The Substance For You Saga Pt. 7
For Part 6 go here-http://substanceforyou.com/substance-for-you-saga-pt-6/
Starting at the Bottom
Rocks, rocks, rocks…
I make it to the fifth floor where the detoxification center and mental ward was. The nurse had already sent my mother home and I could sense in my heart she knew something was truly wrong. 12-14 hours had already gone by before I give a call home to let my parents know of any status. My dad was in Minneapolis, or so I thought. I was wrong as I call home and my dad answers, “Dammit!” I say. “What’d you say?” he goes. “Never mind dad…” as I shrugged it off. “Where are you son?” he said in an innocent but suspecting way, he knew me all too well, better than I thought at least.
I remember telling my dad in the most illest of ways, “I’ve relapsed.” He immediately replies, “On what?” like he demanded an answer. My parents thought it was only from pills again, and I pleaded for him to tell my mom for me. She was the hardest one to accept this type of information as she saw me at my last intervention. Unfortunately, it all had gotten a tad bit worse since then!
Then, I remember him saying, “Here’s your mother you tell her.” She picks up the phone, and asks me what the doctor’s diagnosis was. The best answer I had for her is, “Mom I’m sick and won’t be coming home for a while.” She asks what’s wrong while I try to get out a murmur, “I’ve… uh… Remember when I was doing pills? Yeah…” All I hear in return is Click! When she hangs up the phone.
I knew what she was going to do; my room was up for complete grabs. She didn’t just click the phone off, she went into K-9 unit mode with anything and everything she could find to blame on me; but I fully deserved it at this point. She headed down to my room and I could feel it. There was no freedom after this, rehab gave that away… or so I thought. Was it the beginning of my freedom from all the lies, cheats, and manipulation? Or was I truly becoming a slave to the game?
Once I told her, all I remember is a call back in the morning after some sobbing of mine still half naked in my detox bed, with nothing but the half ripped hospital gown on. I couldn’t tell if I was literally a pain in the ass or it was the syringe injected Subutex doses they were weaning me up on, but as soon as I got the phone call I knew it, I was simply a pain in everyone else’s asses.
Subutex was half the point of what they put me through on my first day into rehab. I felt violated, but it was nothing knew because I was the master of this game. They stripped me down after giving me a Subutex shot. I was bare naked and I remember them counting, 1…2…3… Then I asked, “What are you doing?” They looked at me like I didn’t know, “We need to keep a record of how many body marks and tattoos you have incase you decide to run off on us.” I was thinking to myself, “What was I in prison?” I could have been right as the nurse asks me to completely take off the gown and lift open my trousers and then spin and cough. “Just making sure you weren’t sneaking anything in here,” they say. “Yep, this is prison” I tell myself. I was then woken up at 3 A.M for a tuberculosis, HIV, and STD test among 13 other tubes of blood that needed to be drawn, and my vitals taken. “I’m preparing for the morning!” I said, like someone was going to call or visit. Sure enough they did.
Ring Ring comes from the one telephone in the detoxification center, I knew who it was for when I went to pick it up. There was no hesitation, I didn’t get a word in before there was this, “Why are there needles under your bed? I thought it was just pills? I’m not dumb don’t play games with me!” I knew it. She had completely torn my room and car apart finding nearly 1,000 used needles and blood on the walls. There were even burn marks on the mattress from the spoons I used. She asked me, “Why are all my good silverware bent in half Brian!” I couldn’t imagine what finding felony drugs--you had no clue where in your house--was like. But as soon as they saw me they sure as Hell explained that feeling…
We were both in disbelief; neither of us could believe she found the needles. I elaborated on some bullshit story on how I was breaking down pills like Oxycontin and Vicodin into injectable form, while my dad said he bought the story I knew that neither of them did, asking me to repeat it just one more time, every time. The therapist standing next to me had a long talk with me afterwards. “The truth shall set you free Brian!” he says. Somehow spurting some semantics at me, or so I thought they were. Apparently this guy was pretty well versed in the Big Book, but how the Hell I knew what a Big Book was besides a larger than normal book at the time was too much for me to fathom.
My mom and dad come to visit the next Sunday and the first thing they ask walking through the three steel locked doors is, “Can we see your arms?” I felt like a caged animal on display for my misery. I lifted up my sleeves and you could see the oozing puss coming from these purple potholes in the crevasse of the middle of my arms. There was three to four track marks the size of quarters on each arm. The girl at the table next to me said she almost vomited when she saw it. She was disgusted while her thing was only pills. I told her… “My thing used to be pills too!” as I winked at her, while my parents started to cry and look at each other, “How could we let this happen to OUR child?”
“Mom… Dad. The nurse here said I should tell the truth.” They looked like the only thing they wanted to hear was the truth, sighing with relief of the anxiety. I was playing games with them up to this point, and I’ve finally realized, “Life’s not a game, you deserve the truth once and for all.” They just wanted to know! “It wasn’t pills ma, dad. I was shooting heroin.”
They couldn’t believe it, but the fact of it is, they had no choice now, they had to. They had to deal with it, they are living with a heroin addict for a son for the rest of their lives. Their faces dropped and you could tell that my dad knew it and my mom didn’t want to know it.
This erupted us into a full on argument in the middle of the mess hall of the rehab center. I almost flipped a table in the meeting center and they stormed out not to be seen for another week until my release.
“They left?” I asked the nurse next to me, as they stormed out faster than I could see for my own good. “No Brian, you’re the one that left them, now find your way back and make it better for all of you.” This truth that was spoken to me was something that I didn’t want to hear but needed. As one of my influences in philosophy came from rap, “You don’t know until ya’ know…” You know what you’re absolutely right Tupac. I know all there is to know about that life, there’s no reason to go back at this point. This is a point of realization, for once, or so I thought…
For part 8 go here- http://substanceforyou.com/substance-for-you-saga-pt-8/
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