When Potts Had to Quit Pot
One would never guess from watching him goof around, crack jokes and freestyle rap that Matt Potts has battled severe anxiety and depression since a young age. Oftentimes, it’s what someone goes through mentally, not physically, that can cause the most pain.
For Potts, as is the case for many of us, blocking out the pain was the easiest way to deal with trauma. This is especially the case with people who endure the loss of a loved one at a young age. When his grandmother died, the anger and guilt Potts felt at only 12 years old drove him to begin drinking and smoking in search of an escape. “From that moment (of beginning to use), the negative thoughts I had about myself didn’t matter. For the first time in my life, I was okay. At least, I thought I was,” Potts mused, as we sat together watching the sun creep down behind the trees.
Potts and I haven’t always been in such peaceful situations as we were that day while we smoked a cigar and reminisced under the sunset. I met Potts in a addiction rehabilitation center in New Hampshire. I remember when I met him — because he was the first person there that made me laugh. All the patients were encouraging him to “spit some fire,” and I naturally scoffed at the thought of a nappy white boy like himself being able to rap. But after hearing him drop the most Grammy-worthy verse ever, Matt Potts — with a 1.1 high school GPA, a 16mg-a-day Klonopin habit, three felony charges, a drug distribution case resulting in a two-year supervised probation, a three-year license suspension, and two and a half years of prison time upon violation — soon became one of the best people I’ve ever known.
Transitioning from a drug addict to the sickest rapper alive, though, was a bumpy ride for Potts. The obsession for drugs takes the mind prisoner to the point where we can, and often do, end up completely different people. “Xanax, cocaine, psychedelics, and opioids became more available as I continued to roll with the wrong crowd,” Potts said, shaking his head. “I didn’t care who I was with — I could watch one of them take a gun to someone’s face when we were stealing drugs, and I just felt nothing, until they pulled the dope off the bloody guy and we could finally get high.” The other day, I watched Potts try and save a small bug from drowning for about 10 minutes (no exaggeration). He is not a dangerous person; drug addiction robs our interest in things we used to care about and value. We become angry, needy, and non-empathetic. All I can say is, it SUCKS. And if you become addicted, you start to suck, too.
Potts and I always rooted for each other. At times, though, it wasn’t easy. When he got discharged from treatment, I worried whether he’d stay clean. A disclaimer: if anyone has gone through any type of drug withdrawal, it is NOT fun. “I tried to kill myself with a kitchen knife in the living room. I was escorted out of the house on a stretcher and was brought to the hospital, then immediately put on medication to ensure I wouldn’t die from withdrawals,” Potts said, grimacing as he took a drag of our cigar.
One would think a near-death experience such as the one Potts endured would be enough to get him to stop using. But ask anyone battling addiction — it’s not that easy. “I was homeless, living out of my car. Friends I got high with started dying. I was miserable. I would couch surf, rip off or rob those who took me in, smoke crack and angel dust, and other things I never thought I’d do. As long as I was high, though. I was extremely unsatisfied if I wasn’t high.” The delusion is that the next high will bring you to such heights that you’ll never have to come down again.
The delusion is that you won’t make the same mistakes that you already know you will if you take that pill, or drink that drink. The delusion is that this is who you want to be — a person so addicted to something that you may go to such lengths as to disregard human life (including your own) to get what you want.
Sucked down into the familiar, empty void of addiction, Potts was eventually arrested again. He was sent to a nine-month correctional program. “On October 9th, 2015, I got high one last time, and something wasn’t the same. I didn’t feel the satisfaction or relief I used to feel. I felt nothing.” Because Potts had nothing. His friends were gone — several died from overdoses, the others had simply lost faith in his recovery. His spirit was broken.
June 11, 2017 — Potts’s inner spirit and attitude has regenerated with the help of sobriety. He now works at a treatment center for people who used to be like Potts. People who were like me. “If I can do it, anyone can do it,” Potts said, flicking the cigar ahead of us. I’m usually a little disappointed when a cigar’s finished, but not that time, as I looked over at Potts and knew that because of him, there are many more sunsets and cigars ahead of us.