true romance

it was breakfast time, and alyson, molly and i sat around cold cereal and burnt coffee.  i thought it was about time for the 64 thousand dollar question:

“so, molly, what number detox is this for you?”

“six.” she said, smiling. i couldn’t help but think this was kindof a joke to alot of people here.

“what’s so funny?” alyson had no sense of humor for it.

“well, i’ve been to this one three times so far, and never completed.” (completed would be to do the six days and taper from the usual 30mg starter to 5mg on release day)

“why?” i know why.

“i wanted to get high.” bingo.

“the last time i was here, i left with this kid manny, two days into treatment.”

“let me guess, he was hot.” aly had a little smile on her face now.

“so. fucking. hot.” molly slammed her hand on the table for emphasis.  “it was so romantic.”

now, junky romantic is different from a standard version of romantic. example of standard romance:–’ i met this kid at a club downtown, he bought me a drink and we talked all night.  the next date we went on we made a real connection, he bought me flowers and i met his best friend. i really think this is going somewhere.’–

example of junky romance:–’i met this kid at my dealers house, he split his half gram with me, we talked all night.  the next day we hustled a hundred bucks from the mall, and he bought me a 40 of coke.  he even introduced me to his main guy, and we crashed over his place.  i think we could hang out for a few weeks, anyway.’–

molly’s story was primetime junkhead romance.

“i met manny on my first day here.  we spent the whole day together, talking about our habits, where we came from, what we wanna do. he really understood me. 

just another example of junk bringing people together. hehehe.

“it was falltime then too, and it was so sunny outside, the leaves were falling all over the city. we kept talking about how cool it would be to just run away.  it’s hard, you know, sitting in the windows up here, knowing you can’t go outside.  we couldn’t stop talking about it.   so, after relapse prevention group, i saw manny walking away from the payphone. he had just called his guy, and we could meet him in the park in an hour.”

“oh, molly, you’re kidding.” this story was awefully familiar to me. “so you left.”

“yep, we were out of there before lunch.”

i had to laugh.

“let me guess, a nice long run with detox kid?”

“we walked down to the park, with our backpacks full of all our shit. we saw the guy, and then we sat on the underside of a bridge, and shot up right there. it was all so exciting, like having sex in public, but better.”

it’s funny, how girls always equate junk with sex.

“i only had a couple hundred bucks, so staying in a hotel was out of the question.”

“need to save that cash to get your fix, sugar.” alyson knew it all too well.

“even so, the money only lasted a couple more days.  we’d been staying at manny’s guy’s house, but after the money ran out, the welcome wore out. next thing i knew, i was outside target, stemmin for cash.”

“wait a second, you were panhandling?” i was confused.  “with all the money and the car at home, you chose to panhandle outside a stripmall?”

“yeah, i should’ve just gone home, been the good girl, taken my punishment, and my place as daddy’s little junky.  sometimes it’s better to just stay away.  when i was with manny there were no expectations. i had no history with that kid. no broken promises, failed attempts. just me and him. all i had to worry about was hustling money and scoring dope. ” she looked sad now.

“i made a few hundred dollars that day.” she said. “but not til i took my shoes off.”

“come again, chica, your shoes?” i giggled, and the smile returned to her face.  molly was popular at detox.  she was very pretty, and her laugh was contagious. so, the breakfast table had become a little audience for her story. all the boys from our floor.  i hadn’t really met any of them yet, but they were interested in something at our table. let’s call it the story for now, just to be fair.  molly liked the attention, anyway.

“well, i was wearing three inch stillettos and gucci sunglasses, it was hard to get people to take pity on you when you look like paris friggin hilton.”

“i’d give you a dollar.” piped in curtis, molly’s “manny equivilant” this time around. they were the reason detox has its famous ‘no coupling’ rule.

“very funny.” she gave him a playful shove.

“so what did you do?”

“i took my shoes off, painted my french tips black, washed the makeup off, and replaced it with my best orphan face.  I made manny hide behind a car parked a couple rows over, cuz it’s hard to get cash from a guy when you have a body guard two feet away, watching every exchange.”\

“and that worked?”

“you better believe it. one guy alone gave me $75, told me to go buy some shoes.” she beemed, very proud of herself.

“i’m gonna have to try that one.”

“so we took our winnings and went to see his guy.  we couldn’t stay, cuz his guy was going to re-up, so soon we were wandering the streets agian, looking for a place to shoot. as we walked downtown, past a used car lot. i saw some attendant checking me out, and i never let an opportunity pass me by, so i laid my best sob story on him ‘i was visiting the city with friends, and they left me behind after the party.  i can’t get home til tomorow, and i’d really appreciate it if you’d let me sleep in one of these cars.  you don’t even need to tell your boss, just leave this red one unlocked. it can be our little secret.’”

“and he went for that?”

“yep, i’m very pursuasive.”

“more like pathetic.” curtis again.

“cute, curtis, but it worked. that’s all that matters.”

“it never ceases to amaze me, the power of young girls over men.”

molly just smiled. “so we spent that night in the back seat of a buick skylark.  we cuddled under a blanket manny kept in his backpack.  i let him hit me off as the sun went down behind us.  we just talked, got high, made out.”

“how sweet.”  funny thing was, i was serious. it really did seem really sweet to me.

“but after a couple days, it got old.  i started seeing the same people at the same stemmin spots.  i started to feel dumb. i told these people i needed their money to get home, and then they see me a week later, selling the same story.”

“well, molly, even the best run has to come to an end.” alyson said.

“so i finally called my parents, and i said goodbye to manny.”

“what happened to him?” i asked.

“i don’t know, i never saw him again.” molly didn’t seem to know how lucky she was to be able to just stop playing the game when it got old. i’m sure manny had nowhere to go home to.

“maybe you’ll catch him on the detox circuit.” i said. everyone started to laugh, and then i noticed, the whole table was listening, entralled with molly’s junkylovestory.

“you never know. there’s plenty of time before my six days is up.”

“does that mean you plan on completing treatment this time?” alyson asked.

“maybe.” she replied, giving curtis a glance.  “haven’t met anyone worth leaving with yet.” with that she and curtis got up and headed back to the elevator.

and that about summed her up right there. molly, such a sweetheart, such an addict. so naiive.  she’ll run the motions, for her parents. to keep the lines of communication, and the bank account, open.  but when it comes down to it, she’s not ready to really commit to recovery.  she’s too into the lifestyle, the people, the drugs. 

it’s all still too romantic for her.

 

 

molly

(the following few entries are based on kids i met while i was away. one thing i realised is how different each person really is, and sometimes the ONLY thing we have in common is the addiction. but that is enough to bond us. i respect these kids, i feel for them, and i thank them for letting me in on their lives, and share it.)

molly was my second roomate. she slept across the room from alyson.  my first night there was her second. after lights out, we all lay in bed talking.

“so, kaia, you don’t look like you’d shoot dope.”

“and you do?” i laughed.  molly was about 5′2″ tall, weighing all of about 100 pounds.  she didn’t look strung out, though. she looked healthy, except for her tracks.  they ran from her fingers to just below her elbow, and they were purple.  she had a dark, store bought tan, which looked a little strange in the middle of a new england september. but it did help to dull her tracks.  as we spoke, it became clear, she was not your typical junked-out kid.  she had money, and you could see it.  chesnut brown hair, dirty blond highlights, french tips on her fingers and toes.  she had victoria’s secret pink and green pajamas. she even had a luis vitton makeup case hidden in the back of her dresser. 

“why are you here?” she asked me.  i gave her my standard ‘casey vs. the birch tree’ answer, and then asked her the same question.

“well, about a month ago, i had just gotten back from copping dope and i was bootin in a parking lot near my house. the cops in town know my family, and they took me in on possession.”

“you had dope on you?”

“no, just a cooker with ‘residue’.”

“you are not serious.” where i come from that was unheard of, why even bother.

“i come from a pretty ritzy place, posession class a is a big deal, i made front page news.”

i had to laugh a little, poor kid.

“so they towed my beemer and hauled me in.”

“your beemer?”

“it was a gift from my dad, but trust me, sometimes it’s more of a curse than a blessing.”
“how do you figure?”

“have you ever tried to cop in the projects, being the only white girl for miles, in a bmw, with out of state plates. how do you think i got popped the first time?”

“this is not your first time?”

“no, this is my second posession charge in three months.”

this wasn’t really funny any more.

“so, you’re not sick of it yet?” aly asked. after all she’s been through, she’s almost like a “mother junky” if that makes any sense. she’s the one who will sit down with a kid and try to talk him out of leaving detox. she’ll help kids get on the clinic, she’ll give you money for a hotel. she’ll do whatever she can to keep a friend from going down the path she did.

“it’s just getting fun, girly. so they took me in, in cuffs and all, and interrigated me like a goddamn serial killer, ‘who’s your guy, what’s his name, how much are you using, where’s your stash, blah blah blah.”

“so that’s why you’re here?”

“nah, i wasn’t gonna come. but i had one more run in with the cops.”

i just shook my head. i mean, she looked so damn innocent.

“i wasn’t supposed to be using, cuz of my charges, and i was supposed to be driving, either.  so when my mom noticed the car gone some time after 2am, they reported it stolen, and there i was again, sitting in the police station.”

“did you at least get to get off first?” standard question.

“he walked up to my car mid-push, parked at 7-11.” she laughed. “by then i figured, what the hell, and finished my damn shot. at least i was jammed until i got bailed out.”

i found it facinating, that a girl from such privilage would end up there.  with all the special attention, private schools, therapists, trips to rehab (the kind that included acupunture and hypnosis).  with her positive, proactive parents, with her trustfund.  her mom and dad never abused her, they didn’t even drink. they did everything right. and she still turned out a heroin addict.  it made me wonder.  is it all genetic, or maybe completely random. maybe we lost the cosmic lottery. i just don’t know.

“so if you’re so loaded, what are you doing in this generic junky depository?”

“well, i’ve got court next tuesday, and this was the only place that had a bed. i’m doing the detox thing to make a good impression on the judge.”

“so what’s your plan after detox?” aly asked.

“my parents want to get me the implant.”

“what?” it never stopped with this chick.  i don’t know anyone that has tried the implant.

the implant is kinda like the deposhot for junkies. it’s a shot you get in your arm that implants a little chip under your skin. the chip is an opiate blocker. for three months you physically can’t get high.

“isn’t that shit like 2 grand?”

“it was my mom’s idea. i told her i’d try it if i could get my car back.”

“so if you’ve got so many fucking options, how come you’re still running?” aly asked, i guess she was just as confused as i was.

“i’m not done yet, i guess.”

with that we went to bed. it’s the simplest and most frustrating fact of junky life:  no matter how many programs you do, or how many wonder drugs you try, no matter how many times you get arrested, or make your mother cry, you won’t stop using until you are ready to.

quotable

“I’m not using drugs to get high like many people think. I know I made a big mistake when I started using this shit. It’s a very difficult thing to explain. My liver is not functioning and I’m throwing up all the time and shitting my pants. The pain is more than you can handle. It’s the worst pain in the world. Dope sick hurts the entire body

layne staley 2002 (died april 5 2002)

detox nation

if you asked me six months ago where i would be spending labor day weekend this year, my answer would not have been detox. but after casey’s accident, my mother came into my room and sat on the bed.

“if you think i don’t know casey was on drugs during that crash, you are higher than you look, go to detox now, or pack your shit and get the hell out.” she stood up, handed  me the phone, and walked out of the room.

i had a bed in 20 minutes. 

next thing i knew i was sitting in the common room in a dingy inner city detox in my homestate. now, i’ve got no insurance, so we are not talking some cushy hmo “facility” where you sip green tea and practice yoga in between slef help seminars. this was a raw, gritty, in your face with god’s sad truth, often court-ordered detox.  at the end of the hall was a middle aged hispanic man, a white blanket wrapped around him, vomiting in a bucket he held on his lap. patients and workers walked by like it was no big deal.

this is going to be interesting.

at first i was a little bit freaked out. to be alone, worried about what to expect, how i’d deal with the situation.  i sadt on my bed in a room that i shared with three other girls, from the looks of it, and it hit me; no matter how many crazy places you’ve been, or how much out of control stuff you’ve done, there will always been an experience that is totally foriegn to you. something new you don’t know how to handle. 

i had shot my last dope as i was packing to leave, and it was not a small shot, so i wasn’t ready to be dosed (with methadone) yet. i had to wait for a little sickness to show. i got up and started doing jumping jacks. might as well get the most out of this i can. after i was good and sweaty, i went over to the nurses station, and they promptly dosed me with a heavy hit of methadone.  i walked back to my room, feeling better already.

i sat on my bed, dizzy in the head a little, feeling nervous to be alone.  the rest of the patients were in an na commitment. i wonder if i’m gonna get along with any of these kids. alone with my thoughts, jammed as i was, i started to go a little scitzo. what the fuck am i doing here? i should have just chilled and waited to see what happened. mom wouldn’t kick me out. what about casey, i wonder how he is, i hope he’s alright. i wonder if he’s high right noww. i can’t believe i’m in the ghetto detox all alone. what the hell was i thinking?

just then a girl came into my room and started rummaging through a bureau on the other side of the room, with her back to me.

fuck it, might as well make friends now, right? “hi, my name’s…”

“kaia?” the girl turned around and her face lit up.  “what the fuck are you doing here?”

it was alyson.

“aly? i thought you were back in jail.”

“nope, i screwed up here to the city when shit got hot with scotty.”

i ran over and gave her a big hug. “i’m so glad to see you, i was worried.” about this was the time i noticed the sores.

now i’m not sure how many people are familiar with this aspect of the dope world: Dermatillomania.  it’s a conditin that affect opiate addicts, mosty junky girls.  it’s like a compulsion to pick at your face. i don’t know why but it comes with the territory. every girl i shoot with does it, including myself. but aly is by far the worst.  she will sit in front of the mirror for hours, after a good shot, or a coke binge and just pick. pop zits, pull scabs, scratch at uneven patches, when its over she looks like a leper.

i had never seen it as bad as it was at detox. she was coved in green and red scabs. along her hair line, on her cheeks, and especially on her neck.

“jesus, alyson, what happened there?” i pointed to one especially toxic looking sore under her left ear.

“it was an abscess, but i cut it open.”

“an abscess?”

“i missed a coke shot.”

“in your NECK?”

“yeah.” she was so goddamn matter-of-fact about it, i felt like an idiot for a making such a big deal. i just shrugged and gave her another hug.

“i’m so glad you are here.”

that was a bit of an understatement. i was elated, relieved, excited, like a huge pressure had been difused. not only did i have someone with me i knew, but alyson was a) not in jail b) not dead c) not on the streets, starving and trickin her way from fix to fix. it was really good to see her.

as we walked down the hallway, we talked about our new environment.

“so this is really your first detox?” she laughed a little.

“yeah, my mom made me come after casey had his accident.” i filled her in on that debacle.

“you’re kidding me.”

“i wish. what about you? what brings you to this club meathadone?”

as i stood at the nurse’s station awaiting my second precious dose, she laid it on me.

“well, like i said, after we last parted ways, i came up to the city to get the heat off me.  i’ve been staying with this guy i sortof know.  we’ve been on a vicious run.  we were up for four days or so, and he started throwing up blood. so that afternoon he just put the pipe down and said ‘aly i’m going into detox, you should to.’ and i could either sleep at this crackhouse up the block, or hit up this place. i had mangled my face, and this thing on my neck was super infected, so here i am. why the hell not, right?”

“how many times have you been here, aly?”

“detox in general, or just this one.”

“this one.”

“fifteen or twenty.”
i laughed.

she didn’t

“are you serious?”

“you’ll see, kaia, i’m not the minority here, you are.”
the nurse stood in the window, “kaia w, dose.”

i stood up and retrieved my tiny shot glass from the nurse and swigged it quick. finally. i couldn’t help but feel like the nurse was my pusher, and i was just getting another fix.  the first dose they gave me didn’t touch me, so this was a welcome feeling.  at the time of casey’s accident, we were each pushing about a bundle and a half a day habit. it wasn’t supposed to happen that way, but it always does.  shit catches up quick.

after this second dose, i was feeling good, really good. as odd as it may sound, i was starting to look at detox as a little junky vacation.  free from homelife, fighting with my brother and feeling like an asshole for leeching off my mom. free from casey, and all the addict bickering we go through. free from the fruitless, depressing job search, free from being broke. knowing i had food, heat and i could do laundry. and best of all, free from the game. free from the endless hustle, the dopesickness, the constant running, the chase. my  pusher was there, first thing, with my dose. i. it was nice. i could just relax and enjoy not being on the street. i felt calm.

aly and i went back to the common room, and i met the kids who would make up my microcosm for the next 5 to 7 days.  as i traded names and drugs of choice with these people, one thought kept repeating in my head. there is no formula for addiction. it hits each and every demographic, religion, sexual preference. it doesn’t discriminate. now, i know that’s basic na shit, but you really don’t know it you are sitting in the room; housewives, bikers, bodybuilders and hookers.  a lawyer, a sorority girl, someone’s grandmother, and a teenage drag queen. all addicts, all equally fuct up.  i’d never been in a situation before where it was acceptable, even encouraged, to talk about my addiction. it was kinda cool. i didn’t feel as alone as i thought i would. 

 

going mad

river of deceit–mad season  rip layne

My pain is self-chosen
At least, so The Prophet says
I could either burn
Or cut off my pride and buy some time
A head full of lies is the weight, tied to my waist

The River of Deceit pulls down, oh oh
The only direction we flow is down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down

My pain is self-chosen
At least I believe it to be
I could either drown
Or pull off my skin and swim to shore
Now I can grow a beautiful shell for all to see

The River of Deceit pulls down, yeah
The only direction we flow is down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down

The pain is self-chosen, yeah
Our pain is self-chosen

not quite dead…yet

in the life of a junky there is never a dull moment, and i am no exception. i have been in detox for a while. (you’ll love these stories) and when i got home my parents were on vacation. a day later their electricity was cut. so i’ve been sleeping with no heat, thank god it’s not too cold yet. and while my parents stay at a hotel, the misfit kids, my brother alex and i, stay at home, eating mac and cheese off the propane grill, and reading to each other out loud to pass time. see, i’m broke cuz i’m a heroin addict, my parents just like to spend money they don’t have. i think i comand more respect than they do. but that’s just the opinion of a drug addict.  so i’ll be back, but just know i’m not dead, i’m just living the life. at least it all makes for a good story right? reality…always better, stranger, sadder, and more twisted than fiction.

junkie karma

our latest run came to a rather abrupt end. you could say it was like hitting a tree in a speeding car. oh wait, that’s exactly what it was…

we had been running hard for about three weeks. before we went to new york we were out of control, at camp bisco we were completely insane, and then we came home and unofficially decided to go berserker.  we owed a few people a few hundred dollars each, but i was unconcerned with it at the moment. it was payday again.

we were at kristi’s house doing coke shots, and it was getting late. we needed some dope.

“i’m gonna call AJ.” casey said walking over to the phone.

“no way, it’s one in the morning.” i was not in the mood for this. “we can get dope anywhere, we don’t need to go all the way out there.” AJ lived in the middle of nowhere, about 45 minutes into the woods. i was not in the mood for a geeked out midnight rendezvous.

“AJ is the cheapest, and the count’s good, i’m going.”

when casey gets an idea in his head, there is no point in arguing. but there was no way i was going. when he’s jammed he’s a shitty driver. weaving in and out of the lane, not actually nodding out, but close enough to ruin my high, and that’s just unacceptable.

“drop me off at home first.” so we said goodnite to kristi and headed home. as we got closer to the house, i got a  weird feeling, casey was a little more fuct up than usual, and i had a knot in my stomach i didn’t like.

“stay home with me tonite.”

“i’ll be home in an hour.”

“you’re too fuct up to drive, please don’t go.”

“you’re paranoid, just go to bed, i’ll wake you up with a shot at like 2.”

“please, we can cop in the morning.”

“don’t be crazy.  i have to work at five.” with this he pulled up in front of my mom’s house. “i’ll be back in an hour.”

i reluctantly got out of the car, “call me when you are on your way back.” i yelled as he pulled away. after i was alone in the dark, and the sick feeling just got sicker.

i waited restlessly for the phone call.

it came, just like he said. he came home, just like he said, and we got high yet again, just like he said.  i went to bed that night, feeling silly for making such a big deal of nothing. i really am paranoid, i guess.

i woke up around 9 the next morning. casey had left me two half grams for the day. today’s gonna be a good day. i decided as i made up a generous wake up shot.  nothing gets me going more than a huge shot and a shower. casey said he’d only be working half the day anyway, so i had shit to get done. we had borrowed the truck we were driving from a friend of his he does side work for.  i promised to detail it, in exchange for the ride. as i was getting my cleaning stuff together, i decided it was time for midmorning high. why is it, the more you have the more you want.

i went up to my room, and as i was adding the water to my dope, the phone rang.

“hello.” hurry up i’m busy.

“kaia.”

“yes.” shotshotshot.

“have you seen casey?”

“uh, he’s working.” duh.  shotshotshot.

“no darlin, this is dave, i’m at work, he never showed.”

“dave?” oh shit.

dave we borrowed the truck from. dave i was supposed to detail for. dave that works with casey. dave that hasn’t seen casey.

“what do you mean? he left at five this morning.”
“now don’t go gettting all emotional, casey is not the most relaible kid, by far. he’s probably out somewhere, doing whatever it is that you kids do.”

very funny old man. that sick feeling was back.

“well if i hear from him, i’ll tell him to call you.” i hung up the phone before he could answer me. i was a mess, i hat e it when casey pulls this shit. and as a junky i’m sure you all have or had a person like this in your life. i love him, but he doesn’t always do what he says. he’s often late, does more than his fair share, doesn’t call when he’s supposed to, and forgets to follow through with money or favors. but that’s just the addict. and it’s all part of the game.

so i spent the next two hours worrying like crazy. finally i decided the pressure was too much.

i need a shot.

so i sat down and got to business yet again. to be honest, i was a mess. i had been for quite a while. at that moment, as i got my rig out for the, maybe, fourth time that day, i remember thinking…something big has got to happen to snap me out of this bullshit.

at that moment, the phone rang.

if this goddamn phone rings one more time i swear to god don’t people have their own lives i’m fucking busy.

i put my nice dark shot down and picked up the phone.

“what.”

“kaia??”

“casey! oh my god, where the hell have you been, dave is super pissed at you, you have to cut the”

“kaia, i was in an accident.”

“what?”

“i nodded out, i hit a tree, i broke my nose, and i have possession of class a pending now. i’m at the hospital.”

i need a shot.

everything came crashing down around me. casey had totalled the truck we borrowed from dave. he had obviously never made it to work. he smashed his face in, and his knees were hurt bad too. thankfully he was wearing his seat belt, and he wasn’t hurt worse. but when he made contact with the tree, his kit went flying. he had time to toss the rig, but the bags of dope were nowhere to be found…until of course the cops showed up. isn’t that how it always happens.

junky karma. the longer you keep using, the worse things become for you. the more you think you can beat the odds, the more the odds are stacked against you. the more you feel like you can fix it, the worse it gets. the more you ignore the fact that you have a problem, the deeper you dig your grave. you know it’s wrong, but you do it anyway, and you pay every time. there is no escaping it. because you do it to yourself.

so there we were, thinking we were cool. ripping and running. boosting and lying. shooting and shooting. i felt like a fucking idot.

“oh my god, baby, are you okay. i’m so sorry, let me come get you. are you okay, oh my god.”

“kaia, calm down, you’re not helping any by getting all emotional. stop crying.”

i did my best to calm down. “what can i do for you baby, anything.”

“my brother’s gonna bring me home in a little while, i just need you to do one thing.”
“anything baby, name it.”  i was already running scenarios through my head, detox rehab programs, na. we had let this shit go far enough, i was tired. i let it almost kill the kid i loved more than life. i let it get between us, i let it take us over. no more. this was it. finally he’d undertand, we’d do it together. finally it was clear…

“save me half your dope.”

silly junky, what did you expect??