Memoir , A junkie's tale. Pt. 3: The start of a new way to live ;)
I prepared a box full of good stuff for him but he's probably dead now. With memories of waking up from sleep to see his schizofrenic mother through the window, playing in the sand box with the rest of the neighbourhood kids, his heart was broken and the drugs were the temporary cast that no one had time to paint on because he never let anybody get that close. People came and went and he looked like a ghost in his last days, 18 years in a foreign country with not one close friend, he stumbled his way into my heart, but the disease was always standing between us, dividing, killing him quietly so I would not hear because he saw how I wake up in terror in our nights in the streets, crying and he's calming me down.. crying and he's offering.. a fix. That's what he had to offer, what he tought. My hopeless, lost angel. So I tightened the rubber band from Mom's sewing drawer a little above the elbow and I grabbed the other end with my teeth. He cooked up and with the professionalism of a perfect junkie found me a vein where hospital staff couldn't. Relief, I can love again, we paint all over the walls of the house, painting white nights in every color, ripping posters off southern Tel-Aviv buildings, and style the house with the rat. Underneath the chair we had snakes, we didn't know at the time.
My rock star. A red star in our perishable sky, I'm afraid to go out and see if it's still there knowing it might be gone. If I can't see it, neither can you, my skinny, curly prince. If I do not see it then you are no longer alive and I don't want to get out at night ever again. Remember the nights in Ichilov ? Remember the night we spent in custody ? Ha.. stupid pigs never had anything on us. At first you were an inspiration for me and I for you, you really thought I'm gonna save you from yourself ? I believed so, also. For a year I believed and put a ring on you. After that we bought another one at the central bus station and you brought me a green ring with diamonds, an engagement ring. When Mom died, I texted you, couldn't find the words to tell you, but your cell already exchanged with some thief or a dealer for a fix, I didn't get an answer. You probably don't know, or looking at me right this second, writing to you, sending all I've got, like I always did.
Last time I saw you, you looked sick. Pale and thin and a little sadner than ever. You denied everything and you went to quit before me, you broke my heart one last time on my birthday, "I beat this guy up, I walked outta there, out of shame."
you promised you will return and you did, you walked out of there for the second time for the same reason. Some people just aren't lucky, the rest of the cards you held this whole time, how you did not know how to appreciate. We never had a chance against it, I lied to you and mostly to myself that maybe this time. Maybe this one. We wanted to get better together but mom died in the morning. I still think of you, My love, Babe, Dear, you're still precious to me. I'm already rougher than I was when we first met and you were all AWE, rough in the heart but even softer, I feel again, I feel everything. If I could have done it all again, I would've. Wander down the street with you, laughing, high OR sober. Notorious in NA, delving on their tables.. in between the chairs.. snorting in the toilets of the room. No shame. Because when you're with me, there's no such world, there's another reality. When I'm with you, I get sucked into the vast, hollow space inside your chest, going up and down, up and down.. My head is on your chest like when we were in love.
I wrote that text when I was 24. Mom just died from cancer, almost instantly, and I was white knucklin Fentanyl withdrawal at home. Today I'm 29 and this third part came true, my Husband died of an overdose of heroin. I was in a rehab back when it happened, clean for maybe three weeks, after a phone call in which I finally broke up with him because addiction was the divider between us and the third rib in the relationship. He was the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and I never let anybody get so close before or after, there was just something about him that made me feel sacred. He was full of life, and the most ceative, funny, and so so loving person I've ever met. He believed that true love can save an addict, He wanted to believe, and maybe I just couldnt give it to him, beaten, Down and Out and addicted to the next Fix I didn't understand then what was I looking for in this goddam baggie, in this pill that lets me not feel even if it's for an hour, the powder or the rock, that take me away from.. me.
At the age of 19 I started going to 12 step groups, yes, I'm breaking anonymity, MY anonymity. Breaking cause 10 years in the program has taught me and saved me from death, but they also led me to believe that I was terminally ill, that it's a disease and I'm addicted and saying "I'm an addict" 9,000 times a day might save me from myself. They only got me more destruction and more death. In the program they say I don't work it good enough, not enough, that if I REALLY try I am gonna make it, stay clean. I never got more than nine months clean, which I also shat on and relapsed after the first quarantine, beacause I depend, on sponsors, on meetings, on other people.
Ever since my agenda has changed. Never ever, will my sobriety be dependent on people places and things. I'm doing my own thing. Sober. ROCK ON !!!!