Cocaine Addiction

If you had told me a few years ago, a good family man, devoted to my kids, that I’d spend time in a hospital down to using illegal drugs I would have thought that couldn’t happen. But the way it turned out, I can now see it could happen to anyone.

We had two kids, and my wife took the view that she needed to go out to work, which wasn’t a problem for me – in fact we needed the extra money – I was a clerk in a government job. Then my wife got pregnant again – no problem at all – I imagined that after a few months, my wife would start work again, things would go on as before. But the baby turned out to be twins, and within a year of them being born we were really struggling for money and my wife changed her mind about going back to work.

So, like many other people I took on an extra job – moonlighting as a cleaner, it paid well for working late at night, and the work wasn’t too hard in itself. That was going well until my wife got sick, and I had to start helping more and cover medical bills. I started working longer hours, running high on adrenaline. One day the kids were laughing about me nearly falling asleep over a bowl of breakfast cereal one morning – but I didn’t see it as a problem – I could see the extra money that we needed going into the bank and I knew I had to keep going.

One evening I got talking to another cleaner who said that he used coke to keep him going – he had a day job like me. I was dead on my feet that night so I decided to try it, and it was magnificent. I was so blissed out, it was like nothing was a worry. I decided there and then that i would use coke whenever I felt real tired – it seemed like the answer to my problems.

So, I started using coke, only a small amount once or twice a week, and decided not to tell the wife in case she got upset. I was quite surprised to find that coke use snuck up on me – it wasn’t long before I was using every evening before going out to the cleaning. It kept me motivated, got me off to a good start. Then I was offered more hours that would take me working past midnight, and I decided that for the extra money it was worth it.

A week into the new hours, I was struggling – really tired – could barely keep up with my day job, and was like a zombie doing the cleaning when the coke effects wore off. I didn’t like to take more coke, in case I couldn’t sleep. One night at the cleaning, around midnight, I started hallucinating – I’d been a bit jumpy for a while – seeing shadows around and behind me that I put down to me being tired, and then I saw this vision of a lady – blonde hair like my wife – sort of drifting in the mall – moving forward like a ship at sea – hovering a few inches in the air, feet not touching the ground – it just seemed natural to me, and I kept on doing the work. A few days later I started to have more problems – everything I looked at in the dim half light seemed to jump and move around – and I kept on thinking that their were people standing at desks, sitting in office chairs. It got so bad that I used more coke and it seemed to clear my head. But then I couldn’t sleep. Next I was using a sleeping tablet as well, to make sure I got some sleep.

The crash came literally one morning – I went straight through a stop sign – I didn’t see it, and woke up in hospital with police waiting to question me about the accident. Luckily, no one had been killed, but it stressed me out completely, I had to be sedated, and a few days later I was sent home to sort out things with my wife. We decided to sell the house, rent a place for a while and get me into some drug rehab to get my mind sorted out.

Now I’ve recovered fully from drugs, gone back to my government job, sure we are renting for now, but having a house is not so important as getting back our lives. The rehab I went to was the best – not only for the drug detox that made me feel clean and healthy – but the program that they had to help me sort out my priorities and values. Now I am a family man who is very happy and content – I don’t pride myself anymore on how much money I can bring in, but in spending quality time with my family.

A fear of death has always haunted my life – my father was away a lot, a commercial traveler who drank a lot of whisky- got killed in an accident with a truck when I was seven – I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral – they said I was too young – I couldn’t understand everyone standing around in our house, drinking when my father was dead – I went and hid in my room and cried tears that would not come, my throat was tight for a week. My mother was what they call nervous – sometimes she would be so loving – hold me tight and close- other times she might stare out the window – like she didn’t hear you. Then later my older brother committed suicide, mum had a complete nervous breakdown that doctors said might be schizophrenia and even though I visited her in the hospital – she just had this vacant stare and didn’t recognize me. On the anniversary of the suicide, she had a massive stroke, and died.

What happened to me was that my mother’s sister, my aunt agreed to take me in – she’d never married and was interested in spooky things – she read tarot cards and lit candles at full moons. As soon as I left school, I got work down at the docks, and it was a great relief to me. I loved to go down the pub, as you do, and just chill out with my mates – meet up with a few chicks- well, I guess you know the routine.

There I met up with Lindy Marlene – never called herself Lindy or Marlene – it was always Lindy Marlene – it sounded like a poem to me – and that’s not all that made me fall for her so badly – it was her soulful eyes, whispery hair – and of course a beautiful body. She filled my dream of the ideal woman, as perfect as one could be.

We were going out together, she started me using cocaine – when I was with Lin, and doing cocaine got me out of my depression that I’d had since mother died, I felt like Lin was the only person in the world  who had ever really loved me. We moved in together and often used the coke – got that I used it with Lin most nights when I got home from work. Lin had some money of her own in the bank – she more or less bankrolled the coke.

It was only a few months into our relationship that Lin got dizzy and sick, we went straight away to a doctor. Many tests and a lot of worry – finally results – a highly aggressive form of cancer. Six months later she was dead.

I stayed on in the flat, kept it just the way it had been when Lin was there, and kept using cocaine. It took away my pain, the constant fear inside my head that I too would die an early and a lonely death.

Without Lin’s money I started to feel the cost of the cocaine – even working overtime was barely enough to cover my grief and the cost of cocaine. I went on this way for more than two years, stopped going down for a drink – sometimes, being on my own I didn’t buy in any food like I should do. I lived on coffee, hardly ate lunch at the works canteen, and beelined home for more coke.

It was just over three years after Lin passed away that I noticed I looked thin -  I immediately thought of cancer – that I would die a lonely, painful death, that got me using more cocaine- I couldn’t live with these constant thoughts of death inside my head.

Kept running through my mind was a stray bit of poetry that I remembered from school about men at the Flannan Isle lighthouse – who climbed and climbed, as though they’d lost all sense of time, and so must climb forevermore. The days felt long and heavy, only relieved by coke.

What saved me from the fate that I slowly moving towards, was that I got in a fight at work and the supervisor reported me to the manager – I was going to lose my job. He said he couldn’t help me about keeping my job, but he knew a junkie when he saw one – told me to get clean, it was the only hope I had, recommending a residential clinic in another province. This so fitted in with my fantasy of a lonely death and dying far from home, that although I did book in, I went there in the expectation of failure, pain and and a lonely death.

So, who you see now before your eyes probably surprises me more than you, I never thought it was possible, didn’t think I had a chance – but I don’t use cocaine, don’t need it, never think about death like I used to, and best of all – I’ve got a new job, and a girl friend too – life never looked any better.         * The poem

Good Morning, my name is Ivan and yes, I have a story to tell about cocaine addiction. I inherited family money and so got to fulfill my dream. I bought a gallery to display and sell new works by promising young artists. It is only possible because I get money from the exhibitions to meet ongoing expenses – we try to keep prices fairly low to ensure paintings and artwork get sold and to encourage the public interest. Of course I’m never short of artists wanting use my gallery – I don’t have to chase them.

One day my nephew brought in a picture, a fine abstract piece of work. It grabbed my attention so powerfully that I immediately wanted to create an exhibition around it – and sought out the artist immediately so that I could see more of his work. I had the idea that paintings of this quality would upgrade the public image of my gallery.

There wasn’t much in the studio by way of previous work except for two other abstract paintings that took my breath away. The young artist whose name was Jaques showed a flicker of interest when I proposed that he create more paintings to make up an exhibition. Jaques agreed to paint for an exhibition in 6 months time.

By the end of a fortnight I had five more paintings – we hadn’t agreed on a total number, but I had suggested thirty, and these paintings were brilliant, with a sharp intensity that I couldn’t quite define.

I was busy with the gallery then went overseas. When I got back, I realized there was no new work from Jaques so I called up my nephew, told him to chase up Jaques. I wanted to get the paintings in well before the exhibition was to open.

Jaques delivered seven paintings by the end of the month, they lacked something of the original flair, but they seemed good enough. I put out some promotional literature about the forthcoming exhibition, and decided to go over to Jaques to see the latest paintings.

Jaques opened the door, he looked tired and drained The studio was tidy, not in use, dust sheets over the painting containers, no canvas on the easel. I put on my best hearty manner and asked him were there more paintings. He said that he no longer had the spirit of summer in him. There would be no more of the paintings. I reminded him that we had an agreement, an exhibition to open. Jaques said he couldn’t paint when the spirit wasn’t in him. There was nothing he could do. I left in anger and rage. Queues of young hopeful artists beat a path to my door. This young upstart had no right to scorn my patronage and fail to deliver the paintings that I needed for the exhibition. I called up my nephew again and said go see young Jaques for me – tell him I need fifteen paintings from him pronto or I’ll sue him for breach of contract.

Nigel my nephew wasn’t too happy – said that Jaques had a few problems that he hadn’t mentioned – he dabbled with drugs – used cocaine, which was the most likely explanation for his current down tools and depression. I said Nigel tell Jaques to snort some cocaine, and finish up the paintings. I’ve sent out invitations, I will look like a fool if the exhibition has to be cancelled. Bring him round Nigel I said. Don’t expect any wages from me until I see the paintings. I slammed down the phone on Nigel just to make an impression.

Nigel called back some days later, told me Jaques was working again, he would work every day to get the paintings finished on time. Came the last day, all the paintings were delivered by Nigel and without exception they were good.

Then on opening night, Jaques walked in the door, said I had to take down all the paintings except the original one – I said no, the exhibition is going ahead. I thought the man had gone mad. Jaques just shook his head and said it was all a terrible mistake. Then suddenly, he was gone.

I should have taken warning when I saw two of our local art critics huddled together, looking rather grim. I sauntered over and Jim, an old friend, took me to one side. It’s a mighty fine exhibition he said, but I think you will find the originals of all these paintings printed somewhere in the pages of Art of the 20^th Century – by Ruhrberg – Volume 1.

I had to think quickly, the exhibition opened its doors to an unsuspecting public in less than seven minutes. Technically, they weren’t forgeries, but the name of the gallery was at stake. I whipped out a roll of red dots and put one on every painting. I spent the rest of the evening, a fixed smile on my face, agreeing with all and sundry how wonderful it was that the exhibition had been so completely sold out before the opening night. Sold out wasn’t strong enough to express my feelings – I felt completely betrayed.

We were always proud of our only son, older parents we met late in life and were overjoyed with the birth of our son. Marc we called him and looking back I suppose we were over protective and gave him too much, but it didn’t seem like that at the time. Marc was quiet, a good child, and very studious. Of course, we had high expectations for Marc – to us he was charming, and clever and the brightest thing in our lives.

Marc tended not to go out and play in the street, which was good as then we didn’t have to worry about where he was, and whether he might have some kind of accident and we would not know. He brought friends home to play and always they were polite, no rough and tumble and fighting, they would play computer games – serious students with no time for sport – we were very pleased and very ambitious for our son.

In high school Marc said he would get a job – part time, he wanted money. We gave him a generous allowance of course, but he said that it wasn’t enough. Naturally, we had sent him to the best school that we could afford – Marc often spoke of the really rich boys whose Dad’s had plenty of money. When the time came to drive a car – he wanted the best – no student “bomb” car for our Marc. We told him what we could afford to put down, and he said he would match that with his savings and get a better vehicle. I must admit that took us by surprise – that Marc would have money of his own, and so much of it. It disturbed us quite a bit to think that Marc had this kind of money – mind you he had been working hard nights and weekends – and wouldn’t have had to spend any.

Once Marc got the car he changed overnight, not that he wasn’t respectful, but he didn’t see a need to tell us what he was doing or where he was going – not even so that we knew when to expect him, so his mother wouldn’t have to worry. I tried to have a talk with him, tried to get back to how things were before when he was still a kid at home who wouldn’t be late for his dinner. But Marc didn’t give a damn – said he needed to mix around, make contacts and friends if he was going to make it big in the city – I reminded him that he needed to study if he was going to pass his exams. His face took on a hard appearance that gave my stomach a turn – he said if he passed the exams that was fine – but there’s plenty of ways to make money, out there in the real world.

From that day on I was never settled when thinking about my son – it was as though he’d put up a wall – a barrier to me and his mother. In many ways our son had grown into a stranger – someone with another life that we were not invited to be part of. Marc passed his exams much to our relief. We thought that we’d get back control of our son once he got settled into university and would need our support and money. He left home and moved into a house with friends, from what i could see and what I heard these kids that he moved around with had money, and support. When we tried to make sure that Marc was keeping up with his crowd, he told us not to worry – he was managing alright. It got so that he didn’t bother to contact us, our messages unreturned. We consoled ourselves that Marc had a good head on his shoulders, that we didn’t have to worry. Time went by and Marc graduated, became a financial advisor, bought himself property, cars. He more or less limited his visits home to birthdays and public holidays. Once in a while he called up home to let us know how he was going.

Of course my wife was more interested in him getting married and having children, but that seemed to be the least of his current interests. He greeted his mother’s careful enquiries about him having a regular girlfriend with a cool stare, not making any answer. This relationship that we now had with our son didn’t satisfy, we both would have felt much happier if he would have chosen to stay with us at home, at least until he chose to marry. It was as though he had somehow slipped out under our guard and gotten clean away. Although I dearly loved my son, it made me angry to think about his lack of gratitude, and friendliness, after all we had done to help him to make something of his life. We would have expected him to come around more often and to keep us more fully informed about his life and what he was doing.

We were not prepared for the day when the mystery surrounding our son and his private life was irretrievably shattered. Two police officers stood at our door, and informed us that our son had been arrested – the mastermind of a cocaine ring that extended into Columbia. My wife went into a state of collapse, I didn’t feel much better. Never since that time have me and the wife talked about contacting our son, didn’t go down to the jailhouse to see him. He was sentenced to ten years. As far as me and my wife are concerned, we don’t have a son – failed us completely in every way – we’ve disowned and disinherited him. It’s good to write about it, helps to write it down, but I guess it’s a part of our life that me and the wife would rather not think or talk about.