There comes a time in every life when you stop and ask yourself, Why? What for? Unless you're still under thirty, in which case you don't count. You aren't human yet. You are still immortal. For the rest of us, this time comes, maybe daily. It can come when you decide you hate your career choice, or have been asked to leave your chosen occupation. Maybe yourself or a loved one is sick. Maybe you sit at home all day with four children screaming at you, while their father is out getting drunk and fucking every woman who is kind enough to spread her legs for him. Maybe you are in prison. Maybe you are under a bridge weighing the positives and negatives of suicide. Whatever the circumstances, it eventually happens.
If you're like me, naturally prone to investigation, but lazy, you will look to other people's answers. Or attempted answers. The ancient philosophers and religious thinkers. What did they come up with? Once man discovered fire, caves were safe and dry, and large animals were slow and stupid and easy to kill, he had warmth, shelter, and food. He could now start wondering. For thousands of years we have been going on about the same thoughts. Some of the greatest minds to walk the planet spent their entire lives going over these questions, putting their own spin on the bullshit, and basically coming up with the same conclusions. There is no answer is the answer.
I'm not talking about your kids, job, kitties or puppies. Those may be reasons for your life, but not life in general.
And it occurs to me that it doesn't necessarily have to be a life altering, self-worth shattering event to get you questioning the motives of the universe and all the doom it seems to enjoy bestowing upon you. Lock your keys in the car. Spill coffee on your pants. Kids driving you nuts. That person you slept with in high school won't do the right thing and honor your friend request. Any of these, and even lesser offences, can have your on your knees screaming, "My God, my God. Why have you forsaken me?"
Lets say, for the purpose of our discussion, that you are a forty-two year old, Caucasian male who has just been released after serving five years and three months in the Indiana State Prison System. You were a piece of shit for most of those years, did your best to run from every curve ball life threw at you, while managing to alienate yourself form anyone who ever cared from you and anything resembling a normal life. During the eight years before this latest incarceration, you did three other tours of duty in the system, a year here, eighteen months there. You obviously didn't learn you lesson with those short, wino-bits. And now you find yourself released and determined to right the ship. You are living in a shelter, which parole made you go to while they determine if you are worthy of going home to your birth state. The shelter is insane. And you are a pro at insanity, but, for fucks sake, this place is like living in the lockdown ward at The Funny Farm. They piss on the toilet seat, the floor, probably in the sink, and who knows where else. The shower is like bathing in the urinal at the local truck stop. People who spend every dime they can get their dope fiend hands on bum cigarettes from you, and, because you feel guilty, because you know what it is like, you give them. There is a line for the toilet every morning of people waiting to throw up or shoot up. Oh, and lets not forget, finding a spoon is equivalent to winning the Powerball without buying a ticket. You have to leave the shelter each morning at 7:45 AM, and fill your day with mindless activity until 6:15 PM, when you are allowed to return. You can't look for a job or a suitable, less mentally taxing place to live, because you could be leaving the state any day. And you were raised Catholic, so you are well aware of the State of Purgatory, and you know it is not a nice place to be.
There's you motivation. Are you in character?
"That sucks!" You say. "Pass me the quart of bleach. I'm ready to chug."
It does suck, but I can assure that it can be much worse. This is a walk in the park compared to some of the more interesting situations I have managed to get myself into.
So, my immediate paradigm shift has been somewhat traumatic, being released into a world I am scared to death of, living in an asylum, coping with the rusty wheels of justice, wanting to go home, wasting my days away, etc. This would be a natural point for reflection.
Last night I had my first brush with temptation. One of the friendly, generous, local dope fiends offered me some drugs. Suboxone, to be exact, which doesn't show up in the routine urinalysis. For a second I was tempted. I was having an awful day. I deserved a break. Then I thought about my daughter and all the risk and faith my sister has invested in me. I couldn't do it.
Everybody talks about the instant withdrawal from opiates, how miserably, kill-me-now it makes you feel. It is bad, but it isn't the worst part. If that was all there was to it, I could lock myself in a bathroom for three days, with a hot shower to soothe me, and a toilet for shitting and puking my guts out. On the third day, I would arise from the dead, a fully recovered and repentant ex-addict. But it seldom works that way. I have heard rumors, but I don't believe them.
Quitting opiates is a never ending process. The loss shatters you. It is like losing someone dear to you or watching a lover go to the grave at a far too early age. Your physiological make up has been altered. Nothing looks the same. The once beautiful world has hardened and cooled. You have to adjust to the fact that this is the way it will be from now on. Boring. Pandora's Box has been opened and it can't be closed. You have eaten of the Forbidden fruit. Just like Eve, you could not resist. And just like Eve, you have been thrown out of the garden.
Now, I dealt with this first brush of temptation successfully, but there will be more to come. A dear friend of mine suggested to me yesterday that I have not been doing all I can to prepare myself, and give myself the advantage I need in these situations. So, today I will take his advice. Thanks, Chris.
This has wandered and hasn't shown much narrative unity. But what do you expect. You are dealing with a sick mind.
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