Another story: Man in the Box (unfinished, barely started)

The Burnt End

Man in the Box

The blaze of light welcomed me like pissing gonorrhea.  I shut my eyes right away to avoid the burning.

As soon as I realized I was awake my only wish was to be back asleep and I tried over and over again like so many days but I just couldn’t. The strangeness of thinking suddenly grabbed hold of me and I wanted to reach for the curtain of earth to cover me up and bury me. I didn’t want to come face to face with life and all I could remember was a void so deep and dark and just nothing else.

My body was so heavy as if gravity was some new invention pressing me down with God’s giant dumb thumb.  My throat was dry, but I barely noticed cause the cold desert seemed to be all pervasive on and in me.  It was as if I was hit by an ice-cream truck and then locked in the freezer filled with dry ice.  I knew I was in pain but I could not recognize the exact nature.

As I lay there trying to play dead, memories flooded my now reactivating mind. 

I had injected a bundle of heroin.  That’s the last thing I remember.  It felt like it happened in some distant past life for some yet unrealized reason. 

I lay still for a long time, minutes, maybe an hour, before I opened my eyes again and picked up my right hand to feel around.  The beeping was deafening and I knew I was in the hospital before my bleeding eyes finally adjusted to that fucking sunlight coming from the uncovered window.

I could feel the bones rubbing against the sockets in my fingers as I grabbed at the first thing.  My dick had a tube coming out of it and I groaned without even knowing.  I was breathing horribly acrid breath trying to form more than groans but failed. 

An IV in my arm, white sheets, door open, three cushioned chairs next to my bed currently empty, florescent lights, the antiseptic smell mixed with BO and piss and shit. 

I had ODed again.  I was in a hospital again.  What was so different this time?

Finally the nurse quickly passed the door like a blur.  Even though my eyesight strained, my hearing was sensitive and I could hear her heals turn. 

Her specter entered my room, a blurry human smudge.

“He’s awake.” obviously she wasn’t talking to me.  “He’s awake!” she said louder with her head turned toward some unknown person or persons.  Gazing at me my eyes slowly adjusted and I could see better.

As if talking to a child she asked me “how are you feeling?” then walked to the side of the bed.  Behind her two other nurses, one young male and an older Jamaican woman were at the doorway peering in at the threshold almost superstitiously.

“Ugh” is all I could conjure at first. “I….wha.”  I had exhausted myself speaking just that.

“Get him some water!”  she snapped back.  The young male nurse snapped out of his trance and disappeared.  “you might feel a little disoriented.  You just woke up from a coma.  But everything is alright, okay?”

She took my right hand in hers.  Her empathy eyes filled me with guilt and disgust.

I pulled my hand away and tried with all my might to sit up, pushing down on my elbows and oh my God I felt like the freshest warmest pile of shit.

“Hold on there hon, you should take it easy.”  she said with pity  beaming from her pale-blue eyes as she rubbed me on my shoulder trying to ease me back.  But I pushed up and the world shifted as my head went upright.  Disorienting was an understatement.  It felt like the world went inside-out, upside-down, like my brain was floating in a jar of liquid and a giant shook it like a margarita.

The aforementioned water came and the nurse put the plastic cup to my mouth and I felt the cool water crawl down my throat and into my empty stomach.  It was sickly sweet.

“Is that better?”  she asked.

I looked around dumbfounded at the six pairs of eyes now looking at me like I was pathetic little monkey at the zoo.  Then out the window squinting at the sun which was visible, a giant golden pocket watch.

“How long?”  I said with gravel still in my throat.

“Almost a month now.”  the nurse said.  “You almost died.”

“A month?” I mouthed in semi-shock.

So basically I did die. I was dead.  Coma?  Dreamless sleep for a month.  What voodoo was this.

“But you’re alright now.  You’re awake.  And no brain damage.”  she said nodding with a smile.  They were all smiling.

I wasn’t smiling.  I’m not sure if I wanted to have died or if I was grateful I didn’t.  I couldn’t make up my mind, I never could. 

But no brain damage so its all good!  Something certainly felt damaged in that soft lump of putty in my head.

The nurse saw me straining and pushed me back down gently.  She picked up a remote and with a purring sound the bed slowly lifted me up into a sitting position.

“Better?”  she asked.

I nodded and said nothing else.  My brain began to restart like a computer which had been turned off for a month.  My eyes even started to focus correctly again.

I should have been filled with gratefulness, but couldn’t help but think at that very moment that I would have preferred that one nurse when I was in the hospital for the first time instead of this below average looking late middle aged mother of probably three children grown children.

What was her name? Mary? Maybe, who remembers names anyway.  But boy, she was a twenty something brunette pretty enough to be a Hugh Hefner fantasy.   Now that would have been more pleasant, I think, to wake up to her.  Instead I got this wrinkled mother, a hippy white asshole, and some fat black Jamaican to look at. 

Coma for a month with no opiates?  Lets just say even in that haze of aching nausea I was horny as all fuck and my dick had a catheter unpleasantly fitted into the urethra.  I couldn’t even jerk off if I wanted to.

I am ashamed to say, those were my thoughts as the three nurses watched me, waiting for something more, like a magic trick or something.  Well, the trick already happened.  I’m resurrected.   Surprise!

“Okay.”  the old nurse said.  “Well, we will call your family to let them know that your awake.  Your mother came everyday and sat in that chair holding your hand, praying and crying for hours.  Its unfortunate that you decided to wake up now when none of your family is here to see it.”

I was thinking about how to get out of the hospital, how long it will take.  I wanted to use so bad.  The thought of Mary or whatever the fuck her name was melted away when the urge to shoot up came back.  As per usual, heroin trumped horniness.

I heard the nurse, sure, but I just stared off into space, hoping she would just leave.

Finally she stopped flapping her lips and surmised, incorrectly “Okay, you need to rest up.”  She finally took her hand off my shoulder.  I had rested enough.  I rested for a whole month.  I just wanted her to buzz off and be alone.

“Just press the button if you need anything.  The doctor will see you soon and your family will come as soon as they hear, I'm sure.”

She stared at me for a couple of more seconds wanting some form of acknowledgment.  I mouthed “thank you” and waived my hand.

Finally alone, I grabbed my dick and winced and realized I was wearing a diaper. The thought filled me with utter contempt.  I spent the next hour or so thinking about how awesome heroin would be right now.  Everything would be fine, even this, if I was high.  But I wasn’t, and this was complete hell.  Maybe I wish I did die.  I don't know, I really never could tell.

The doctor came in after some time.  His name was Dr. Karesh and he was Middle-Eastern or Indian. 

It did not bother me, but it seemed like 9 out of 10 doctors were immigrants nowadays.  The American dream had an obviously different meaning to natural born citizens and the new multinational immigrant Americans.  My generation were vane, entitled, and obsessed with materialism.  Not to mention they were kind of idiots.  Not all….but most.

“Hi, Mr. Walters, how are you feeling?”  he ask as he looked at a chart.

“Not good.  When can I leave.”  I had regained some strength, enough to talk at least.

“Not so fast, Sir, not so fast.”  he smiled.  “Let me check your vitals and we’ll go from there.”  (More details)

He did his thing for a couple of minutes and then said “Good, you seem very healthy.  Do you smoke?”

“Yes I smoke.”

“Well, you should think about quitting, it will lengthen your life by ten years.  Its a really bad habit.”

I guess the irony of what he just said didn’t connect.  He was deadly serious.

“Okay, I’ll think about it.” I lied.  “So when can I go?”

“Well, you will have to stay for a couple more days at least.”  he flipped pages in his chart.  “You almost died.  Did you know that?”

“Yes I do.”  I said super serious.  “No brain damage and smoking is bad for you.  I get it.  When can I go?”

“Not yet, Sir.”  He said gently.  “you have to recover, it takes time.”

“Look at me, I’m fit as a cagefighting pit bull.”

“Okay, well, there is some news I must discuss with you, but I would like to wait for your family to come first so we can discuss it.”

I looked at him without showing emotion.  I knew my rights.  Or at least I knew I had rights.  Or I thought I had rights.  I was a little unsure at the moment.

“Okay, but I don’t really need them to be discharged.  I’m an adult.”

“Yes yes, but we will have something to discuss.  You will learn soon enough my good sir.  Your life is about to change.”  He said and grinned slyly.  I really did not like that grin.  (more?)

“Okay.”  I responded.  “Can you take the IV and catheter out, I think I can manage to walk.  And can I get some food, please.”  I was starving.  “and a shower would be nice.”

“Take it easy.”  he gestured his hand as if he was pushing on something.  “We will take care of you.”

He smiled and walked out of the room.  I really didn’t like that grin.

(note: flesh out parents and sister)

I could hear my mother down the hall.

“Where is he.  I forgot the room.  Where is my baby.”  she said hysterically.  I rolled my eyes.  Baby, she sure loved to think I was still in diapers.  Unfortunately I was in diapers very much like a baby so I guess it wasn’t way off.

She burst into the room with tears streaming down her face.  My father right behind her like some stone statue capable of walking; a morose golem.  I could feel the ire of his shadow.

“My baby!”  my mom screamed and hugged me.

“Hi mom.  I’m alive.”  I said bluntly.

I loved my mother.  I loved my family.  But that didn’t mean I wasn’t annoyed by them.

However, I honestly wasn’t annoyed to see her that time.  I was actually really happy and relieved.  I also felt incredibly guilty again.  And I really wanted to get high which made me feel even more guilty  I really did hate all shades of emotions.

“Hi son.”  my father said.  You could barely see his face in that thick black beard.  Even if he was lacking the black forest of facial hair you would rarely see an actual emotion on his face  He was a rock.

“Hey dad.  I survived again.” I made a “well, whatever” gesture.

Than he grinned.  He didn’t smile.  He rarely smiled.  But he grinned.  I was deeply disturbed.

“Bianca is gonna come as soon as she can.  She visited you a lot.” (rethink relationship to sister)

Bianca was my younger sister.  I always wanted an older brother, but she was alright all things considered.  Actually, she was perfect compared to me.

“How are you?”  I asked knowing the hell I put her through.

“I’m so happy to see you awake.  I was so afraid you were going to….”  she put her head down and wept.  “I prayed to Saint, Maximilian,  Mary, Jesus, God, even the angels for a miracle.  And here you are.”

“i’m glad someone heard you.”  I said as serious as I could.  I was pretty much an atheist.  She was very Roman Catholic.  But I always gave her Faith when I could.  It is the opiate of the masses.  My opiate was opiate.

“How you feeling?” my dad said.  He made no attempt to get near me or hug me even.  I didn’t really want him to either.  “like shit?”  he nodded contemptuously.  He was not a fan of drug addicts.  Or me for that matter.  Not anymore anyway.

“yeah, pretty much like shit underneath God’s boot.”

“It wasn’t God who did this to you.”  he responded.  He was some sort of Catholic.  Its really hard to pin down how someone could be a Catholic but believe in other inexplicable and supernatural things like ghosts or reincarnation or an all pervasive force.  He would disown being Catholic all the time with philosophizing about various religions and science, but I had a specific memory that time I attempted reading the Bible for the hell of it.  I  kept it was on the floor by my bed.  One day, he came into my room, picked it up, brushed it off, and kissed it before putting it on the shelf.  Yup, he kissed it. (actually happened)

I wonder what he or my mother would think that time we used some pages from revelations to roll a blunt.  What’s blasphemy to one person is just a rude affront to quaint notions of what is considered sacred.

“This is not God punishing you.  You did this to yourself.”  he said forcefully.  “Again.”

He wished I died again.  He had said as much before.  He no longer had an emotional attachment to me, he had to bury me in his heart.  Somewhere along the way, I think he might have buried himself too.  Well, at least buried himself in a beard anyway.

“Yeah, you really messed up.” my mom said in a muffled voice as she was face down crying on my lap. My mom on the other hand would never abandon me.  She would stick by my side even if I was a serial killer or rapist.

“I know.”  I said.  “I’m really sorry.”  Tears actually welled up in my eyes.  I was legitimately sincere and sad.  Heroin would cure that right up, but without any for so long my emotions were colored in chaos.  I was maudlin suddenly and wept myself.  “I’m so sorry.  I promise I will try harder this time.”

My dad laughed.  I thought a that moment he laughed at the sentimental bullshit of my statement. But it really did not seem apt even for him in this situation.

“Well, you won’t need to worry about that.”  he said.

What did he mean?

My mom looked up finally.  There was guilt there, I could see it.  But she too suddenly smiled, tears glazed her face like a donut.

“What?”  I asked.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the Walters.  How you doing today?”  the doctor suddenly appeared; a damned omen dressed in white.

“Oh hi Doctor Karesh.  Thank you so much for this.”  My mom got up and shook his hand violently.

“ohOh no no no, its really no problem.”  he said with that self-satisfied aura.  See, he saves lives so he is a saint. (I don’t know about that line)

“Okay doc, how long do I got to live?  Be real with me?” I asked sarcastically.

“Oh well, that’s up to you isn’t it.  If you continue to smoke than well I already told you.  But you are very healthy and no longer in a coma.  No complications, not one.  You should have a long fulfilling life now.”

Yeah right, what bullshit was this?  Again with the smoking?  Was this guy fucking serious?

“Okay.”  I said. “Can I leave than?”

“Well, we have to discuss some things.” he looked me straight in the eyes for seconds then said “sit, sit,” he gestured to my parents. They looked a little nervous.

“What...what is going on?”  I suddenly became anxious too.

“Well….Jude….it appears you have racked up some major medical expenses over the last five years.  Three overdoses, approximately 57 days spent in a hospital not counting rehab or detox, a total of 21 days in rehab and detox on five different occasions, completing detox once and not ever finishing rehab might I add, the ambulatory expenses five times it seems.   Never arrested though.  Hmm, that’s interesting.  Quite interesting.  Never arrested?” (note: rethink arrest record?)

“Well, I spent a couple of hours in jail once. Disorderly conduct.”

“You are quite luck.  And very lucky you have a mother who watches out for you.  She saved your life three times.  And she brang you to the hospital when you had that blood infection and abscess, both of which could have ended your life or lead to amputation easily if it went on longer.”  he paused and flipped through the pages on his clip board.  It was thick as a book.

(Just a note: this story takes place in either the future or an alternate history/reality where there is universal healthcare and a more socialistic government.  Prisons are overcrowding because of an increase in violent and various other  crimes, drug addiction is completely out of control, and things are a little different.  In order to combat the problem, the government is looking for different solutions, primarily nano technology that can alter brain chemistry permanently.  I haven’t exactly worked out the kinks in this new society or how it works. But have some ideas.)

“Well, what is the problem?”  I asked.  “I have Unicare Insurance.  They pay for everything, so I’m good.”  My entitled ass said without even blinking.

“Oh well, that is true.  But you have accrued about...” he paused to look “126,345”  he looked up “and fifthy three cents.”  he closed the book with a thud. (note: don’t know if this is an accurate figure, need to do reaserch, I just made up a big number)

“And what exactly is the problem?”  I asked again.

“Nothing.” he said with that grin.  “You will not ever pay a dime.  The state will cover it all.  It also covers the nano-naloxone which costs a pretty penny.  About 10,000 to be precise.  For one person.  But, you passed the limit so…in the long run it will be a good investment.”  he smiled, a wide open smile now.

“The what?”  I asked.  It sounded like the official name of what is known as Narcan, naloxone, but not quite.  Did they give me a shot of it?  It would be weeks than before I could use.  I was suddenly filled with utter dread.

“The Nano-naloxone.  Its a new...well not quite a drug.” he itched his hairless chin.  “It’s a new...solution created by Nano International.  Trials succeeded with flying colors and then the law was passed...well a month ago.  The opiate epidemic has gone out of control.”  he grinned again.  “This will certainly help the problem.”

I stared at him, wide eyed, about to be stunned by what would be said next.

“It is naloxone,”  he said  “but permanent.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”  my heart was pounding in my ears and I was overwhelmed to the point of almost fainting.

“Baby….” my mom was beaming.  “it’s for your own good.  You can lead a normal life now.”

My father stood there, arms crossed, smiling, he was fucking smiling inside that fucking beard.

“Well….i don’t want it.”  I said shaking quite fiercely and looking out of eyes that darted recklessly around the room.  What the fuck is this?  This can’t be real?

“It’s too late for that son.”  my father had to open his mouth.  “it was administered yesterday night.  We were all here by your side as they fixed the solution and put it in your body.   Your days of using heroin are over.”

He was fired up with glee at being the one to tell me this instead of the doctor or my mother.  He really got his kicks.  I hated him so much.  My anger took over than.

“You’re fucking lying.   This isn’t real. Your trying to trick me. A shot of naloxone lasts around four weeks.  There is nothing that can permanently stop me from getting high.”

My face was red.  I finally felt my body.  I was shaking, my eyes like daggers on these fucking people.

“Oh” the doctor said with a finger pointed up, “but there is….now.  And you are the 113 person to receive this wonderful new treatment.”

“What about my fucking rights!?” I was yelling now, not even feeling the strain of my catatonic body.  “I didn’t agree to this shit.  I don’t want this.”   I took a deep breath, turned my head slightly.  “Wait a minute….how can this be permanent….it can’t be...”

“Well…that is why I feigned calling it a drug cause it is not exactly...a drug.”  the doctor bent down to get in my face.  “You see, there has been alot of advances in nano technology and one application is using what we call nanonuerotransmitters….i don’t really expect you to know how the brain works but...”

“try me.”  I said sternly.  I was educated in neurology enough to know how the brain worked.  Well at least the basics anyway.

“Well, the nanoneurotransmitter acts like naloxone but it isn’t exactly a neurotransmitter.  You see, it is a tiny little computer, but made of biological material.  Completely harmless.  When they bind to your neurons, they get rooted and...well, you are cured of your addiction.”

Cured of my addiction?  What the hell kind of stupid fucking asshole statement is that?  I don’t want to be cured.  I gave up on sobriety.   I looked at him like a madman.  Than I grabbed him buy his white pressed doctor’s lab-coat.

“What the fuck gives you the right to do something like this.”  I whispered.  “There has got to be a way to remove these nano fucking machines from my body.”

“Well actually, no.  you cannot remove them once they are rooted…..if you could well, you would die.  You are stuck I am afraid.”  he was unfazed by my grabbing him and just said it matter-of-factly.

I felt like I wanted to kill.  I was seeing red.  I looked like a crazy, sickly, homeless psychotic madman.

I grabbed him harder, but with my limited strength he ripped himself away finally having enough of my threat.  He straightened up his coat and grinned again.  He was getting his kicks too.

I was floored.  Can’t get high! Ever!  What the fuck could I do than?

“Come on baby.”  my mom went to me, grabbed my hand, and looked into my eyes.  “it’s a lifesaver.  I am so grateful for this.”  she started to cry again.  “I can finally relax knowing you aren’t killing yourself with this poison.”

I turned my eyes to meet hers.  I was unmoved, still had those madman eyes.

“This is your fault.  You authorized this.  Didn’t you!”  I reproached the one person who loved me unconditionally, universally, and infinity.  “Fuck you!”

She simply nodded.  My dad moved closer to the bed, ready if I was going to commit some violent act.  He could smell the crazy.  I got the crazy from him.  The  bull-like reaction at seeing the color red, where everything recedes and you just snap.  I've seen him on many occasions transform and knew I was in the midst of it at that moment.

“Get out.”  I said tersely and quietly.  “Just leave me the fuck alone.”  They didn’t move.  So I got out my shotgun and blasted them with the loudest yell I could muster.  “Get the fuck out of my room!  All of you!  Fucking traitors! Fucking motherfuckin stupid bullshit cocksucker motherfuckers! You cunts! Get the fuck out! NOW!”

I made sure the whole hospital could hear me.  They all looked at each other and slowly departed.  My mom the last to leave.  She looked back she blew me a kiss.

I stared at her like an animal.  Like an owl.  Lips tight line, eyes wide and astonished.   I just looked at her like this until she left.  She finally gave in looked back once more and finally departed, new tears welling up in her eyes.

I still didn’t believe it.  The fucking male nurse who was obviously one of those vegan types who does meditation gave me some information packets.  As he handed me them and I saw his infinity sign tattoo on his forearm and an Ace of Hearts card tattoo on his inner forearm.  I thought “really?  Infinity? Ace of Heart?  He must be so fucking cool, have so many fucking friends.  He had a shaved on the sides haircut with a poof on top with some blue streaks in it.  Hippy.  So polite to a fault.  Even tried talking to me like a normal conversation.  I could not hold back my resentment of such a person.  He was must be fucking a girl like Mary...or whatever the fuck her name was.  That is how it goes.

Apparently our socialist government system was working well for the benefit of mankind.  The laws were passed to administer Nanoloxtrone to people with long histories and racked up medical bills against their wills.  Most when they were unconscious and unknowing.  The count currently, 1,255 people were administered the “solution” against their wills.  Sure, I bet there were a couple of volunteers, people looking for a “solution” to their uncontrollable habit.

But that wasn’t me.  I didn’t want to stop.  I couldn’t stop.  This WAS me.  Heroin was my wife, my life. 

I read everything.  The drug passed trials over years of reasearch, the FDA gave it the seal of approval soon after, than the lawmen and the president made it a Federal Law to stop giving opiate addicts an infinity of chances.  Sure, the first overdose was okay.  The first rehab was okay.  But pass a certain point, a monetary ceiling, than you were finished and the solution became a part of you.

And truly, this “solution”, actually became a part of your body.  That is how it worked.  It would latch onto the right receptors, get rooted, and feed off the body.  Those neurons were blocked, essentially closing the keyhole for opiates to fit in and turn you on.  Ripping off the Nanoneurotransmitter (what a stupid fucking name, I swear to god) would mean ripping off the whole neuron itself….which would mean death.

Other new drugs...oh i’m sorry “solutions” (another fucking fitting fucked up word for the goddam thing) for other addictions and abnormal disorders were created too.  They didn’t stop at making a permanent version of vivitrol, they also created a solution to essentially castrate men who were convicted of rape.  There were certain guidelines to follow for who was eligible for such a fun procedure like any forceful rape if a minor was a one way ticket to castration.  No second chances there….and good, i thought, good fucking idea.  For rape of adults, depending on other circumstances, they generally had two chances to…..well to not rape I guess.  The sentences were reduced because of this, as if they weren’t short enough, and they were still in the database as sexual offenders, the only difference is they could no longer use their dicks for anything else but pissing.  They could not even get hard anymore.  The “solutions” also took the drive away somehow, inhibiting the turn on switch. 

Other solutions included certain permanent medications for more serious versions of major psych disorders like schizophrenia.  Violence was a big factor in that law.  Also, multiple hospitalizations for psych reasons and suicide attempts or harmful behavior would be assessed by new board certified physicians and the guidelines were set.  They didn’t go into detail, but basically if you attempt suicide on a regular basis, you would become a zombie when they inject a solution meant to keep you in a state of utter catatonic stupor.  Basically, permanent forms of lithium and other psychotropic drugs.  This was still being worked out and nobody was a victim of this complete renunciation of human rights yet, but it was coming.

They first thought it was a major priority to fix the opiate epidemic as it was called.  More than 5% of the population admitted to being opiate addicts.  The death toll was doubling every three years.  And crime and gangs were causing havoc.  Sure decriminalizing drugs was a step in the right direction.  I mean, addiction is an uncontrollable disease….right?  Why should a person go to prison for being fucked in the head.  I really liked that law, but there was a caveat, caught with certain narcotics meant a one way ticket to detox and rehab.  But once there, you could sign yourself out and be on your way to your next joy fill.  No biggie.  After the “drug addicts are sick” law, I got caught twice, had to go to detox and even made it to rehab.  I stayed five days and got sick of the people there and signed myself out.   NA is bullshit.  Using is who I am...or was at least.  It was my life, it was my passion, it was my lasting joy.

And the fuckers took it away from me.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was in the stages of grief.  Passed by anger and now denial.  I did not believe it, it was all fake.  My paranioa reversed, and I became convinced it was all a ruse.  I would get high.  I must get high.  Even if I had to get two whole bricks, it will happen.  I was determined.

they finally took the goddam catheder out and boy, that really sucks so many fucking balls.  It feels like they are taking a razorblade and running it down your dick and ripping out your bladder.  I don’t recommend it.  It burned when I peed for weeks after that and the blood.  The fucking blood coming out.   I fucking hate the hospital.

I could get out of bed too and eat.  I no longer wore a diaper and could shit on my own. My body was so weak, but I had bypassed the withdrawel phase while I was in a coma, so I wasn’t dope sick.  I did some minor excersises with this cute little physical therapist named Nomi.  She was a 5’ 10” of latin cuteness, like a little innocent angel.  I had to ask her her age, so I wouldn’t be castrated for thinking naughty thoughts about her and was astounded when she said she was actually older than I was by a year.   I didn’t mind the sometimes pointless repition based excersises, as long as she continued to touch me oh so gently.  I could jerk off now.  And I tried, it hurt, but felt oh so good at the same time.

I thought about leaving but I knew I was stuck there for some more days regardless.  They had to keep an eye on me and they did.  The “solution” was still new, and although there has been very minor side affects from some people, they wanted to see how I was reacting to it. 

Besides I had made threats I would kill myself and other outbursts, cursing racial and cultural profanities at the staff when I got upset over something.  And boy oh boy, I was quite upset.  Hey, i’m not a racist and I can dig on any sort of lifestyle, but it is useful firepower to piss people off, so I utilize it when I need. 

I mean “fuck you you fucking hippy vegan.  Nice tattoo, get it at a mall?” and “how yo Idren.  Bomba Cla.  I smoke da tree of life, Rasta.  It good.”  and “are any of your children drug addicts?” I asked the first nurse who was the head nurse.

She looked at me with disdain.  She didn’t like me much these days.

“no….i’m lucky.  But I have lost two people to drugs, my brother and niece.”  she said with a candid air I find actually moving.

“i’m sorry….i didn’t mean to be flipant.  But hey, its like black people calling each other ni….the n word, you can joke about things that you are a part of or are.  Its completely pc.”

“yeah well, its not funny.”  she said bluntly.  “you should be happy you got this help.  You know all the people I’ve seen who died from this?  Hundreds.  Maybe a thousand by now.  You can’t get high anymore and you act like a little child who lost his toy?”  she tsk.  “get over it and be lucky your alive.  Your still young enough to change your life.”

she had bought me the god awful food, laid down the tray, and departed without saying anymore.  I felt kind of bad, but I was still really really pissed about this.  And it won’t just stop all of a sudden.  I am not ready or willing to surrender.  I am an addict.  Heroin in my drug.  I do not accept this.  I will not acccept this.  There must be a way, there always is.

And if not, i’ll just kill myself….or not….i’m never too certain about this.

The day of the overdose

I woke up on a couch.  My arm was laying on the floor, my body folded over and drool all over the white splotchy pillow.  The ash tray on the table gave off a strong smell of old tabacco and ashes.

I tried to look at my phone but it was dead.  I was already feeling the cold wet chill of withdrawal finding its place all over my epidermis coating me like a used condom. 

Once again, I thought the thought I always think when I wake up, “why didn’t I die yesterday? Why am I still alive?”  its a fascinating thing to have such a deathwish but find yourself waking up on a daily basis.  Maybe this wasn’t waking life, maybe I did die and this was actually hell.

The thought left my mind as I raised myself up from the couch.  It was hot.  It was always hot in the apartment.  Cross liked it that way.

Cross, of course, was already awake and out.  He always got up at 6 and out by 8, never too soon to start the days work.  

I looked down at the filthy, ash and paper ridden table with a variety of drug paraphenialia.  There were three bags just looking at me.  I finished all I had last night, as any dope fiend would, so I knew it wasn’t me who left it.  But that was Cross, always willing to give a helping hand.

I quickly fixed myself up.  Three bags was good and I immediately felt better but it was never enough.  Never.

I went to the bathroom and took a shower.  It, too, had its fair share of needles, old spoons, and a film of filth that made the white ivory a discolored gray.  Holes were in the walls, plaster on the floor and glass in some places.  The shower was just a shower with a curtain; a jail shower. 

He had plenty of shampoo, deoderant, colognes, and all sorts of cosmetics around the room.  He didn’t pay for a single item, of course.  Cross was a five-finger magician, a skill he taught me, but I was just an amatuer.

After my shower, I wiped the mirror and looked at my face.  It was drawn and pail.  I had lost so much weight.  I suddenly felt a deep hatred for myself and turned away.  I quickly shaved and left the shower room.

Cross didn’t own a phone.  He didn’t believe in technology.  Actually, he hated it.  He told me why once and, honestly, I had a deep feeling of disgust and almost got rid of my phone too.  But without one, in this world, you are kind of lost.

Surprisingly, Cross never seemed lost.  He was proof that a person could function socially without a phone maybe even proof that you could function better without one.  “face to face” is what he always says.  He says a lot of things.

Of course there were only a few places he could be.  I got dressed and left the appartment.

Jack “Cross” Walters was my uncle.   My dad’s younger brother to be excact.  My grandparents had him late, so Cross was closer to my age than my fathers, only 31.  we were close when I was young, but he was a trouble rouser and a partier and, if you are not getting the picture, a drug addict.

When I was 16, he got arrested for assault and possession.  This was in the days when drugs were not yet decriminalized.  It was the period on a long line of offenses and the final nail.  My family disowned him, my father said he was dead to him.

And you would think that he was dead to me too.  Well, he was my favorite uncle, if not my only.  He was 24 at the time and I used to hang with him all the time.  He wasn’t like an adult, but just a cool chill guy who wanted to have fun.  Me and my friends would always hang with Cross.  I was, for lack of a better word, the next generation Cross.  We had that kinship.

That is why I was staying with him.  My life had gone down the drain, I lost so much and I was a rebrobate drug addict.  But he took me in.

it just so happened that my uncle was a gambler and one day he was in Atlantic city he hit it big.  A couple of million.  My family