THE CRASH: CHAPTER TEN OF UNDERCOVER

A vampire requires a full tummy of fresh blood to feel fully alive. Likewise, an addict requires the presence of the stimulus of choice in order to avoid the crash. When faced with the dreaded crash, the addict will go to great lengths to avoid it. My emotional crashes have sometimes lasted for months. It takes a powerful force to cause someone to hide away for years, simply to avoid the possibility of going through it again.

Substance Abuse Treatment Programs prepare addicted persons for the presence of relapse triggers that are surely to appear in the addict’s environment. These are nothing more than the one million and one associations about which I have already written. Recovering alcoholics and addicts are advised to avoid “old playmates and old playgrounds” which are assuredly going to be powerful relapse triggers that introduce many powerful alcohol and drug associations into the recovering person’s thought process. Every recovering alcoholic knows to stay away from bars; every recovering drug addict knows to avoid crack houses and other drug situations. But what if your old playground, old playmate and drug of choice can come to your hiding place? What if they come to you without being invited? And what if you have no prior warning that they are coming to call? What if your drug of choice is an experience involving both a drug, and a human being?

Once the obsession is activated, the only way to avoid the crash is to suck new blood, that is, take the drug or go with the obsession. The problem with obsessions is that you don’t have to suck the blood, take the drink, use the drug, or have sexual intercourse for the seed to be planted. The seed of obsession can easily be planted without your consent, and have the same impact it would have had if you had chosen to knowingly swallow it. For instance, as an assessment counselor, if I were to show up at the home of a cocaine-addicted client with white sugar, a mirror, and a razor blade, and proceed to place the mirror on the kitchen table and use the razor blade to cut the sugar, I could cause the addict to go into a state of intense craving. From the addict’s craving perspective, the sugar might just as well be the drug to which he or she is addicted.

At this point, from an obsession and craving prospective, I might just as well have taken the drug. The obsession is overpowering. I am restless, depressed and anxious. All it took was the drug association. The seed was planted. I didn’t ask for the seed or swallow it, but it is in my gut just the same. In the case of obsession, it really is the thought that counts.

I have not eaten normally in days. My highs and lows are overwhelming. As a vampire, I am thirsty for blood relief whether I choose to be or not. There is little sympathy for vampires, however, because we allowed ourselves to become one in the first place. We are in fact, the damned. The crash is here. The crash is real. The crash is sinking into my system as I write, and I can feel its power. I dial my soul sister’s home phone number.

“I am confused about some of the emotions I am experiencing,” I share after we have exchanged initial greetings. “I have a feeling of overpowering loneliness, as if I have lost someone who was very close to me.”

“Attraction can be strong,” she comments, “even when it is inappropriate.”

“But I am feeling more than sexual attraction,” I reply. “I am feeling absolutely petrified that he will come to my house, then extreme sadness that he is no longer in my life.” I hesitate, because I know that what I am about to say will frighten her. “And I’m having cravings for crystal meth.”

“But how could a visit from a man cause that?” She sounds baffled. “You haven’t used drugs in years.”

“It is the association between the drug and former sexual behavior,” I attempt to explain. “There is a very good reason for my tendency to avoid men altogether. My neighbor’s behavior triggered a response from way back in my past. He was behaving in an extremely sexual way, unlike anyone has done towards me in many years.”

I hear my sister take a ragged breath through the telephone line. I am aware that my obsession over a man I hardly know is causing her to be concerned about me.

“This can’t be about him, a near stranger,” she insists. “From where is this imagined power coming? And what of a normal drive to mate that is associated with a particular drug? You are talking crazy.”

“That I am,” I admit. “But when the emotions and drug cravings are here, they are here whether it makes any sense or not.”

I ask myself how this force could find me again after all this time? Now it is everywhere, in the car, in the house, in the yard, in the convenience store, in the gym where I exercise, haunting me, distracting me, and taking priority over everything else in my life.

“I don’t understand how all this could be related to addiction,” my soul sister argues, “ Because in this case there was no drug involved.”

“Well, if not,” I ask. “What is it?” I laugh through the phone. “ I certainly don’t think it is love.”

I feel as if the darkness of my soul is screaming at high volume. My need for power worship has found an outlet. This individual will exit from my life along with all of the others, but my tendency towards obsessive associations will remain. That is what being a vampire is all about. That is how we became what we are. It is the fascination with danger that entices us. It is that same danger that destroys us. The destruction of the obsession is felt most profoundly in the crash, and this is not even the ultimate crash. I have not been sucked into the vacuum of an actual return to my drug of choice, and have therefore escaped the level of darkness found in the ultimate crash.

THE ULTIMATE CRASH September 1988

A beam of light is intense surrounding the darkness of an iron door through which unfamiliar voices are muffled from a distance. Who are they? The voices of strangers rise and fall to the clatter of feet moving along the hallway. Why is it so cold in here? What day is this? How long have I been here? Where is Hunter? No answer. I return to sleep.

Light is flooding in through an open window. I am only half awake. It is daylight. I hear a voice from outside my door.

“I don’t know, about four days. I don’t know. She’s been sleeping since she was admitted. Crystal meth. Yeah, according to the urine screen. It only has about a six percent recovery rate. I’ll have to look at the chart. Not that makes any sense. Keeps saying something about a hunter, or maybe it is somebody’s name. Okay, I’ll try.”

Someone is nudging me.

“Want to get up and eat something?”

I roll over and play dead.

“Come on. Let’s eat. You’re weighing a big ninety-two pounds on the scale. You need to eat something.”

I open my eyes. I can barely make out the image of the person standing over me. I close my eyes and roll over.

“Come on. You’ll shrink into nothing. I don’t want to have to tell the charge nurse I couldn’t get the incredible shrinking woman to eat anything. What do you say? Am I still going to have a job tomorrow, or what?”

I open my eyes and manage a slight smile. I am looking directly into the ebony eyes of an African American female, about twenty-three years of age.

“Hello, I’m Shantae. How do you feel?”

I blink more than once.

“Like sleeping beauty, only without the beauty.”

She laughs.

“It’s okay, girl,” she says. “I’ve been there.”

She presses a lever to bring the head of my bed up, and slides a tray in front of me.

I’m starving, but only able to eat a portion of the food.

“Where am I?”

“New Serenity Options Treatment Center.”

“Is this a rehab unit?”

“You got it.”

“How did I end up here?”

“I don’t know all the details, but too many stimulants would be my guess.”

“Oh bummer,” I moan. “What a mess. I can’t believe I’ve let my life get to this point. What kind of a mess have I made of my life?”

I’m wondering what she must be thinking of me. How did I manage to let things get to this point? I can’t believe I am almost thirty-four years old, and have accomplished absolutely nothing with my life.

“You’re not the first,” she says.

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I can’t believe I’ve made this kind of a mess of my life. I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do with the rest of it.”

“That’s not unusual. Most of us feel that way when we first get here.”

“You mean you were in here as a patient?” This was not what I expected to hear. She looked like somebody from a sorority house.

“That’s right. And it hasn’t been that long, either. I’m starting school next quarter to get my Social Work Degree. Right now I’m only qualified to be a Social Service Tech, but I’m starting school next quarter.”

I am able to eat very little of what is on the tray. I tell Shantae I already have a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology, and still managed to end up in Rehab. I’m not sure education is the answer for me. Shantae takes my tray, and walks towards the door.

“Hang in there,” she says. “It will get easier.”

I sleep most of the next two days, but my appetite increases dramatically. I am able to eat everything on my tray, and still feel hungry. I feel like a bottomless pit. Most of my time is spent eating and sleeping. When I am awake I feel very sad.

Two days later, I have my first appointment with the counseling staff. I have dreaded it. I’m not in the mood to be talked down to by somebody who wouldn’t even speak to me on the street, if she were to see me there. I have already decided I am not going to tell her anything.

“Hello,” she smiles. “I am Shelly Canton. How are you feeling today?”

“I don’t really need to be in here,” I begin. “I don’t have a drug problem. I let things get a little bit out of control, and I was using too much, but there were some other things going on that caused it to happen.”

“I understand,” she says.

I’m thinking I don’t trust this woman. She probably doesn’t like white people. If I tell her anything at all about my situation, it will only serve to reinforce her already low opinion of me. How do you exercise freedom of choice in rehab? It wasn’t even my choice to come in here.

That night was my first night of full awareness. I could not hide from the fear gnawing at my gut. I hadn’t even been here a week, and was already wanting to get high. And what then? I already knew how dangerous my behavior was when I used stimulants. My next encounter may prove to be my last. These one-time hookups were not satisfying me, anyway. I would eventually return to Hunter, and what would await me then? My only hope was to remain here, but if this was all I had to look forward to, why did it matter whether I lived or died?

When I thought of Hunter, I always remembered the good times, but the good times would not be returning. If I returned to Hunter, I would no doubt be returning to the same nightmare I had left. When he was not with me, I felt utter loneliness; when we were together, I felt black terror. But I could not feel anything at all when he was not in my life. I drift off to sleep.

I am running. How will I be able to get through this forest to safety? The underbrush is thick and it is slowing me down. Careful, careful, or I will slip and fall. If I fall now, I will be overtaken. He has a weapon. It may be a gun or a knife. Run, and do not let the briers stop you. Pretend they are not there. His footsteps are getting closer. Run faster. He has a razor blade. Who is chasing you? He is standing in the same direction you are headed. He is chasing you. Scream, scream, you cannot escape. He is both before and behind you. Scream, scream, you must let your voice be heard, or you will die here. God is warning you to scream. The devil is telling you to be quiet. Scream now as loud as you can, or the devil will get your soul. I scream as loudly as I can.

I awake to two aids standing over me.

“You were having a nightmare.”

It is Shantae. She looks a lot like God.

“Thank you so much for waking me up. I was so afraid.”

“It’s okay, girlfriend,” she sooths. She has a hand on my arm. “It was just a dream. You are going to be alright.”

I am crying.

“Is this all I have to look forward to for the rest of my life? Being in a funny farm and having nightmares?”

“No, no. It is not. This is just the beginning. You have a happy life ahead. Now, go back to sleep.”

But I could not imagine a happy life. And I could feel no pleasure at all. All I could imagine was this same utter darkness until the day I died, this hollow black hole that was the ultimate crash.

THE CRASH IS CHAPTER TEN OF UNDERCOVER; PLEASE CLICK LINK BELOW TO READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:

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