“I have made the big decision…I’m gonna try to nullify my life…”
You know what’s funny about junkies is, they are so completely predictable. They isolate, self-medicate, lie, bow out of anything and everything meaningful, rarely answer a call higher than drugs, and are generally completely and entirely irresponsible. You don’t let them baby-sit or house-sit. You don’t loan them your car. You pray they won’t call, since it’s probably a crack at securing money or a safe place to use. You lose sleep if they don’t call. You eye them when they’re in your house. Most of the time, you lose touch with them, whether you mean to or not.
It’s amusing how at the first sign of any confrontation, a junkie can instantly transform into the busiest, most reliable, and impressively hardworking person on earth. When a junkie is faced with the prospect of something like inpatient rehab, there is no one alive who can compete with a junkie for first prize in responsibility, reliability, obligation, a sense of duty, and a full calendar. “But I have to work!” “People rely on me!” “I have responsibilities!” “I can’t pay bills if I leave.” “My life would fall apart!” And the ever-conventional: “I just need time.” Not hard to read in between the lines of why they really don’t want to go.
Of course, any junkie already knows his/her life has fallen apart. Junkies suck at paying bills; they find employment difficult or impossible; they do a piss-poor job of attending to people and things in their life, including themselves; and they have this magical ability to ruin everything they touch. The reality is, no one needs a junkie around. It’s worse than wasted space, because it’s just a drain.
I can’t stay on track. Every time I make progress, I lose it. It’s like trying to hold onto water. I can do it for a while, but the whole time, the water keeps seeping through hidden cracks in my hands until I’m left clutching air. I keep trying to go back to where everything went so amiss, but every time I think I reach the inception, I find my mistakes are rooted still more deeply. This is where I am now: whether or not to do methadone.
Last time I quit, I promised myself that if I landed here again, I would try it. I’ve gone in circles so long that I’ve lost my bearings. Conflicting thoughts about quitting are causing a raging battle inside my head that drowns everything else out. Reasons for wanting to avoid methadone: inviting The Man into my life, potentially swapping one addiction for a less superior one, cost, and a lot of uncertainty. I’ve been trying to learn about methadone, but I have so many questions. I don’t know what it will be like to go down there every day. I wouldn’t have a say in how much they give me, and what if I get a physician who decides to start lowering my dose quickly? It seems there is always an introductory cutoff level, usually around 30 or 40 mg. What if that’s not enough? Even if it is, it doesn’t deliver the rush like smack. Sure I could add some benzos or alcohol into the mix, but it’s not the same, and what if they test for those? Reasons to give it a try: I’m feeling a little threadbare. I keep doing the same thing over and over, and the only thing that changes is that I feel a little more apathetic each go-around. I need to distance myself from where I get drugs, and I don’t know any other way. A lot to think about over the next few days.