't anything onthe planet that could keep me down.
With that thought, I smiled, my lips slightly crooked and my eyeswild as I stood up. Suddenly, I noticed that my right sleeve was tornand I had a deep scratch on my forearm that was deep enough to haveleft a trail of dried blood running down my forearm. I touched thedeep scratch, running my fingers along the rough surface of the driedblood. A normal person might have paused to think about how he hadended up passed out in an alleyway, his shirt torn, and his right armwounded. I, however, simply shrugged my shoulders and walked out ofthe shadows, ready to enjoy what was left of the waning night.
Walking out of the alleyway, I looked around, trying to find mybearings. The streets were empty except for a few homeless individualswrapped in sheets and newspapers to protect them from the slightbreeze that had picked up. I wasn't in the best section of Denver'sdowntown area. Although I remembered entering one of the morepopular clubs with my friends, as well as drinking, I couldn't rememberhow or why I had wandered so far from the main strip of bars and clubs.Thinking back, it amazes me that I never questioned how I had endedup in an alleyway tucked in the shadows. At the time, however, I didn'tpause to contemplate as I began walking toward the only main street Irecognized. Though the night was quickly fading, I was still insistenton getting my fill of fun.
After walking for a few blocks, I heard my friend Mike's voice riseinto the air. He was used to me doing wild things, but this time, hisvoice was laced with a hint of anger. "Kirk, I've been looking all over foryou!" Turning around, I saw Mike running toward me. He was dressedin a stylish shirt, his hair spiked and highlighted. His long face was filledwith a mixture of relief and frustration.
"What's wrong?"
Mike just stood there for a moment, staring at me as if I were crazyto ask. "Really? You have to ask?"
I could tell Mike was frustrated, but I turned back around andcontinued toward the street corner. Walking alongside me, Mikecontinued to talk, still surprised that I didn't remember anything."Man, what the hell happened back there?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked as we crossed the emptystreet, a slight chill hitting my skin as the wind kicked up.
"You have to be kidding me," Mike said before laughing. I don'tthink he knew that I didn't remember; he probably thought I was justjoking around. Feeling like I was kidding around, his mood lighteneda bit as he continued. "That stunt you pulled back at the bar got thecops involved, bro. I barely made it out before they arrived. Why thehell did you throw that mug at the bouncer?"
Suddenly the memory came flooding back. I remembered meetingup with a girl and buying her a drink. I also remembered hearing thepeople sitting next to us talking about me. I could still remember feelingtheir eyes on me, staring and judging. What I had heard, or thought Iheard, had ticked me off. As at every juncture in my life, I didn't think:I lashed out.
Though unable to recall every detail, I remembered approachingthe men at the next table and pushing the first one who met my gaze.As the exchange quickly exploded, I remember holding a thick beermug in my hand and chucking it across the bar, missing the bartenderby inches. The glass shattered against the wall, and the bouncers andstaff closed in on me. I remembered wanting to fight, but luckily Mikehad taken action, pushing toward the door and shouting for me to run.Feeling like everyone in the club was out to get me, I wasn't about tobe captured. Shoving my way through the chaos, I barely made it outthe door before breaking into a full run.
Thinking about it, I couldn't help but chuckle, which Mike did notappreciate. Pushing me, he spoke with a harsh tone, although he washaving a hard time not smiling. "Seriously, bro, you could've gotten mebusted, especially with the crap I'm holding for you."
When Mike pushed me, I could feel my temper flare up. I almostlashed out, but I was distracted by the sound of laughter. We weregetting closer to the clubs. Interested in getting back to the clubs, Ishrugged. "How about I buy you a round? We'll forget what happenedand have some fun."
"Are you nuts?" Mike shook his head, holding me back. "Youcan't go back there, bro. Not for a few weeks. Besides, it's three in themorning, and the clubs aren't serving alcohol."
"Doesn't mean we can't have some fun," I responded as I pointed atMike's pocket, which was filled with illicit drugs.
"You are a bad influence," Mike said with a chuckle as he pointedto my sleeve. He was no stranger to trouble, and I think he found mysudden explosions entertaining. "If that sleeve hadn't ripped, you'd...
