seven_six_two
Greenlighter
I wrote this one night when I was all geeked out on MDPV. It was one of those drug-induced moments of clarity where everything seemed to make sense, and I wanted to try and explain my concept of addiction in a way that would make sense to everyone...and in a way that would convey a drug addict's distorted definition of normality. My wife and I were going through a lot at the time, and writing helped us both make sense of things and communicate in an otherwise chaotic day to day cycle of drug abuse. Forgive me if anything is misspelled, poorly worded/formatted, or just plain shitty. I'd love to hear any thoughts or comments. I'm not afraid of criticism.
Addictions are viewed in as many different ways as the number of people who experience them. I know, if asked to define the word, my response would be far less palpable to the average mind than it was a decade ago. Far less innocent. In fact, it’s downright hideous. Things that normally come to mind for most people would include cigarettes. shopping. comfort foods. Something that isn’t necessarily always harmful but creates compulsive behaviors nonetheless. But in the mind of a drug addict, that word is poisonous. It evokes a long list of adjectives and concepts one would expect to find in some of the more unpleasant parts of the bible…and they damn sure wouldn’t wake up and expect to experience any or even all of them in a single day. Disease. Despair. Desperation. Shame. Persecution. Guilt. Betrayal. Judgment. Punishment. Death. I’d be surprised if any drug addict spent more than a few minutes of any given day without the thought of, or exposure to any of these things. It’s an entirely different level of existence, with its own language and emotions. Problems and solutions. Even the value we assign to every aspect of our lives, from material possessions to our interpersonal relationships. Everything changes. Our definitions. Our attitude. Everything about the way we view the world, down to the simplest object. Some people see light bulbs on a store shelf and think of just that. Light. Maybe they think of it as a representation of an idea. Enlightenment. They definitely wouldn’t think about shoplifting it and using it to smoke narcotics. It’s so shitty, it’s almost funny. How a simple object whose glow makes life so much easier could ever remind me of darkness. Of bad ideas and ignorance. And then the list goes on. Aluminum foil. Baking soda. Spoons. Straws. Before you know it, your whole kitchen has been redefined. Utensils you once used to eat are transformed into constant reminders of how low you’ve gotten. And, ironically, why you haven’t eaten in 3 days. It sounds like a ridiculous metaphorical nightmare, torn from the pages of a poorly written horror novel where normal objects, tools we use every day, turn to weapons and start using us. Complete madness. And a shitty idea for a book. But that’s just it, the inherent weirdness of it all…it’s a reality. A shitty idea for a reality. And it’s a way of life that the people you live next to and work with couldn’t begin to understand. And if you could just get away from it, you’d be able to justify the fact that you don’t understand either. You only know. What it’s like. How it feels. How much it has cost you, and what you were willing to give. You can’t understand how a society, founded on the concept of opportunity and charity for the downtrodden and hungry, could ever look down on you. Or how the people who once loved you won’t even acknowledge your existence. You look at yourself and you can’t reasonably justify the unsightly scab marks on your arms, or your missing teeth. The scar on your neck from that time you got stabbed trying rob your dope connection…or was it when the paramedics had to intubate you to save your life? You can’t remember. Given your current position in life, what’s the difference? Details are funny like that. To people like us, they get lost like car keys and wallets. And you’d have a reason to look for them… if you had a car. Or money. Or somewhere to go. There are moments where you vaguely recall a close friend asking you for advice on how to break up with their boyfriend because she found an empty pill bottle in his room. Then you recall the harsh judgment you had placed on him in your mind for being such a loser. And that thought is suddenly interrupted by your soon to be ex-wife, yelling at you to hurry up and get your shit out of her house. Days, months, weeks, or years later, you’re calling your daughter or son. After being away from home a few days for a job, hearing your voice on the phone used to make them ecstatic. You could just picture that smile. The scrapes and bruises and boogie-men and homework were all forgotten. It was the best feeling you had ever known in your entire existence up until that point. But right now, on the other end of the line, she’s completely puzzled because a weird recording is informing her that she has a collect call from the county lock up. And it wants to know if she’ll accept the charges. Most likely one of the worst feelings in your entire existence. Especially at this point.
You start to remember weird shit about normal every day life that was taken for granted. Waking up next to a warm body…someone who loves you. Driving your car. The job you used to drive that car to. Big Macs. Bathrooms with doors. Showers that didn’t require cautionary measures against sodomy. Getting out of bed without vomiting. Right now, you’d give anything for that damn dog to jump in your bed and wake you up with his slobbery attempts at gaining your attention. He’s hungy. But you’re still dreaming…stuck in this nightmare with no one to wake you up, and no one to pester for attention. And you’re hungry. You think about every day events people experience and how different those same things are for you. Say, getting pulled over for speeding. Or a busted tail light. Some bored cop wants to be a jerk. It’s enough to ruin anyone’s day. Try sitting in your car trying to talk your way through that situation with a meth lab in the back. A shitty day turns into a shitty 1-5 years in the time it takes to pop a trunk…
People talk about living every day like it’s your last, but who really does? I guess we do, if anybody. You remember the long talk you had with your best friend about how you both need help. That it was the last time either of you are going to get high. The next day you get a phone call. He’s dead.
You never even realize you’re wearing the hat…until it’s wearing you.
Thinking even further back you remember how being a kid allowed you to experience joy in the tiniest and strangest of places: playing with bugs. The smell of swimming pools, fresh cut grass,. Or that suffocating, yet oddly pleasurable sensation of the hot summer day on your skin as you step out of an air-conditioned house. But you still find joy in very tiny, strangle places. They’re oxycontins. A baggy full of little crystals. Straws and aluminum foil. Syringes. And you used to cry when the doctor gave you vaccination shots, you remember your mom bribing you with a slumber party if you could just “be a big girl”, but even then it took three assistants to hold you down. Now you’re crying because you spent all the money you had on this dope, and you’ve clogged up your only rig trying to hit a vein. Tylenol always helped you get rid of headaches…now methadone helps you fight the urge to commit suicide or rob a gas station…you’d really be surprised how many people wake up in the morning and give themselves that set of options. You used to take Sudafed for a cold, now you’re hiding in the storage shed behind an empty house combining it with various chemicals…chemicals only an idiot would have thought to put together and smoke, snort, or inject the resulting product. I don’t know who the asshole was that thought it up…but wherever he is, I’m certain he’s nothing more than a mess of decaying human parts, buried six feet under a rock with some numbers on it. And somehow, he’s still making a lot of friends. They want to be just like him. Many of them are. I can’t speak for everyone. Ive been through almost all of these experiences. I’ve been through a lot, and witnessed the rest in the people around me. It’s all happening. Everywhere. All day. Every day.
It’s odd, the places people like us find ourselves or the thoughts we sometimes have…and our total inability to change it. We witness our own behavior in others, and see our near or distant future in their present moment. Sometimes we look at others and see our past, and know damn well where they’re headed. And you’d feel like some kind of misfit messiah if you could just turn them away from it all. Show them the light and get them to choose another path. You could literally save their life…you could hand them every single minute of their future to enjoy. But they’re just as stubborn as you were. They don’t listen either. It’s like walking up to a stranger and telling them, in all seriousness, that they’re about to make a mistake they’re going to pay for every moment of every day, for the rest of their lives. Their lives will transform beyond recognition…and they’ll continually spend an unreasonable amount of time and resources-pretty much giving up everything they love-seeking out ways to make that mistake again. Over and over. Day in. Day out. That’s a lot to lay on a stranger… One minute he’s on his way to work, and now you’re confronting him with the possibility of life-changing events. Without a definition for this nameless mistake, they would probably call you an asshole and walk away. The concept of it all sounds completely retarded. Even if you told him what it was, that he’d become a drug addict…it still sounds retarded. And I won’t argue, it is. Who could possibly be so stupid and irresponsible? I still wonder. Drug addiction is an abstract concept subject to debate, where helpless compulsion and personal responsibility blur together and still manage to stand in total contrast. It starts with a conscious decision and, given the nature of it all, the rest doesn’t happen overnight… But it sure as hell feels like it. We look down on ourselves as others do, cursing our lack of self control. Hating ourselves for ever thinking we could quit at any time. Dancing on that fine line between being gainfully employed and having gangrene in your arm. Dodge minivans and dope sickness. But we knew the risks. We gambled with our lives for a buzz. Like tossing your kidneys out on the craps table in Vegas. Or your car keys. Or your daughter’s innocence. Obvious miscalculations of value, in comparison. And though it may seem, addicts aren’t always the stereotypical idiot. Some of us are actually pretty smart. We have incredible moments of clarity that most people never experience. I’ve been having one for days. And then we snap out of it. And continue smoking weird chemicals and stabbing ourselves with tiny metal tubes. Insanity could never be more clearly defined. Everyone around us, even the mildly retarded, can see the highway of destruction that got us into this mess. We, more than anyone, see it too. But no one can clearly pinpoint where it began or where it will end for them. As if it really matters, anyway. All you know is where you are, and that you’d rather be somewhere else. Some people get off at the downtown exit…Some get back on and off at every exit for the next 81 miles. And some are strapped in for the ride. What happens to me? You never really know for sure until you’re the one finding an exit. Or the bitter end.
I know what you’re probably thinking right now. One of two things, anyway. For a few of you, it’s “Hey, I think I know this guy! He used to sell me dope down by the bus stop. In fact, I see him all the time. He’s at the methadone clinic every morning waiting for the doors to open. He was on the evening news the other day. And sometimes I could swear I see him in the mirror.”
Ok, maybe that’s just me. You probably don’t sound quite so crazy. But you get the idea. And then there’s everyone else. The self-respecting, god-fearing masses. You guys are saying something like…”What kind of human being would deliberately subject themselves to this lifestyle, knowing the constant misery they’ll suffer…all for a fleeting sense of pleasure?” Damn good question. The rest of us are asking it too.
“The Edge... there is no honest way to explain
it because the only people who really
know where it is are the ones who have gone over it.”
-Hunter S. Thompson
it because the only people who really
know where it is are the ones who have gone over it.”
-Hunter S. Thompson
Addictions are viewed in as many different ways as the number of people who experience them. I know, if asked to define the word, my response would be far less palpable to the average mind than it was a decade ago. Far less innocent. In fact, it’s downright hideous. Things that normally come to mind for most people would include cigarettes. shopping. comfort foods. Something that isn’t necessarily always harmful but creates compulsive behaviors nonetheless. But in the mind of a drug addict, that word is poisonous. It evokes a long list of adjectives and concepts one would expect to find in some of the more unpleasant parts of the bible…and they damn sure wouldn’t wake up and expect to experience any or even all of them in a single day. Disease. Despair. Desperation. Shame. Persecution. Guilt. Betrayal. Judgment. Punishment. Death. I’d be surprised if any drug addict spent more than a few minutes of any given day without the thought of, or exposure to any of these things. It’s an entirely different level of existence, with its own language and emotions. Problems and solutions. Even the value we assign to every aspect of our lives, from material possessions to our interpersonal relationships. Everything changes. Our definitions. Our attitude. Everything about the way we view the world, down to the simplest object. Some people see light bulbs on a store shelf and think of just that. Light. Maybe they think of it as a representation of an idea. Enlightenment. They definitely wouldn’t think about shoplifting it and using it to smoke narcotics. It’s so shitty, it’s almost funny. How a simple object whose glow makes life so much easier could ever remind me of darkness. Of bad ideas and ignorance. And then the list goes on. Aluminum foil. Baking soda. Spoons. Straws. Before you know it, your whole kitchen has been redefined. Utensils you once used to eat are transformed into constant reminders of how low you’ve gotten. And, ironically, why you haven’t eaten in 3 days. It sounds like a ridiculous metaphorical nightmare, torn from the pages of a poorly written horror novel where normal objects, tools we use every day, turn to weapons and start using us. Complete madness. And a shitty idea for a book. But that’s just it, the inherent weirdness of it all…it’s a reality. A shitty idea for a reality. And it’s a way of life that the people you live next to and work with couldn’t begin to understand. And if you could just get away from it, you’d be able to justify the fact that you don’t understand either. You only know. What it’s like. How it feels. How much it has cost you, and what you were willing to give. You can’t understand how a society, founded on the concept of opportunity and charity for the downtrodden and hungry, could ever look down on you. Or how the people who once loved you won’t even acknowledge your existence. You look at yourself and you can’t reasonably justify the unsightly scab marks on your arms, or your missing teeth. The scar on your neck from that time you got stabbed trying rob your dope connection…or was it when the paramedics had to intubate you to save your life? You can’t remember. Given your current position in life, what’s the difference? Details are funny like that. To people like us, they get lost like car keys and wallets. And you’d have a reason to look for them… if you had a car. Or money. Or somewhere to go. There are moments where you vaguely recall a close friend asking you for advice on how to break up with their boyfriend because she found an empty pill bottle in his room. Then you recall the harsh judgment you had placed on him in your mind for being such a loser. And that thought is suddenly interrupted by your soon to be ex-wife, yelling at you to hurry up and get your shit out of her house. Days, months, weeks, or years later, you’re calling your daughter or son. After being away from home a few days for a job, hearing your voice on the phone used to make them ecstatic. You could just picture that smile. The scrapes and bruises and boogie-men and homework were all forgotten. It was the best feeling you had ever known in your entire existence up until that point. But right now, on the other end of the line, she’s completely puzzled because a weird recording is informing her that she has a collect call from the county lock up. And it wants to know if she’ll accept the charges. Most likely one of the worst feelings in your entire existence. Especially at this point.
You start to remember weird shit about normal every day life that was taken for granted. Waking up next to a warm body…someone who loves you. Driving your car. The job you used to drive that car to. Big Macs. Bathrooms with doors. Showers that didn’t require cautionary measures against sodomy. Getting out of bed without vomiting. Right now, you’d give anything for that damn dog to jump in your bed and wake you up with his slobbery attempts at gaining your attention. He’s hungy. But you’re still dreaming…stuck in this nightmare with no one to wake you up, and no one to pester for attention. And you’re hungry. You think about every day events people experience and how different those same things are for you. Say, getting pulled over for speeding. Or a busted tail light. Some bored cop wants to be a jerk. It’s enough to ruin anyone’s day. Try sitting in your car trying to talk your way through that situation with a meth lab in the back. A shitty day turns into a shitty 1-5 years in the time it takes to pop a trunk…
People talk about living every day like it’s your last, but who really does? I guess we do, if anybody. You remember the long talk you had with your best friend about how you both need help. That it was the last time either of you are going to get high. The next day you get a phone call. He’s dead.
You never even realize you’re wearing the hat…until it’s wearing you.
Thinking even further back you remember how being a kid allowed you to experience joy in the tiniest and strangest of places: playing with bugs. The smell of swimming pools, fresh cut grass,. Or that suffocating, yet oddly pleasurable sensation of the hot summer day on your skin as you step out of an air-conditioned house. But you still find joy in very tiny, strangle places. They’re oxycontins. A baggy full of little crystals. Straws and aluminum foil. Syringes. And you used to cry when the doctor gave you vaccination shots, you remember your mom bribing you with a slumber party if you could just “be a big girl”, but even then it took three assistants to hold you down. Now you’re crying because you spent all the money you had on this dope, and you’ve clogged up your only rig trying to hit a vein. Tylenol always helped you get rid of headaches…now methadone helps you fight the urge to commit suicide or rob a gas station…you’d really be surprised how many people wake up in the morning and give themselves that set of options. You used to take Sudafed for a cold, now you’re hiding in the storage shed behind an empty house combining it with various chemicals…chemicals only an idiot would have thought to put together and smoke, snort, or inject the resulting product. I don’t know who the asshole was that thought it up…but wherever he is, I’m certain he’s nothing more than a mess of decaying human parts, buried six feet under a rock with some numbers on it. And somehow, he’s still making a lot of friends. They want to be just like him. Many of them are. I can’t speak for everyone. Ive been through almost all of these experiences. I’ve been through a lot, and witnessed the rest in the people around me. It’s all happening. Everywhere. All day. Every day.
It’s odd, the places people like us find ourselves or the thoughts we sometimes have…and our total inability to change it. We witness our own behavior in others, and see our near or distant future in their present moment. Sometimes we look at others and see our past, and know damn well where they’re headed. And you’d feel like some kind of misfit messiah if you could just turn them away from it all. Show them the light and get them to choose another path. You could literally save their life…you could hand them every single minute of their future to enjoy. But they’re just as stubborn as you were. They don’t listen either. It’s like walking up to a stranger and telling them, in all seriousness, that they’re about to make a mistake they’re going to pay for every moment of every day, for the rest of their lives. Their lives will transform beyond recognition…and they’ll continually spend an unreasonable amount of time and resources-pretty much giving up everything they love-seeking out ways to make that mistake again. Over and over. Day in. Day out. That’s a lot to lay on a stranger… One minute he’s on his way to work, and now you’re confronting him with the possibility of life-changing events. Without a definition for this nameless mistake, they would probably call you an asshole and walk away. The concept of it all sounds completely retarded. Even if you told him what it was, that he’d become a drug addict…it still sounds retarded. And I won’t argue, it is. Who could possibly be so stupid and irresponsible? I still wonder. Drug addiction is an abstract concept subject to debate, where helpless compulsion and personal responsibility blur together and still manage to stand in total contrast. It starts with a conscious decision and, given the nature of it all, the rest doesn’t happen overnight… But it sure as hell feels like it. We look down on ourselves as others do, cursing our lack of self control. Hating ourselves for ever thinking we could quit at any time. Dancing on that fine line between being gainfully employed and having gangrene in your arm. Dodge minivans and dope sickness. But we knew the risks. We gambled with our lives for a buzz. Like tossing your kidneys out on the craps table in Vegas. Or your car keys. Or your daughter’s innocence. Obvious miscalculations of value, in comparison. And though it may seem, addicts aren’t always the stereotypical idiot. Some of us are actually pretty smart. We have incredible moments of clarity that most people never experience. I’ve been having one for days. And then we snap out of it. And continue smoking weird chemicals and stabbing ourselves with tiny metal tubes. Insanity could never be more clearly defined. Everyone around us, even the mildly retarded, can see the highway of destruction that got us into this mess. We, more than anyone, see it too. But no one can clearly pinpoint where it began or where it will end for them. As if it really matters, anyway. All you know is where you are, and that you’d rather be somewhere else. Some people get off at the downtown exit…Some get back on and off at every exit for the next 81 miles. And some are strapped in for the ride. What happens to me? You never really know for sure until you’re the one finding an exit. Or the bitter end.
I know what you’re probably thinking right now. One of two things, anyway. For a few of you, it’s “Hey, I think I know this guy! He used to sell me dope down by the bus stop. In fact, I see him all the time. He’s at the methadone clinic every morning waiting for the doors to open. He was on the evening news the other day. And sometimes I could swear I see him in the mirror.”
Ok, maybe that’s just me. You probably don’t sound quite so crazy. But you get the idea. And then there’s everyone else. The self-respecting, god-fearing masses. You guys are saying something like…”What kind of human being would deliberately subject themselves to this lifestyle, knowing the constant misery they’ll suffer…all for a fleeting sense of pleasure?” Damn good question. The rest of us are asking it too.
“This labyrinth that we’re puzzled by
is nothing but a straight line…
but sometimes those are even harder to navigate.”
is nothing but a straight line…
but sometimes those are even harder to navigate.”
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