Starring in the Nightmare: A Mystic's Journey Home

By Daniel Fritz

In this inspirational and riveting novel, we follow Victor to Los Angeles, where he is determined to be discovered and to finally realize his dreams of fame and fortune. He leaves his parents' house in Georgia with nothing more than a backpack and a hopeful heart.

The road to success, however, is seldom an easy one. Victor must confront and battle his own demons of depression and substance abuse. With a little bit of help from angels and other supernatural forces, Victor is finally able to escape his inevitable demise and to leave his "shadow days" in the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499014945

Book preview

PART 1

The Dream is Still Alive

CHAPTER 1

Homesick for Hollywood

RELAPSE. AS ANY addict can tell you, it’s just a normal part of the recovery process. As much as I wanted to believe that I was immune to it, no matter how many times I told myself that I was never gonna touch that shit again, deep down I somehow suspected that I was dealing with a force much stronger than my own willpower.

When we last spoke, I had been fired from my waitering job and evicted from my studio apartment in Los Angeles. After being arrested for the second time and spending another fantastic weekend in jail (this time on public intoxication and public urination charges), I decided it was time to move back to my parents’ house in the boondocks of Georgia. Since I didn’t have my own car or any drug connections in Georgia, I knew that I would have no alternative but to remain sober while I was living there. It was during my ten day stay in a Georgia rehab facility, in fact, that I wrote my first book.

Although I had managed to stay away from meth for an entire year, I began to wonder if I was still clutched firmly within the jaws of addiction. After all, there is a lot more to sobriety than just abstaining from drugs. I may not have been actively using meth while living in my parents’ basement, but the fear of re-entering society and moving on with my life was still a lingering concern. I was afraid that maybe I wasn’t even capable of supporting myself and living alone again. I was terrified that I would plummet right back into the trenches of meth addiction once I left my relative safety bubble.

But I knew that I couldn’t stay in hiding and allow those fears to dictate my decisions for the rest of my life, either. Sooner or later, I would have to face my demons, head-on. I would have to force myself to jump back into the water if I didn’t want to drown in my own insecurities. I was not about to let one ugly little drug ruin my precious life.

Also, my boredom was starting to get the better of me. Each day dragged by at a snail’s pace. Previously, I had been so accustomed to living at the speed of light. Every day in Los Angeles had been an adventure—a new drama in my own personal mini-series. And then, all of a sudden, everything became completely stagnant once I decided to embrace sobriety and return home. Part of me longed to be a part of the action once more—to really feel alive again. But I feared that maybe I wouldn’t be able to feel alive without meth.

I started to romanticize the recent past in my mind as I would lay awake at night, my mind reeling with mental movies starring yours truly. It’s crazy the way everything always looks better in retrospect. It’s as though your brain is programmed to forget the way you actually felt when you were living those moments. For whatever reason, the past always seems more glamorous than it was when it was actually happening.

Studies have shown that the dopamine levels of the typical meth user become rapidly and seriously depleted. (Dopamine receptors are the brain’s pleasure centers; dopamine is the chemical in the brain that allows us to feel good.) While a meth user’s dopamine levels may eventually return to somewhat normal levels, it generally takes approximately two years of sobriety to reach that threshold. After my year-long meth binge in Los Angeles, I was convinced that my dopamine receptors had been over-stimulated to the point of no return. For an entire year in Georgia, I did little more than sleep. I found it difficult—if not impossible—to become interested in anything. And I felt totally isolated and alone.

Eventually, I decided that I would have to take some sort of action if I wanted to change my unhappy living situation. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in my parents’ basement, that’s for sure. Part of me felt like I still had tons of untapped potential inside of me. More than anything, I wanted to actualize that potential—to make my mark and to shine like the star I knew I was. And isn’t Hollywood the place where dreams come true?

I watched Pretty Woman for about the fiftieth time just before making the decision to return to Hollywood. I swear, that movie never fails to inspire me to pick myself up and try again.

I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen, exactly, once I actually landed in L.A. At this point in my life, I was beginning to think that the only thing I’d ever really been good at was being bad! Once I was clean and got a conscience, however, I wasn’t so sure I’d even be good at that anymore. Still, I felt a sincere calling to at least give L.A. another try. I was doing my best to listen to and interpret the messages that I was certain the Universe was providing to me. And the Universe was saying, Go west, young man.

I can’t take it here in the South anymore, I remember saying to my friend Allen on Facebook, just before I left for California. It’s far too boring and there’s not nearly enough danger lurking about. Looking back at that statement, I guess I got exactly what I wanted upon my return to La-La Land. Be careful what you wish for.

Well, you have to go where your heart is, Allen told me. If you aren’t enjoying it, life is kinda pointless.

You think I’m stupid, don’t you? I asked him.

It’s never stupid to follow your heart, Vic. Allen replied. He was right. That settled it.

I had absolutely no money, either. I phoned a transitional living shelter called PATH (People Assisting the Homeless) in West Los Angeles and they told me that as long as I provided them with a recent T.B. test, I could stay there, rent-free. They would help me find a job and an apartment.

So I got my T.B. test and booked a plane ticket. I figured that—worst case scenario—I would just end up back in Georgia if things didn’t pan out. I fully intended to stay away from meth this time, though.

I would rather die than succumb to that lifestyle again, I told my friend Tim, when he picked me up at LAX on June 17th, 2012.

Well, as it would turn out, I nearly did die.

CHAPTER 2

No Room at the Inn

SPEAKING OF DYING, I had been convinced for some time now that my time here on Earth was quickly drawing to a close. Things were changing rapidly all around me, and I guess I assumed that those nuances were God’s way of revealing things unseen to me. Grant (my late boyfriend) had many visions and premonitions just before he passed away. I figured that my own visions were indicators that the sands in my personal hourglass were falling fast.

The commute to L.A. was, by far, the most turbulent plane ride I’d ever endured (and I’ve traveled via the airways quite frequently!). For at least forty-five consecutive minutes, the plane dipped and dove at alarming intervals, causing me to fly up and down in my seat by at least a few inches at a time. Was this the reason I was called to Go West? So that I would finally be able to meet my maker?

As I repeatedly stated in my first book, I think that fear is perhaps our greatest enemy in life. And, unfortunately, most people’s lives are completely governed by it. We allow fear (specifically the fear of death) to control our daily decisions. Our fears ultimately strip us of our freedom by preventing us from really living the lives we were meant to live.

Therefore, I had resolved to eradicate all fear in my life and to live freely. And I was feeling pretty damn good about my self-proclaimed status as fearless, until now. In all honesty, the thought of the plane’s engine giving out and crashing into the depths below made me sick at my stomach. I didn’t want to die. I’m way too unhappy to die, I thought. I’m still not sure whether or not happiness truly exists. But, in any event, I didn’t feel like I was ready for the next level yet. I hadn’t even come close to mastering this one.

But my plane landed safely in Los Angeles at around midnight. Tim let me stay the night at his place. I had lived with Tim before getting my own place the last time I had lived to L.A. (in 2010). This time, however, he was not offering his living room futon to me for more than one night.

Tim’s a huge stoner, but I sat idly by and watched him smoke his weed that night, resisting the temptation to join him in the festivities. I was hesitant to partake because I figured that PATH might drug-test me the following day as part of the admission process. And I didn’t want to screw things up. It was do or die time.

I had decided to pack lightly, with just the bare necessities. I brought just one suitcase—a red backpack that I had found on the beach in Santa Monica just before I left L.A. a year ago. I stuffed it full of clothes, making sure to bring only my most stylish attire. My new mantra became Fashion First. (Hey—just because I was technically homeless, that didn’t mean I had to dress like a bum!) The bag featured a pull-out handle and wheels. By the end of my trip, the traction on one of the wheels had been eroded down to practically nothing, and the other wheel had broken off entirely. I wish I had placed one of those electronic odometers on that backpack, because I’m sure I dragged that thing for hundreds of miles across the state of California before all was said and done. I also brought my lap-top with me, which had been a birthday present from Tim last year, and all of my music CDs.

I arose bright and early the next day (ok, I woke up at 11:00 a.m., but for me, that is very early!). After shoveling down a quick breakfast, I grabbed my backpack and hopped on a bus toward PATH, which was only