Chasers
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.
