The 250kV Lie.

Day three of the bender. Six hours of sleep total.

I’m strapped into my belt, hanging off a 250kV tower, changing glass insulators during a planned outage. My body is vibrating, sweating out the toxins, but my hands are steady.

That was the lie: "I’m still functioning."

I told myself that because I could still climb, because I could still drive the bucket, because I could touch live lines without killing myself, I wasn't an addict.

I’d go home to my basement apartment. Mel would be in the kitchen. She wouldn't scream. She wouldn't fight. She’d just look at me—that look that says she knows something is wrong but is too afraid to ask.

I walked past her silence and told myself I was holding it together. I paid the bills. I ran the crew. I was "The Man."

Until October 19, 2022.

I got called into the Manager’s office. I expected a work order. I found police officers in plain clothes.

They didn’t care about my Red Seal. They didn’t care that I was a "functioning" foreman. They put me in cuffs right there in the chair.

Then came the walk. Out of the office. Through the front lot. Visible to everyone. The crew I joked with. The boss I lied to.

The mask didn’t slip; it was ripped off.

That night, in that basement apartment, I flushed the rest of the bag down the toilet while Mel prayed.

The New Rule: If you think you’re "managing" because you haven't lost the job yet—you are just waiting for the handcuffs. High-functioning is just a phase before the malfunction.

If your life is held together by duct tape and silence, don't wait for the walk through the parking lot.

DM me "UNPOLISHED". Let's get to work.