Thursday, September 20, 2012
Memoir Pieces...My First Call to Methadone
My head spins, back and forth, over and over again with the same old thoughts, the thoughts that invade my mind, when it is reeling with the madness of the sickness. Dope, dope, fucking dope. Seems like it is all I can think about, but it doesn’t keep me from puking.
Where the fuck is the man, and why the fuck has he not been answering his phone all day? Fuck, man, I do not think I can take this! I called everyone I knew that might have a fucking bag, and it is just the same old story. No, I haven’t talked to the man, either. No, I am out, too. No, I wish I did talk to him because I am sick as fuck. My head spins round and round with this buzzing nightmare, as the whole dope scene speculates about the man’s whereabouts. Jail, he must have gotten locked up.
My head spins around again, with the images of chains and metal doors, sliding closed with the infinite locking sound, echoing in my brain. Images and pictures of handcuff, and orange jumpsuits, and the awful metal doors, locking one behind, with no chance to escape.
My mind, my life is locked and chained with this addiction, and this sickness is driving me mad, as I beg and plead with some power above to take mercy on my decrepit soul. My head spins with nausea and broken thoughts, jumbling images flashing back and forth across the caverns of my dark and cloudy mind. Locked doors, no windows, handcuffs, and chains. Dope, dope, fucking dope, looking at me in the mirrors of my mind with and plethora of images tangled with pills, powders, insanity and liquor.
My stomach rumbles with a deafening roar, the empty rumblings of s sick stomach, stuck in the mire of poisonous bile and acid excretion. Cordless phone clutched in my hand, I meander slowly back to the bathroom, before puking and pissing and shitting, all over myself, all over the tiny little bathroom, tucked away in the back corner of my little shotgun house in the Marigny. Damn, this shit sucked.
Covered in my own ejections of poisonous bile, all the toxins rushing backwards through my bloodstream, hands shaking, as my whole body is racked with the sickness and unsatisfaction. The floor feels cold and inviting against my clammy skin, and my sweaty face. Sweating like cold bullets, dripping down my face, and all over my chest, the sweat growing closer and closer as it travels down, sending shivering chills to rack my gooseflesh, sending my teeth into a chattering mad, mess. I moan in coherently, as I lay, slightly twitching on the bathroom floor, a slow and steady twitch that is coupled with the incessant chattering of my teeth.
I crawled slowly to the bathtub, turning on the water, and letting it warm, while I took a moment to dry heave once more, only ejecting thick and tiny pieces of the yellow poison bile vomit. Somehow, I peeled myself off the floor, and pulled my heavy body into the bathtub.
The warm water surrounded me, soothing the gooseflesh, soothing the mind, so it could just focus on the rush of the water. I splashed the warm water all over my face, letting it rush down all over my body, tickling every crevice of skin. I listened to the sound of the water, as it filled in around me, surrounding me with warmth and wetness, bringing the chilly shivering to a cease.
I lay back in the water, and my long dark hair swam in the pool around me, floating like a majestic monster in the water, tickling me with the touch. The vomiting and chills slowly faded, as I sunk deeper and deeper into the water. I began to relax, if only for a moment, I seemed to have found relief, if ever so slight, still ever so sweet.
My eyes looked towards the ceiling with the blankness of exhaustion and nearly a day without dope. My skin seemed to relax, only momentarily, and I seemed to be floating above the water, just huddling above my tiny little bathroom.
The old drain never really worked right, and sunk in my madness, my mind, staring into the oblivion of the wall, and creating images there, the water slowly drained out, as my skin grew colder and colder once more. My eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but the experience was more out of my body. I was thankful for those few moments of outer body experience during the living inside hell of dope sickness.
I watched the scene from above, as I lay soaking wet in an empty bathtub, as the shivers began to invade once more, and the nausea took hold again. I noticed my hipbones, protruding a little, and my ribs seemed to stand out more than before. Wet and water logged, dazed with confusion and sickness, I looked down on my sick and emaciated self, and for a moment, it seemed as if my lips were turning blue. The shivering set in hard core, and I even wondered if I was dying. My head suddenly snapped to, and I was shivering violently once more, inside my body, looking up at the ceiling.
I climbed out of the tub, soaking wet and too insane to even dry off. The air conditioner in the kitchen and living room seemed to blast cold, cold air, even in the summer heat of New Orleans, tingling my skin to stand up with the most upright gooseflesh. Too sick and racking with the madness to even dry off, I merely pulled my clothes onto my wet body, and my dripping long hair hung halfway down my back, dripping cold, shivery water all over the floor, as I began to slowly pace back and forth.
I called the man, over and over and over. I rifled through all my pockets and purses, one more time, leaving all the mess scattered all over the room, throwing bits and pieces from both pockets and purses, flying above my shoulder, around my head, sending it hurling onto the floor behind me. I heard coins splattering on the wall, a cacophonous rainfall of metal, mingled with madness.
I clutched the portable phone, as my head racked back and forth with the madness of one of my first kicks. I had been using daily for at least six months now, and this was the first time I was cut off from my supply for more than a few hours. Solution, solution, answers, answers. I needed something, anything.
I had driven around in my car earlier, as the swimming feeling in my head took over the wheel, as my mind became more and more cluttered with the sickness. Dripping wet, in the car, haunting all the dope corners I knew, looking in vein for someone who was holding, but the corners were empty, save for the small few junkies, just as sick as me, wandering the streets, looking for a fix.
Swimming with the ideas of a fix, invading my mind in the form of pills and powder, and pleasure and pain. Thoughts running into the nausea that racked my insides, and running into the sweat pouring from my shivering forehead, as I grappled with the madness. Surely, I felt as if I would die. I dialed the dope man, again and again in my desperation. Still, the sick junkies I knew all remained sick, and the phone remained silent. Silent, save for the ringtone I heard every 10 seconds, as I checked just to make sure it was working.