Something Snapped

Most folks would think that bottom would be breaking into a good friend’s house, a good friend dying of cancer, to steal her morphine.  I mean, I didn’t exactly break in.  She always left the door unlocked, and nobody was supposed to be there.  And anyway, I wasn’t going to steal all the morhine.  Just a couple of pills to stave off the w/d’s.  But that seems like bottom, right?  It certainly was low, probably some kind of bottom.  Her husband ended up being home, a last minute decision not to accompany his wife.  He pulled a gun on me, called the cops.  I was arrested, pleaded guilty to felony burglary.  I did my time – house arrest, probation, community service, counseling.  It mostly worked.  I got off opiates (mostly).  But since they only dropped me once a month, with foolish regularity, I just started drinking.  I could drink for three weeks straight, drop a clean pee, and fuckin’ A beat the system!  Snort coke for two weeks — in yo face, society!

Anyway, a couple of years after I kicked probation, I met my wife.  Seduced her on a camping trip down Highway 1 with beers and adventure, and stories about how I “used” to be an addict but had since reformed my ways.  Not long after, our daughter was born, and man! is that shit stressful.  But nothing a few beers can’t mellow out, except forget beer — it’s not quick enough and gives me gas.  Might as well go for wine ‘cause it’s more mellow, goes down easier, gets me drunk faster.  Except, man that gets expensive!  I know: Vodka! Rum!  That’s the ticket!  Only I don’t want her to know just how much I’m drinking so I hide the bottles.  God I’m crafty.

And then it happens:  She gets sick.  Really sick.  Viral meningitis.  I thought she was going to die.  She spent over a week in the hospital hooked up to tubes.  When they finally sent her home she didn’t get out of bed for three weeks.  But do you know what they send you home with after Viral meningitis?  Glory be to God in the Highest!  Bottles of Pills!  Oxycontin, Oxycodone IR, Percocet, Vicodin.  An embarrasment of riches.  40, 60 pills a bottle.  I think, she won’t miss a few; I’m stressed, working manual labor.  I hurt too, dammit!

So there I am, seven years after what should have been the lowest point in my life, stealing opiates from a sick person whom I love.  Only now I’m an alcoholic, too.  What have I learned?  I learned that I’m damn good at drugs, that’s what.

She left two weeks ago.  She won’t let me see our daughter.  Actually won’t even talk to me.

But something snapped. Snapped on the inside.  I haven’t had a drink since she left, the first time in almost five years I’ve gone more than a day without one.  And I’ve been praying.  Honest to God praying!  To… somebody, shit, I don’t care.  Just one prayer, really: Help.  Help me be better.  Help me have a life.  Help me show my daughter that I love her.  It’s too late for my marriage, but help me save my soul.  I’m tired of the dirty burden of a junky soul.  Help me stay clean.