Nikariot

Diary of An Addict
2010-04-28 22:42:01 (UTC)

Day 2: This is my stop, got to get off

I hate being around normal people who know you're an addict.
It's one of the most awkward and potentially humiliating
experiences a junkie can have. It's like calling your ex one
night while you're drunk and begging to have him back then
running into him and his new girlfriend the next day. Or
writing something awful about your boss on Facebook and
forgetting he's one of your friends. But there's something
different about being the only drug addict in a room full of
sober people. Something that makes you feel suddenly smaller
and very much ashamed of yourself without even saying a word.

I mean these people get up everyday, drink their coffee,
check their email, and head off to work nine hours everyday.
At least that's what I imagine a normal person would do. And
then you have me. I wake up every afternoon, get my fix,
chain smoke for about and hour, then spend the rest of the
day figuring out how to get high again. My day finally ends
with a wonderful, restful, deep, substance-induced sleep.
Take my upstairs neighbor and me for example. I hear them
get up every morning at seven o'clock sharp. They mess
around for about an hour and a half getting ready and then
go downstairs and get into their car. I fall back asleep.
Around two when I'm finally awake and chain smoking outside
I see them come home. She's a tall woman, always with
perfect hair, always dressed sharp, her high heels
always click-click-clicking on the ground as she quickly
walks back up the stairs and into her house. She's always
walking like she's in a hurry. It's a strange moment we
share when she walks by. She says hi out of courtesy, I
mumble back a response and suddenly remember I'm still in my
pajamas with no shoes on. No wonder people like her despise
people like me. Even I hate people like me. She spends the
day contributing to society and I spend the day... well...
taking up space I guess.

Either way, we're two different breeds. We will never go
beyond that awkward "hi". We're not meant to. She lives in a
world completely different from mine and that's the sad
truth of it.

So now you understand why I felt so strange walking into
that doctor's office yesterday. I came in late, at 2:15 when
I was supposed to be there at 2:00 to fill out paperwork. I
actually left on time, believe it or not. However, Google
maps said the office was about 1,000 feet from where it's
actually located. So after driving around, looking for the
mystery doctor's office I finally found it with no sign,
merely a "***** Family Care" printed in small writing on the
door.

I walked in and immediately knew that I had crossed into
that "normal world". Jazz music played from behind the
reception desk. The walls were tastefully decorated with
framed prints of landscapes. Issues of "Good Housekeeping"
and "Reader's Digest" were stacked neatly on a polished
wooden desk in the lobby. I muttered something about having
read the map wrong and being sorry to the receptionist and
she handed me a clipboard with papers to fill out. I don't
know what it is with me and not being able to talk in an
audible voice, but when I'm around "normal" people I sort of
clam up and my words come out in almost a whisper. I mean,
it's kind of fucked up when I think about it. I have no
problem talking to a heroin dealer who has a loaded gun on
his waist, but I can't tell a receptionist in a doctor's
office why I'm late.

I sat down to fill out the paperwork. Music was playing, but
the lobby was still oddly quiet. I pictured myself as a dark
stain on their clean carpet. I was ruining the symmetry of
the room, throwing off the balance, and I needed to be
removed as soon as possible in order to restore peace. After
five years of being an addict one would think I'd be used to
it, but I'm not. No one ever gets used to the subtle
degradation that automatically gets placed on your shoulders
the moment you're labeled an addict. It's a mark of shame
comparable to Hester Prynne's scarlet letter. I mean, these
days being a drug addict is as bad as committing murder.

And you're probably thinking that I'm overreacting. And
you're probably right. I overreact over the littlest things.
I mean, it's not like the receptionist said anything or was
openly being rude, but it's not that. It's the looks you
get. It's noticing that they're nicer to other patients.
Hell, I even watched her make conversation with another
customer one minute, then glare and respond with a "thanks"
when I handed back the clipboard. It's the little things.
And yes, I could be reading too far into it, but this is how
I perceive it.

I glanced up at the woman who was sitting across from me.
She looked to be in her late-sixties, with perfectly styled,
short gray hair. She was the type of woman that you just
know goes to the hairdresser twice a month. She had on
small-framed glasses, subtle blush and mauve-colored
lipstick that was perfectly applied. She wore black slacks,
ironed with a crease and a loose fitting floral print
blouse, the same kind of outfit my grandmother used to wear.
This woman looked as though she belonged here. Her
appearance fit in perfectly with the magazines and the
pictures on the wall, even the antique desk in the lobby
looked like it could have come from her living room. I
imagined her to be the type of woman I'd want as my
grandmother. Not that I don't have family, but... that's a
story for another day. Ha, that's a whole novel in itself'
"Nikariot and the decay of family values".

Eventually, a nurse came and woke me from my daydream. She
led me into the back of the office and took my weight and
height. I was scared for some reason. Doctors have always
made me feel weird. There's something oddly cold and sterile
about them and their offices that doesn't sit right with me.
I don't go to them often; I rarely get sick. I mean, I've
spent the last five years self-medicating, I never needed to
see a doctor. So the fact that I'm seeing one already makes
me nervous, but throw the reason for my visit
being opiate addiction on top of that and it results with me
as a nervous wreck. I guess the nurse could tell I was
worried because she said my heart rate was at 118. She
finished taking my vitals and left saying the doctor would
be with me shortly.

He came in a few minutes later. He was an older man,
shorter, with gray, balding hair. He wore a casual button up
shirt and slacks instead of the usual doctor's attire. His
face looked worn, like he was tired or something. He peered
through his glasses at my file and began asking questions in
an accent I assumed to be from South Africa. What do you
use? How long have you used? How much do you use a day? I
had prepared for all of these questions beforehand and run
the answers through my head on the way to the appointment. I
wasn't lying about my answers; I have no reason to lie to
him. It's kind of like an interview. You want to practice
what you'll say ahead of time so you don't look like an
idiot if you can't answer them come showtime. He nodded,
never once making eye contact, the whole time scribbling
notes in my file. He said he'd be back in a minute and
walked out of the room.

He came back shortly and handed me packet of papers with NA
meeting times and addresses on them. He told me Suboxone is
a crutch not a cure and I should start to build a network of
other resources if I really wanted to get clean. I totally
agree with him on that point. It's like cutting yourself
really badly and taking aspirin for the pain. The wound
won't hurt anymore, but you'll still need stitches.

I've been to NA meetings before. I've done the whole
twelve-step thing. I know people that have really benefited
from it, but to me they always seemed so fake and rehearsed.
I'll go into that another time. If I start talking about my
views on the twelve-step program I'll never end this.

So after he hands me the packet he asks me if I have any
questions. I do actually have a lot of questions, but I say
no. I don't know why I didn't ask him. He said okay,
gathered up his things, and told me the prescription would
be at the front desk.

I kind of sat there for a moment in disbelief. He had
probably spent no more than five minutes with me. I'm not
sure what I expected to happen, but I expected more. Like, I
didn't think he would just hand out a prescription for 30
Suboxone that easily. I could have made up the whole thing
and not even been on drugs, just looking for a script. The
whole thing is kind of funny. My heroin dealer used to show
more concern than this doctor did.

So I paid for the visit, took my script, and went to get it
filled. It was a whopping $227.00. But I suppose in the long
run it's cheaper than buying $40 of dope every day.

That was yesterday. I've been sober a whole two days. I
mostly feel okay. My body is kind of sore, like I've been
working out. My nose is runny and I'm a little irritable,
but that's it. It's amazing how this stuff works. I've had
it before, well, it's sister drug Subutex. I went to a detox
in 08 (again, another story for another time) and it worked
really well. I've gotten clean a number of times. I make it
through the detox, then find this renewed hope and optimism.
And then somewhere around the one month mark I cave in and
relapse. What am I doing this time? Well... the Suboxone
maintenance is going to be around 3-6 months. I've tried
short term solutions like 5 day detoxes and just trying to
quit on my own and it didn't work. I don't know why I think
it will work this time, but I hope it will. I'm taking it
slow. If I've learned anything it's that I can't rush the
process of trying to get off drugs.

I know you're probably thinking that I won't be able to do
it. Part of me thinks the same thing, but I have to try, you
know? At least I'm trying. All I ask for is no negative
responses.

I'll probably be writing a lot as recovering addicts tend to
do that. There's this great clip on Youtube from an episode
of the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. He talks about
poetry and how if you're recovering from an addiction you
may feel the need to write. He says no matter what, don't do
it. No one wants to read it. It's really funny.

So you don't have to read, but it's here if you want to. If
you want leave me a comment about what you would like to
read next. I mean I'm going to write what I feel like at the
moment, but I know that isn't always interesting so let me
know.

Wish me luck,

Nikariot




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