Just One Last Time

Yesterday my sister came to pick me up and we headed down to the methadone clinic for my weekly urine test. I've aquired five days worth of carries so far, no small feat for someone with such a long history of drug use. I hadn't been out for awhile and the spring air against my skin was a much needed comfort, actually feeling it not short of a miracle. It was nice to see the nurses again. It always amazes me how quickly and easily I bond with people especially after being in hibernation for so long, especially after having had come face to face with the ugly nature of human behaviour in the last few years. I am not the shyest of people and I could tell that others respond to me positively. I am not fooled by their laughter, however, not for even a second for I have learned not to trust. For a moment I feel normal and not like some sort of misfit trying to navigate through life with the least amount of discomfort possible. But discomfort is putting it mildly: I truly think that there are some of us that are too sensitive to deal with the world, whether this comes from childhood trauma or observing and ultimately refusing to deal with the cruelties of life or a combination of a number of things. I've asked myself a number of times before who wouldn't take drugs to escape if only for awhile? Attempting to make sense of everything is truly a taxing task, especially if you don't have the proper emotional "equipment" to deal with life's ups and downs.


After finishing up at the clinic, my sister drove me back home and I fell asleep at around 4:30 with a pounding headache. I never thought in a million years that I would deal with a migraine by taking a nap, no painkillers involved. Then again, any excuse to pop pills would have done back then, never mind a valid reason. I don't know if this is due to my anemia or the fact that I am allowing myself to rest after experiencing a number of traumatic events these past few years but I find that for every day that I have an energetic, productive day, I need two days to pretty much sleep. I do not allow myself to feel guilty, especially since I've talked to my doctor about this and finding out that this is normal for a person who is recovering plus getting used to the methadone. For once--and this has been nothing short of a miracle--my mother is being understanding and supportive. I guess it had to come to me almost dying for her to finally step up, and step up she did. I will forever be grateful for her being there for me and I forgive her for everything. I just want to feel free and light and go on with my life and hopefully live up to my potential.


I rarely get any cravings these days and the methadone seems to be working wonders with my sleep and keeping my moods stable. I was under the impression that time would go by slowly without drugs but the opposite seems to be true. Ocassionally, I wonder how much fun it would be to snort a line or two while I write on the computer or watch TV, but then I think about the bitterness dripping down my throat, the pounding of my heart which at times resembled panic and the inevitable insomnia for which I would need a downer. The more drugs you do, the more you need. What comes up must come down. The phone calls, the chasing, the guilt, the rush, having to scrounge money together, running out, and then having to do it all over again. Personally, I am a lazy addict that's why it worked so well for me to work at a strip club: the tips were there, the dealers feet away, my room upstairs ready for me to crash. There was no going to dangerous neighbourhoods, hustling with strangers, putting myself in harm's way even more. Being an addict is full time work, especially when you cross over to the hard stuff. I would need to go "searching" for a dealer, I would need cash. The whole viscious cycle would start all over again and the end result would be the same, but much worse this time. It always gets worse. Why would I want to end up helpless and sick, weak from vomitting, regretful about the past, confused about the present, and having to rethink the future ALL OVER AGAIN? But that's what addicts are: gluttons for punishment just to experience that perfect moment of being far, far away in a world where you don't hurt, in a land where anything is possible and your dreams are not so far beyond your reach.


A few times, it had passed through my mind to sneak a swig from the next day's methadone drink, which I keep in my bedroom, always within reach along with the other bottles filled with methadone and Tang and my prescription of Clonazepam from which I am slowly weaning under the doctor's supervision. Fortunately, the urge leaves me quickly and I am wise and experienced enough to know that one swig would surely lead to another the next time until one day I would be left with nothing but withdrawal and endless prayers for the next day to arrive quickly so that I could go to the drugstore to pick up my drinks. No matter how lonely I feel on a Saturday night, I resist. I even consider putting my carries in the fridge, farther away from reach but I know damn well that if I wanted to do it, nothing would stop me.