by Dave Navarro
“Anyway, I always thought, as most kids do, my parents never listened to a word I said as a kid. I used to fucking mutilate myself and no one would pay any attention to it. So here was Tommy, this story about a kid who is blind and deaf. And in order to be heard and get attention he becomes egotistical, loud, blasphemous, self-serving, and alienating. And that’s almost what I did when I became an entertainer. Because I also learned that you can get people’s attention if you do something that they enjoy and is a fantasy for them. I became an Elton John freak after that, and I loved KISS. They wore things that were costumeish and elaborate and full of showmanship. I realized it was a way to get noticed without saying anything.”
Temporarily, at least, the dark cloud brought on by his failing relationship and the drugs seems to have lifted. It has been months since Dave has been this positive, this open, this communicative. “The thing I’m scared about is that Adria leaving my life again just confirms everything I said in the first chapter of the book. And maybe in talking about it we can figure out what role I play in it. Because this always happens, no matter who the girl is.”
As evidence of just how bad things got in January, there is a hole in the floor of Dave’s studio downstairs. “My shotgun went off and I shot a hole in the floor,” he explains. “The gun was in my hands for some reason, and I was really fucked up. I could have killed myself.”
He stops and reflects. “This last Christmas was just bad. I got in a huge fight with Adria, and we just cried. I wanted to kill myself.”
The two have broken up now, although Dave still isn’t sure if it’s the right thing or not. Perhaps the two didn’t so much break up as push each other away—out of fear, insecurity, doubt, mistrust, self-centeredness, and all those other emotions that wreak havoc on two people’s ability to effectively communicate, especially when those two people are emotionally dependent on one another. “I love her,” Dave says. “She loves me. I probably would have married that girl. You’re shocked to hear me say that, I know. I am too. But the reason why I won’t marry her is because she’s been doing this tough love thing. And to me, that’s not love. It’s abandonment.”
Yesterday, he wrote her a letter and posted it at a secret URL on the Internet that he sent her in an email. Alongside the letter, he posted a photo-strip montage from months ago of him holding up pieces of paper to form the sentence I … AM … IN … FEAR.
part III DEAR ADRIA
Freud assumed that all love is ambivalent in depressives … and that hostility towards the love object is turned inwards. Thus a patient who is depressed is mourning for someone who is consciously or unconsciously believed to be lost.
—LEWIS WOLPERT, MALIGNANT SADNESS: THE ANATOMY OF DEPRESSION
February 5, 1999
Dear Adria,
One morning like many I stayed in the studio while you went into the bedroom to sleep. I played Neil Young’s “Needle and the Damage Done” before I ran into the bedroom and held you as tight as I could while sobbing so fucking hard. I never needed anyone as much as I thought I did on that day, those days, these days, today. (It’s almost funny how dramatic that is.)
Anyway, I’ve been feeling this way for about two months now. This letter is an attempt at cleansing myself, an attempt at letting you know where I am and where I’ve been coming from. First of all, I commend your admission of treating me with a hint of distance as of late. That is the honesty I’ve always hoped for from you. However, honesty does not take away the pain. Pain that comes at a time in my life when I have lost just about everyone and everything, not to mention facing the fear and isolation of trying to get clean and starting over an endeavor that was begun originally with love and excitement.
Our distance has hurt me beyond my comprehension. I understand the fear you are faced with. I really do. But I can see no reason why the only option for dealing with this fear was the building of walls between us. I cannot say that the isolation has made these past months harder, because I feel that that would be a cop out, yet I can tell you that it has not made them any easier. I know I have claimed that you have done nothing to be supportive in this, but the truth is that you have continually tried to show me help and guidance, I have only perceived a selfish and arrogant intent behind your help in the form of what is better for you. The inconvenience of my ailment on you has been the result of none other than your insistence on staying around me while dropping the elements of your life that would later lead you to resent me. I have asked for nothing from you during this time while you have only told me what I needed to do. Three times, Adria: New York, Vegas, L.A. I cannot risk the pain anymore. I have failed at the attempts of sobriety I have looked into, I know. But never have you said, “Sorry, Dave, that sucks. It must be hard and you must be in a lot of pain.” As if I had made those attempts solely for your benefit.
I realize I may expect too much, that I shouldn’t expect a partner to fulfill every single need of mine (especially when I seem to have so many these days). But looking back on the relationship, since we’ve been apart, our behavior shows no sense of decorum. I thought that our love, or our quest for such a love, was much stronger than that.
[The letter ends here, without a signature.]
part IV LOVE IN L.A. III: INTIMACY AND COMMUNICATION
BY DAVE NAVARRO
Why is it so difficult to maintain true intimacy within a relationship?
A Los Angeles resident explains: “I share everything with my partner: housework, bills, meals, friends … We sleep together, wake up together, know each other’s secrets [sure you do], and go out socially. We even work together while trying to cope with the everyday stress of life. My partner has become my buddy, which is great! Except … I don’t really want to fuck my buddies. I get bored.”
Bored? Scared.
I, too, have experienced this exact problem. However, when I honestly analyzed these situations in my own life, I usually found that I was either not in love with my partner or a fear of intimacy had taken over.
Lack of communication can be a ruthless killer of intimacy. Defending, arguing, and the illusion of “sides” are just a few of the characteristics that some of us possess when in the throes of conflict. Let’s look at the “sides” angle: Because of the fact that men and women are of the opposite sex, they sometimes make the mistake of assuming that they are on opposite sides. Sure, our stories and points of view may differ, but a couple should share a common goal of understanding and harmony.
For example: If I feel misunderstood (“I told you, she’s just a friend!”) and my girlfriend feels like I’m not listening (“That’s not the point. I don’t care. It’s the way you introduced us. It just made me feel funny. Forget it, you’re not hearing me!”), the last thing on my mind should be “winning.” When we assume a side, we are therefore attempting to win. The problem is, if I win (“See! There’s her boyfriend!”) or if she wins (“Why didn’t you say, ‘This is my girlfriend’?”), one of us loses. If one of us loses, the couple we make up cannot possibly be a winning couple.
“This is my friend Mary. Mary, this is Jane.”
“So who’s Mary?”
“Mary? She’s just a friend.”
“Well, if she’s just a friend, why didn’t you say, ‘This is my girlfriend, Jane’?”
“I dunno.”
“Did you fuck her?”
There is no way to win. An answer of “no” sounds like a lie and an answer of “yes” will wreak havoc on the rest of your evening. You learn a lesson for the next time. Unless you run into this:
“This is my friend Mary. Mary, this is my girlfriend, Jane.”
“So who’s Mary?”
“Mary? She’s just a friend.”
“Well, if she’s just a friend, why did you say, ‘This is my girlfriend, Jane’?”
“’Cause you are and I love you and I want the world to know.”
“You fucked her, didn’t you? You just said ‘girlfriend’ as a cue to her so she wouldn’t say anythin
g!”
Jane’s admission of her fears might have saved the evening. Instead of an attack on her partner, a communication of how she was feeling would have assigned no blame. Plus, an opportunity to comfort her would have presented itself to her partner.
When I take the time to examine some of the conflicts I have had in the past, I am stunned by the differences between my behavior with “just friends” and my behavior with my significant other. Nine out of ten times, I am more courteous and willing to find a resolution with my friends than with my girlfriend. Never with my friends do I utter the phrases, “That’s not fair!” or “Well, my side is …”
Why is that? Well, perhaps the simplest explanation is the fact that most people are not in search of sexual validation from their friends. It is much easier to communicate when there is no danger of rejection or injury to one’s self-worth. When our sexual sense of self becomes threatened, our abilities to maintain true intimacy become challenged. Fear takes over and runs the show. When I let fear run the show, the show pretty much sucks. I have found that the best way to avoid fear’s control is to confront my fears, not my partner. In fact, sharing my fears with my partner usually takes the power out of them and at the same time opens a door to communication and mutual intimacy. Could it be that our L.A. resident has yet to honestly share everything? Has he been truly intimate?
“Where were you last night?”
Ever ask your partner this question? If so, I’m willing to bet that your inquiry stemmed from some sort of fear, insecurity, or bad thought. I’m also willing to bet that the imagined answer to that question was potentially scary. (Don’t worry. If the answer turns out to be as scary as your fear, it is more than likely that your heart will be protected by the lie your partner will eventually tell.) Why would someone even ask his or her partner this question? Just wondering? Couldn’t reach him or her? My favorite is “I was worried about you!” (Translation: “I was worried you were having intercourse with someone prettier, funnier, smarter, and sexier than me.”) Let’s be honest. This situation usually stems from one partner’s desire to spend time with the other partner and nothing more. What started out as an innocent intention to have a nice day together can become a nightmare of attacks, screaming, crying, and long phone calls wherein the subject matter dances around the idea of breaking up and character assassinations. Ironically, these conversations can last up to three times longer than any original plan would have.
The internal dialogue that most commonly precedes such an interrogation goes something like this: He/she was with someone else last night. Either that or he/she is mad at me and is trying to punish me by not calling.
It is easy to see why there is no possible answer that can make us feel any more secure. We have set up a circumstance wherein the truth wouldn’t even be believable to us. A conflict of major proportions is in the works, all because of a simple little fear that will eventually mean nothing in a week or perhaps even a day.
part V RUNNING ON EMPTY, SCENE ONE
The time is five A.M. The place is Dave’s house. The curtains are drawn. A rough mix of a solo song—“Running on Empty”—plays on the stereo. The lyrics: “I saw her on the street today/I thought she was someone else/Met her last September/I thought she was someone else.”
“I wrote that after this girl hurt me really bad,” Dave says. “I was driving down Santa Monica and I saw this really hot blonde walking down the street and I thought, ‘Fuck, man, maybe there’s hope for me being attracted to other women after all.’ I slowed down to look, and all of a sudden I realized it was the girl who had hurt me. The actual girl. This is my favorite song I ever wrote.”
part VI RUNNING ON EMPTY SCENE TWO
The time is five A.M. The place is Dave’s house. The curtains are drawn. But tonight is another night.
Dave fills up a syringe from a spoon. Sometimes it seems like it’s always five A.M. it’s always Dave’s house, the curtains are always drawn. And the syringe, of course, is always being filled or emptied. Even though he’s slowed down his intake, he’s still shooting coke like it is gasoline and He’s a car that can’t run without it.
“That analogy is not entirely correct,” Dave says as he drives the point into his arm. “Because gasoline doesn’t eventually deteriorate your car.”
part VII RUNNING ON EMPTY, SCENE THREE
The time is five A.M. The place is Dave’s house. The curtains are drawn. But tonight is not just any other night. Tonight, Dave’s hair is falling out. And not just on the top of his head: his body hair, his Vandyke, and his eyebrows are all disappearing. Every time he scratches his face, clumps of hair drop off.
Since last week, his skin has turned bright yellow, as have the whites of his eyes. And he is losing weight as fast as hair. He looks like a skeleton with a severe case of hepatitis.
A doctor is called the next day, and she tells him that he is shooting so much garbage into his system that his liver, which serves as a filter, can’t process it all.
She returns later that afternoon with an IV drip, which she assures him will cure the degenerative liver failure from which he is suffering and restore his regular weight, skin color, and hair adhesion.
After two weeks of drips, Dave’s liver begins to sputter back into action and the jaundice fades from his skin. When the doctor returns, she begins the next stage of her cure: She tells Dave that he needs to stop taking drugs. Dave fires her and gets a new doctor.
part I TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE C: A JOURNEY INTO THE MIND OF A GIRL CONSIDERING PROSTITUTION
DATE: Saturday, March 6, 1999
TIME: 4:49 A.M.
PLACE: Dave’s living room couch
BACKGROUND: There are two kinds of girls in the world: the kind you bring home to mother and the kind you bring to Dave’s house. Bonnie and Eve are the kind of girls you bring to Dave’s house. Bonnie is a short blond stripper wearing shorts, a sweater, and fake breasts so large they make her appear to be fat. Eve is a short blond stripper wearing shorts, a sweatshirt, and fake breasts so large they make her appear to be fat. They are loud, they are sniffing every drug in sight, they are drinking from a mineral water bottle filled with the drug GHB, and they have a penchant for indulging in antics such as comparing their private parts in the mirror. The intention of these antics is to get them attention, although they fail to elicit the attention the girls obviously think they deserve.
BONNIE: Why don’t you get your business done while we wait and party?
EVE: Yeah, can’t you make your phone calls while we party, and then come with us so you can see our apartment?
DAVE: Hey. I just had a great idea. You know what I’m looking for?
EVE: What?
DAVE: What I’ve had three of and I need one more: an assistant.
EVE: You’ve had three at a time before?
DAVE: No, no. I’ve had three who didn’t work out.
EVE: Didn’t work out? Okay, so you only need one. Which one of us do you want?
DAVE: Now, let’s see. Who here would make a better assistant: the person who’s been cleaning up my house all night or the person who’s been sitting on the couch doing nothing?
EVE: That’s because she’s tweaked. I want to do it. I don’t want to strip anymore.
BONNIE: What would I do?
EVE: Sexual favors?
DAVE: This and that, everything from degrading gruntwork to exciting fucking bullshit. Maybe run around for guitar and computer cable shit, make phone calls, dry cleaning.
EVE: Be his little bitch.
BONNIE: That would be awesome, and I don’t live far from you, either.
DAVE: That’s really true. Well, let’s talk about it and think about it. I don’t like you or trust you, but—
EVE: Why don’t you trust us?
DAVE: Now that you’ve seen my penis, you know too much.*
EVE: It’s huge. Pretty close to Tommy Lee’s.
DAVE: No.
BONNIE: Yes.
DA
VE: Bullshit.
EVE: It is. I bet you that it was the camera angle that made his look that big. If I had a cock your size I’d walk around like I was the shit.
DAVE: You know what, if that were true I wouldn’t need drugs. Come on.
EVE: Well, like you said, you’re always searching for something more.
DAVE: It’s gotten bigger over the past year.
EVE: Your dick’s gotten bigger?
DAVE: I swear to God, it’s growing.
EVE: Maybe it’s like a muscle, and you’ve been working it out.
DAVE: Maybe it is because I’m using it more. Neil, you’re rolling tape, aren’t you? You got the whole “huge” thing, right?
EVE: Let’s get back to the hooker thing.
DAVE: So you guys really want to become hookers?
EVE: You know what, things always seem different when you’re high on drugs.
DAVE: Come on. If the madam called right now?
EVE: Actually, Dave, I really do want to get in touch with her. I want to meet with her.
DAVE: I just paged her.
EVE: What if she doesn’t call you back? Could I have her number?
DAVE: No.
EVE: So I have to depend on you to help me?
DAVE: No, you have to depend on her calling me back tonight. Besides, I already helped you by calling her.
EVE: What did you say to her?