The Hole Within

CHAPTER 39

I could no longer drink. It was not by choice; my own treacherous body would not allow me to. I had had alcohol poisoning so often and so intensely that simply smelling alcohol made me nauseous. I tried to drink anyway, I was determined. But all that did was make me sick. I would get down one swallow and I would gag. I would try for another and it came right back up. This was especially troublesome when I had just washed down some pills with the booze. I would aim for the sink instead of the toilet (most of the time) so I could carefully pick out the half-digested pill in the vomitus and re-swallow them. I eventually gave up trying to drink, resigned to just taking pills. This was inconvenient, the pills were limited and my only limit to alcohol was money.

I had continued to go to Narcotics Anonymous meetings despite my active drug use. Narcotics Anonymous ended up being a place to hook up with like-minded people. People you could drink with and not worry about making an ass out of yourself. I was in awe of Tyler. He was twice my age and had a weathered face, full sleeve tattoos (before it was fashionable), many of them prison tattoos, and had a New York accent. He had been a junkie for many years. Strung out on heroin he committed crimes for money to buy the drugs. Tyler had spent time in Sing-Sing and Attica. His story fascinated me. Heroin both intrigued and terrified me. It was the ultimate drug, the top of the food chain. The only illegal drug I had used was pot. It was dangerous yet somehow alluring.

Tyler had a normal life once. A beautiful wife and child. A house and a professional job. He lost it all at the end of a needle. He became homeless, a street junkie. He did what he had to in order to live and get his next fix. He went to prison and had to join a white supremacist gang to survive, hence the swastika tattoo on his neck. His story should have been a cautionary tale. It should have scared me shitless.

Over the next several months I tried in vain to get off the drugs. I entered rehab three more times and all three times I left the program early and against medical advice. I would try to stay but the anxiety without the drugs and alcohol was too intense. I felt like I was crawling out of my skin then I would bolt. I never went to the therapist Diane referred me to. I was determined to do things on my own. I did not want another therapist. I was leery of them. I did not want to become attached again and end up in more pain then what then when I went there. I was angry with life and was intensely lonely.