Junkie's Life

“And here we are again, in my office, talking about the same thing,” the substance abuse counselor said. And we were in his office, tiny little office cluttered with knick-nacks, empty takeaway coffee cups, papers, newspapers, candy wrappers, pamphlets, at least three teddy bears, books, diplomas, framed photos, pictures, sculptures, statuettes, and trophies.

”Dave,” I pled, “Please, don’t. I know what I did.” I think I started crying at that point, not sure if it was sincere. “I have a disease. And there is no cure."

"The rules are here to help you to live with that disease,” he said, “But you have to obey them. Don’t put yourself in those situations, avoid those people, and call your sponsor. Your guys are there to support each other. Now that the court sent you here, I have no other choice. Mandatory rehab, six months."

"But I have a career. I’m in a good place now. I’m gonna lose it all.” I put my fingers through my thinning hair. “Please, you have to realize, this is all I have."

"No, you have to realize,” he thumped the desk rhythmically as he spoke, “This stuff will kill you. That’s why we have laws. To prevent the loss of lives, to protect the state from spending on treatment. You’re lucky they’re not putting you in jail."

"I know it’s bad, but it feels so good. You know it does.”

He leaned back, dissatisfied, he spent a good while looking out the window. I kept thinking about another fix.

”I need help,” I said.

”Cholesterol,” he said, “It’s what it all boils down to.”

I imagined a nice big chunk of gorgonzola.

”Cholesterol will clog your veins and turn your body into a stinking pile of dead meat. Is that what you want?"

"No,” I began crying again. Images of plates of pasta with a thick layer of melted cheese rushed through my head. How many have I had in my junkie life? Too many to count.

”Then get clean, and no more cheese."

"I know,” I wailed.

”Good,” he nodded in approval. “Good. One day at a time.”

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk