so caught off guard by what I saw that I almost drove by the address I was looking for. I pulled into the driveway of a tiny little house. I fled from the car and took solace underneath the shaded porch, trying to catch my breath before I knocked on the door. Trying not to pass out, I rapped on the door a few times.
The woman that answered the door was a friend of mine. Her name was Donna. We had dated a long time ago. She used to be so beautiful. She still was—beautiful, that is. But she just didn’t look the same. Drugs had taken her over since high school. She kept living. So I had always had faith in her, and today was no different.
“Thank God you’re here,” she said. “Why are you dressed like the Unabomber?”
“It’s a long story. How are you doing?”
Donna already had real a real thick black curtain that was keeping all sunlight out. Drug addicts don’t like people to be able to see into their house. I closed the door quickly behind me, and finally the stinging stopped.
There was such desperation in her voice that I wondered if maybe this would be it for me. Maybe she would be the one that I could save. I walked into her home with that thought calming my soul. I just hoped I wasn’t losing my own mind.
“Hunter, what is wrong with me?”
“How many days have you been clean?” I asked. That was usually one of my first questions to people I’m trying to help.
“I slipped up last Sunday hanging out with my brothers. We were all at a sports bar watching football. One moment, I was drinking a beer. The next moment, I was in the parking lot with my little brother Ricky. Before I knew it, we were trading hits off his pipe.”
“Crack or meth?” I asked.
“Meth,” she said.
“Have you ever smoked meth before?”
“I have been smoking meth whenever I can get it. It’s hard to find good meth. I knew my crack dealers personally, so I knew they wouldn’t screw me.”
“So you’re saying you could have just as easily gotten hooked on meth if it was more readily available to you?”
She looked at me with a face that pretty much said, ‘Duh?’
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, entering her apartment. “You’re chasing your drug demon. Not your crack demon, not your meth demon, and not your alcohol demon. But all three of those things can kill you individually.”
“You know what’s funny? You talk about it and make it sound so grand by calling it a demon. That seems to make it okay for people like you to deal with people like me. Using words like ‘demon’ and ‘crutches.’ The truth is, Hunter, that we’re all just looking for our next high. Sometimes it makes us sick if we can’t have it soon enough, but at the end of the day, we all are chasing getting high.”
I looked at Donna and I knew it was more than just good feelings and rainbow sherbet. “You make it sound like someone who craves an ice cream sundae. Not everybody sees this life as just another chance to get high. “
“Hunter, you’re not like me. The difference is people like you have figured out that not pursuing that constant high is beneficial to you. I used to look down at a guy or gal who wouldn’t get high because they had either a religious or moral problem with it. Now, I envy those people. Just because I’m not on a street corner waving a banner that says, Crack Lives! doesn’t mean I’m not just a junkie looking for a high that hates herself for having to be that dependent on anything...especially something as demonizing as crack.”
I looked at Donna and her honesty floored me. It had been years since I felt any of my patients were that honest. Well, she wasn’t my patient. She was a dear friend that I helped get through her shit often. When you’re helping a friend, you don’t look at it as a job or a chance of getting paid. You look at it like saving a life. Whose lives would each of us want to save most? The people that are dearest to us. My problem is that I love easily, and I
The woman that answered the door was a friend of mine. Her name was Donna. We had dated a long time ago. She used to be so beautiful. She still was—beautiful, that is. But she just didn’t look the same. Drugs had taken her over since high school. She kept living. So I had always had faith in her, and today was no different.
“Thank God you’re here,” she said. “Why are you dressed like the Unabomber?”
“It’s a long story. How are you doing?”
Donna already had real a real thick black curtain that was keeping all sunlight out. Drug addicts don’t like people to be able to see into their house. I closed the door quickly behind me, and finally the stinging stopped.
There was such desperation in her voice that I wondered if maybe this would be it for me. Maybe she would be the one that I could save. I walked into her home with that thought calming my soul. I just hoped I wasn’t losing my own mind.
“Hunter, what is wrong with me?”
“How many days have you been clean?” I asked. That was usually one of my first questions to people I’m trying to help.
“I slipped up last Sunday hanging out with my brothers. We were all at a sports bar watching football. One moment, I was drinking a beer. The next moment, I was in the parking lot with my little brother Ricky. Before I knew it, we were trading hits off his pipe.”
“Crack or meth?” I asked.
“Meth,” she said.
“Have you ever smoked meth before?”
“I have been smoking meth whenever I can get it. It’s hard to find good meth. I knew my crack dealers personally, so I knew they wouldn’t screw me.”
“So you’re saying you could have just as easily gotten hooked on meth if it was more readily available to you?”
She looked at me with a face that pretty much said, ‘Duh?’
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, entering her apartment. “You’re chasing your drug demon. Not your crack demon, not your meth demon, and not your alcohol demon. But all three of those things can kill you individually.”
“You know what’s funny? You talk about it and make it sound so grand by calling it a demon. That seems to make it okay for people like you to deal with people like me. Using words like ‘demon’ and ‘crutches.’ The truth is, Hunter, that we’re all just looking for our next high. Sometimes it makes us sick if we can’t have it soon enough, but at the end of the day, we all are chasing getting high.”
I looked at Donna and I knew it was more than just good feelings and rainbow sherbet. “You make it sound like someone who craves an ice cream sundae. Not everybody sees this life as just another chance to get high. “
“Hunter, you’re not like me. The difference is people like you have figured out that not pursuing that constant high is beneficial to you. I used to look down at a guy or gal who wouldn’t get high because they had either a religious or moral problem with it. Now, I envy those people. Just because I’m not on a street corner waving a banner that says, Crack Lives! doesn’t mean I’m not just a junkie looking for a high that hates herself for having to be that dependent on anything...especially something as demonizing as crack.”
I looked at Donna and her honesty floored me. It had been years since I felt any of my patients were that honest. Well, she wasn’t my patient. She was a dear friend that I helped get through her shit often. When you’re helping a friend, you don’t look at it as a job or a chance of getting paid. You look at it like saving a life. Whose lives would each of us want to save most? The people that are dearest to us. My problem is that I love easily, and I
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