Cocaine Addiction

I suppose that I was was always seeking that ultimate “high” – always would top off a beer or two, with a bourbon or malt.

End of a meal it would have to be coffee – perhaps laced with Irish whiskey. Drinking wine with dinner was topped off with a cognac or port. Living alone, I often drank a glass of Benedictine or Creme de Menthe to get me off to sleep – that is if it did not keep me awake – dreaming dreams of what tomorrow might bring.

Sure, I was unhappy with my life – but I didn’t know why – I’d got the post-graduate position to study towards a PhD that I had applied for. Family and friends had supported and encouraged me, said it was a wonderful achievement.

I knew that I should be content and happy with that – but yet, it seemed that something in me, still cried out for more.

In all my student life, I never had a boyfriend, although I would go on dates that well meaning friends would set up.

Always, I decided it was more important to get down to my studies – I had to get that degree.

Being a single woman, introduced to a new social circle, I expected and took in my stride the attention that I got from the men in the field. Some were married, some were not. I didn’t want the pain of a workplace relationship, in case it ever went wrong, so I shied away from intimacy, kept my mind on the job.

Home was a small apartment, that I had furnished to my taste, I rarely entertained but readily accepted all social invitations – often going home bored, depressed that it had not been more exciting – no new face, nothing new in the conversation – the latest gossip in our circle – nothing more than that.

Enter Paul in my life – came to put a new wardrobe in my bedroom – and I can’t explain – I suppose it is what they call chemistry. He wouldn’t know an isobar from an isotope – but what the hell does it matter – somehow he merged into my my life – we became lovers, and were happy.

Perhaps it was me, wanting more that got him to admit, that sometimes he used coke. Next I knew he said he would bring some for me, next time he was around.

For the first time ever – I pinned him down to a time – I wanted to try that coke.

And – yes, using cocaine did it for me – so much more than I expected. I do wish that they would say inhaling cocaine – rather than say snorting it. With Paul I inhaled cocaine and enjoyed our love making.

All of a sudden the bubble burst – Paul had to go away to the country – couldn’t say when he would be back – he would keep in touch. I panicked. Not so much about Paul – where would I get more coke.

Paul gave me a contact – said I should mention his name.

In secret, with some shame, I made the contact and kept up my habit of using cocaine. No one at work guessed or knew about what I did weekends – straight after work I’d chase the dealer until I got the cocaine.

I didn’t want to meet up with my friends once I had hit up on coke. Anyhow, their invites really bored me. I missed Paul, hoped he’d come back soon, meanwhile I used cocaine, watched tv, watered the garden, and finally went to sleep in time to wake up for work on Monday.

My supervisor was the first one to take me aside and say – you seem to be not with us sometimes, is there anything wrong? I denied any problem, either at home or at work, Later a friend asked me why I had not come round for dinner like I usually did – was I having problems at work. No, I don’t have a problem at work – and even if I did – is it really your business?

The words sprung out, I wished they hadn’t, my friend was quite upset. Later, I thought what the hell – they were boring people.

This is Mishka’s story, and it goes downhill from here. Mishka was fine doing coke and her job, until one day she called up Paul on his phone – that he had asked her not to do. She really knew it was over, but something inside her still longed to make the call. A lady answered saying Paul had left his phone with her – she expected him back in a fortnight.

Mishka felt betrayed, suddenly alone – hitting up on coke did nothing at all, she was neither awake, nor asleep. Abandoned, alone, since some earlier time, Mishka picked up the phone again – and called a suicide helpline. It got her through the night.

Mishka is now a regular caller, usually late at night. She very often doesn’t speak – all you can hear is the volunteer saying, occasionally – hello, we are still here for you.

Just another day, of me doing domestic work for people just come out of hospital, with broken legs in plaster, arms in slings needing help for a few days to do the basic things. First on the list, one Thursday morning was the man who is your Dad. He had broken his leg. He lived in a two story townhouse, not as untidy as some – I was happy to do the housework – he seemed like a very nice man. He said he would go upstairs and wait in his room, while I did downstairs.

When I finished, I went up, knocked on the door of his room – it opened a bit and I saw him lying stretched out on the bed. His face looked flushed, he looked in pain. I thought I had better go in – see if there was anything I could do.

I could not believe my eyes – there was a torn strip of material – it was pale blue, tied just above his elbow, his lower arm looked puffed up and red – and in the crook of his arm, hanging down, I saw an empty plastic syringe, plunged into his skin.

I would have screamed, caused an uproar – but in the instant that I saw him there, I felt no emotion at all.

I simply stood and observed – his eyes were rolled back, unseeing, I moved forward, kept punching him on the leg, saying, wake up, wake up and tell me – what drug you have taken. Is it insulin? His eyes rolled back into some sort of focus, he stared at me, seemed to be alert.

No, he said, don’t worry, it’s nothing and lapsed back, eyes both fully closed. I pounded him on the leg again and said tell me, what have you taken, what did you put in the syringe. He looked back at me once again. This time he seemed pretty dazed, said what are you talking about – everything is alright.

I said no way, it’s not ok – you’ve got tape tied on your arm, a syringe stuck in with a needle. He looked vaguely at the syringe and as if surprised, started to tug and pull it out from his skin.

He suddenly sat up, fell forward, face crashing down into the bedside table. I hit him again and again on the leg, said tell me what you have taken. Was it meth, or coke, or what. Should I should call an ambulance.

No, he said, it’s all ok, nothing, don’t get stressed, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – you should not be seeing this. I asked again, I wanted to know – what have you used, I said – was it heroin?

He said speedball – that I knew was coke and heroin.

At first he had not seemed to be breathing, but now he was sitting up, breathing quickly, in short gasps, holding his hand to his heart, his eyes again rolled back in his head.

Then he seemed to relax said he was real sorry to have put me through this. And do stop hitting me on the leg – will you please stop hitting me.

I stood back, closed my eyes and I took a deep breath.

Next time I looked, I saw that he was now lying, stretched out on the bed, peaceful, relaxed, and breathing strong, deep breaths.

Something told me he would be alright, there was nothing I needed to do.  I told him I thought it might be best if left and went on to my next job.  He said yeah, and looked so peaceful. I said sorry if I spoiled your trip, sorry for keep hitting you on the leg but you had me worried. I didn’t want you to die.

No, he said, nothing wasted at all – he seemed to be breathing steady,  so I decided to quietly leave.

We got on fine next time I went in to do the cleaning, we got to talking about the dope, how long he had been using. Then one day, he said that he had suddenly seen the light – wouldn’t use dope any more. We parted the best of friends, never expecting I think that we would ever cross paths again.

It was two years later and I had passed my exams for final year furniture design – no more cleaning. I was signed up to start a traineeship with a big furniture company. No one was further from my thoughts than your father on that day that all us students that were taken up by the company got an orientation tour.

As we walked by the accounts department, I couldn’t believe my eyes -  there he was, sitting working at a computer – I called out his name, he looked up, with enormous surprise. But it didn’t take long, he ran over to me, got me to meet him for dinner.

The rest follows on like a fairy tale – except that it is all real. He’d gone into rehab, got completely recovered, become a trainee accountant. Had always hoped to see me again, to show me how he had recovered.

I have never told this story to anyone – only written it down on paper. It’s a kind of preparation in case I ever want to tell the story to our kids.

We’ve talked to them already about saying no to drugs – but I have in mind a plan. If I ever see any of them looking like they might take an interest in drugs – I’m going sit them all down and tell them the truth  - about the day I met your father.