The Man Who Saved My Life: Remembering Lyle
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The Man Who Saved My Life: Remembering Lyle
Sometimes the words flow like butter, a perfect golf shot landing effortlessly. Other times, writing is a struggle, a grind through rough terrain hoping to stumble upon a single, meaningful sentence. Today, the words come hard, heavy with the weight of memory and loss. It's been four and a half months since one of my best friends died – a man who saved my life, a man who lived on the edge, a man I called a brother. His name was Lyle.
Lyle was brilliant, daring, and unafraid to speak uncomfortable truths. He changed the lives of thousands. Yet, in the end, he couldn't save the one life that mattered most to him. He said it gave him energy, made him feel normal. We know now it was what ultimately killed him: that insidious substance called methamphetamine.
I first met Lyle when I was 20, a patient on the psych ward at San Francisco General. He walked in, a middle-aged man with a scruffy face and a slight belly. "You Gordie?" he asked. I nodded. He said, "It wasn't long ago I was in a psych ward myself. I'm here to get you out of here tomorrow." I rolled my eyes, convinced I'd never see him again. But at 9 am the next day, there he was, my unlikely key to freedom. Freedom wasn't a swift escape to paradise, but a gritty hotel in the Tenderloin district, the first step in weaning me off the cocktail of prescription drugs I'd been given.
Looking at my chart, Lyle was astounded. The staff, suspecting I wasn't taking my pills, had switched them to liquid form. "They gave you enough substances to knock out an elephant," he said, genuinely baffled I was still standing after days in a loopy haze. We went down to the hospital basement to fill prescriptions for an SSRI and sleep medication – part of the deal, even though I desperately wanted off all drugs. My goal was a rehab focused on sauna detox and a radical diet shift to purify my body and build a "normal" life.
Waiting for a cab outside, I started pacing, balancing on a low garden railing, lost in my own world. Lyle looked at me and said a few words that hit like a switch. "Do you want to go back to another psych ward?" he asked. "No," I mumbled. "Then quit acting like you're crazy." The words stung, but something shifted in my brain that day.
Sadly, that wasn't my last psych ward experience, but it was the last for 15 years, thanks to a medically induced episode later in life. The next month was spent in a hotel often used by the hour, watched over by a man with no teeth. Not exactly ideal, but Lyle visited weekly. We'd walk or grab a meal. He became my anchor, my dose of sanity in a very unsettling San Francisco of 2009. Slowly, painstakingly, I began to put my life back together. Tapering off the medication took months and many sleepless nights, but eventually, I returned to the treatment center. The intense sauna detox began, alongside removing gluten, dairy, and eggs from my diet – a true game-changer.
Graduating rehab just before my 21st birthday felt like a new beginning. Lyle, the man who rescued me and offered a fresh perspective after six months of psych wards, meds, and three years of severe addiction, had set me on a new path. I moved back in with my parents in Florida, ready to start fresh.
The universe had other plans. Within a week of my return, we were slated to move from Naples, Florida, to Sedona, Arizona. Then came the shock: my dad wouldn't be joining us; he was moving in with his new partner. Losing my dad, my best friend at the time, was devastating.
Driving out to Sedona with my little sister, tears flowed. Yet, moving away from friends I used with turned out to be one of the best things for me. After a few months, Lyle became my neighbor. Inspired by my mom, he had moved his entire rehab program to Sedona. This meant hikes, dinners every few months, and giving some of my first-ever speeches at ATMC (Alternative To Meds Center), his center.
I delve deeper into my addiction and psych ward experiences in my first book, Eluding Reality. It’s a raw account from a time before AI could help refine the narrative.
How did Lyle die? It might forever remain shrouded in mystery, yet I believe I understand why, perhaps more than anyone. In 2023, contemplating ending my life in Mexico City with only a few hundred dollars left, I called him. He offered me a place at his treatment center to "figure out my brain" again. I jumped at the chance.
Arriving at the center pulled me out of the immediate depression, but it was a rough two weeks. I don't take orders well, and one client seemed to despise me. Nothing new. After some difficult experiences, I was asked to leave. Lyle tried to advocate for me, but I hadn't given him much to work with. With nowhere to go and no money, he offered me his guest bedroom.
I stayed for the next four months, mostly spiraling in depression, while trying to help him. He was going through what he called a terrible breakup. It was nasty, and he reverted to what he knew best: smoking meth and descending into full stalker mode. He wasn't just trying to destroy her life, but her new partner's too. I had a front-row seat to the chaos, desperately trying to help him stay clean and make different choices. But when Lyle set his mind to something, there was no stopping him.
I only saw him a few more times after I moved out. I was the one who drove him to the airport, trying repeatedly to get him on a plane to treatment. He eventually went and seemed to be improving. The last few months of his life are hazy; I was grappling with my own issues. On our last call, I urged him to come to Canada with me, believing we could put our lives back together. I knew how to help him make good choices, but fate had other plans.
When I emerged from a period of difficulty, including jail and depression, Lyle was one of the first people I reached out to. He didn't respond, which was unlike him. I called and texted for a week before receiving the call I dreaded. He had tragically burned in his Escalade just before the New Year.
I am still heartbroken. We were supposed to tackle the mental health field together, brothers-in-arms against big pharma and restrictive psychiatry. He saved my life, and we dreamed of sharing his methods for helping people off medication with millions. Instead, his addiction and, tragically, his love for a woman consumed him.
Lyle was one of the most fascinating people I've ever known – brilliant, complex, and yes, crazy as hell, which is probably why we connected so deeply.
I will always hold a special place in my heart for Lyle. His story is a stark reminder that while love and connection are powerful, nothing is worth destroying your life over. There are always new adventures and opportunities waiting if we can stay clean and maintain a good mental state.
I don't have all the answers, but I know the impact Lyle had on me is immeasurable and will be forever cherished. He believed in me when most of the world, besides my mother, had given up. He nursed me back towards greatness and was so proud of my books and my speaking engagements worldwide on addiction and mental health. It is a profound sadness that the man who did so much for me ultimately succumbed to the very struggles he helped his clients overcome.
If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction or mental health, please reach out for help. You deserve another opportunity, and there is life on the other side.
Resources: Canada: 988 Suicide Crisis Helpline USA: Call or text the SAMHSA Disaster Distress Helpline 1-800-985-5990
Connect... Gordon GordonBufton@proton.me @GordonBufton33