I feeling especially philosophical today for some reason—and bored. Not a lot going on at work that needs my attention so I came home and actually went out an built a snowman. My neighbors probably think I have finally lost my mind but what they hell—I like playing in the snow and it is actually good exercise.
Anyway, since returning to my addiction and Bluelight, I have been doing a lot of soul searching trying to figure out why I decided to start using the poppy seed tea again. Yes, it does make me feel good, it relaxes me, it helps me sleep. But, I don’t believe that I NEED it to live my life. I have read many stories on BL where people have very difficult lives, dealing with horrible situations, or are in constant intense pain. I can clearly understand why they need an escape from reality and why they could or would become hooked. I do not have an excuse—my life is normal and pretty good. I don’t say that to brag, but to point out just how shallow I must be to turn to drugs. The other thing that I have become acutely aware of is that society has this mental picture of what an addict should be. Most people, will conjure up an image of some homeless guy strung out next to a dumpster with a needle sticking out of his arm. Number one, most homeless people are not addicts, and number two, most addicts are not homeless. In fact, many of us are normal people who have spouses, kids, jobs, bills to pay. But, the big question for me is the “why?” of it—is it because once hooked, we just accept the whole drug-use routine as a part of our life—like it’s just another thing to maintain, like taking out the trash every Wednesday? I wish I knew.
But again, that still does not explain the “why?” of it. I cannot accept that I am bored, or stressed, or even that I just like the feeling it gives me—that seems like a cop out. There has to be an underlying reason why I would waste countless dollars and hours of my life being high. Quite frankly, I can never say that I woke up the next day after getting blitzed and said “Wow, I am really proud of myself for getting that high—I’m glad I did it”. It is usually the opposite feeling—I feel like a piece of crap for all the reasons we all know. And, I often find myself wondering about the things I did experience in my opium haze. I wonder if the memories I have are real? Is what I think I experienced really what I did? Did I miss something important like a precious memory or interesting situation? Was I really as funny, and charming, and intelligent as I thought I was in conversation? No one ever questioned my behavior so maybe they didn’t know. Or, maybe they did. What do you say to a 50+ father of three at a cook out who you think is blurred on opium? “I can’t help but notice you are almost comatose—are you drinking poppy seed tea?” Not the sort of thing that comes up in casual conversation. But it did change me, that I know. I went from an active, healthy, always on the go, want to try new things kind of personality to a ‘just let me lay here on the couch’ slug.
I have tried really hard to psychoanalyze myself to try and figured out when I went off the rails or what caused it. What was I trying to replace in my life that was missing? I think a lot of it was getting older and watching the kids need me less and less. Marriage/Relationships go through phases. For those of you out there that are in a relationship with kids, you know exactly what I am talking about. First there is the passion and discovery, then the trying to build a life together, then come kids. Kids change you—they make you into real adults and responsible people. Before kids I was a rock climbing, scuba diving, hang gliding, bungee jumping, back packing machine. I can’t say I was an extreme adrenaline junkie, but I loved to push the envelope a little and was always looking for something new to try or see. But when our first child was born, that mostly stopped. I didn’t want my wife to have to explain to her fatherless child that his dad was killed trying tackle El Capitan. But I was OK with that. I love my kids—they gave me perspective that I had forgot I had. The things they say and do. The questions they ask. Fatherhood was great. When our second and third kid arrived, I dove right in headfirst. I decided that the best thing I could do for my kids was to show them that the world was much bigger than the things they see in text books or on TV and so I bought a mobile home and we started to travel. I was fortunate, my company had turned the corner and money was OK so we would take 2 and 3 week excursions from one end of the country to the other, from the Canada down into Mexico. I drove the Behemoth over a 100,000 miles. We saw everything and had a blast. My kids still talk about the things we saw and did.
But then it happened. It started with our oldest first about when he turned about 16 and discovered girls and cars: traveling with the fam was just not cool. I got it. I might be old, but not one fiber of my being doesn’t remember being 16 again. And so we traveled less. And then when our other two decided they just didn’t feel like RV’ing anymore, the Behemoth just sat. Eventually I sold it and as I watched the new owner drive away, I couldn’t help but feel he was taking a little piece of me with it.
And the kids kept getting older as they do. They grew up, they got cars, they hung out with friends instead of us, they graduated, they went to college, they moved out. Our big fancy dream house that we had always wanted seemed a lot bigger, a lot less fancy, and very quiet all of a sudden. This seemed to hit me harder than my wife for some reason. My wife is very outgoing, has lots of friends, and lots of diversions. I think a part of her was actually glad the kids did not need constant attention anymore. In fact, I am sure of it. While we really tried to balance parenting, I know she did the heavy lifting. I on the other hand I was a middle aged guy with a bad back and a lot of spare time.
My back issues started when I was 35 and trying to start an old pushmower. I slipped a disc and was given Darvocet for the pain. I remember they were hot pink in color. Not only did I like that they made the pain go away, I liked the way they made me feel. In fact, I really, really liked it. It reminded me of the adrenaline euphoria I used to get jumping off a 300ft bridge with a rubber band tied to my feet. The thing was, my back really was a mess. Between high school sports and pushing the envelope I had stenosis from my neck to my lumbar. So, during the 2 neck surgeries, 3 back surgeries, countless steroid shots, 2 rhizotomies, and enough physical therapy for 6 people I was prescribed a butt-load of painkiller. And, since I liked the way it made me feel, I took a butt-load of painkiller, even when I should not. I think for many years I had more of a habit than an addiction if there is a difference. The reason I say this is I was able to control when and how much I took. Usually I would wait until Friday nights and pop a few to reward myself. I did this for years. I would try to take Tylenol for actual back pain (unless it was really bad) so I could hoard the good pills for Friday night. But the beast cannot be controlled for long. As the kids got older and I got more bored, I eventually was taking pills every day. There were periods of sobriety, usually when the pills would run out between medical procedures, but I always came back to them. And, at one point, when researching legal ways to get high, I discovered Poppy Seed Tea and was introduced to a huge Monkey that made itself at home on my back.
And here we are.
So in conclusion, I think my problem is that I am looking for replacement in my life—specifically something to replace the excitement of youth. Honestly, I hate getting old—I hate that I can’t do back-flips anymore, that things hurt in the morning, that I have to eat “right”, that I can’t pick up heavy things. Inside I still feel 25, but the mirror tells a different story. I have tried to fill my time with diversions, but they are old-person diversions: woodworking, reading, writing, light exercise. I think the opium, for just a few hours, makes me feel young—the stress of adult life fades, the pain of old age is reduced, the euphoria of an adrenaline rush is felt. It reminds me of why I used to love life so much and see every day as an adventure and not a daily grind. That is the “why?” of my addiction and I really don’t know how to answer the question.
I know I am going to get clean again—not a doubt in my mind at this point. And, I can tell myself it is for good this time, that I’ll never touch it again. But when I tell myself that, I don’t think I sound very convincing and that scares the hell out of me.
