I finally made my appointment. My doctor gave me a quick lesson in how to use a needle. Like I need one of those, but what the hell – it can’t hurt to go through the motions, I’ve been out of practice for at least a couple of years.
There was a point in time when I moved to Portland, started making a boat-load of money, and thought my life was on the up and up. When I first made the move, I was totally clean and had been for at least a few months. I’d weaned myself off a final heroin habit by taking weekly trips to Utah for Methadone. My final taper was a few days before heading to Seattle to see Alex Paterson from the Orb. The leg pain was severe and my body was hurting badly. I managed to keep myself seated in the car for the whole ten hours. With four of my friends, an ounce of weed, a handful of Ecstasy, several doses of GHB, ten hits of acid, and a tank full of Nitrous, we made our way to see the show. My legs screaming at me the whole way. The first thing I remember about the Ecstasy was how it made my leg pain totally disappear. The last thing I remember about it was how I could still feel it in my body the next day, after the show. Good ole ecstacy…
So I move to Portland and spend all my money on computer hardware. Then, the next thing I buy is a new pair of Technics turntables to replace the old. Then I buy a mixer, a sampler, an effects processor, and a couple of synthesizers. I give a large amount of money away to people on the street, buy them clothes, sometimes food. New clothes for myself, the VW bus I always wanted, a few hundred records, a vacation or three, and then I start buying the Oxycontin. The day I start buying the Oxy things start going into the shitter. By the time I move back from Portland, I’ve got almost nothing all over again. I manage to hang on to all my music gear and most of the computer stuff. I still have the VW, in fact now it’s my only vehicle as I demolished the other two vehicles I owned, with both crashes attributed directly to my abuse of Fioricet and Klonopin.
At the tail end of my time in Portland, I meet a girl who simply needs a place to stay. I’d befriended all kinds of weirdos, other Junkies who steal from me, a prostitute who takes advantage of my generosity, and finally someone who I knew from a good ten years back. A coked-out stripper who just needs a place to stay.
I’m leaving town for Thanksgiving, the house is hers. She stays one night, then another, then one more after that. I come home from my trip and she’s not there. Later the next night or early morning, she shows all coked up and drunk. I’m due at work in just a couple of hours, but a few lines can’t hurt. We get high, we fuck, and the cycle begins. I carry on with my normal job, she dances at night, and we party together every night with cocaine or Ecstasy, and sometimes just lots of booze. Drunken fights, awful comedowns, I lose my job. We spend the bulk of my unemployment money on Ecstasy and get luck with a tax refund to pay a few month’s back rent. With our last $400 we move back to Boise, as we’re both from there and need a break. I weigh less than 140lbs at 6’1″.
No jobs in Boise and we’re left to live normal lives. Not the lives of a closet Junky and a coke-fiend Stripper. Living a normal life is not all that easy for some reason. It was easier to be one thing by day, then another by night, rather than try and find a happy medium of both personas and make him live the normal life that normal folks do. Fuck being normal, or fuck being so poor, anyway. Telling my woman that we’re better off broke and healthy isn’t easy, and I know she’s not buying it. It never bothered me that Fiona took her clothes off for money, in fact I kind of liked it, the problem was with the drugs and the cocaine. She wants to go back to it, but I don’t know if I could handle it. What a different life we live now without the drugs and without the fun; will it ever pay off? I’m sure it will down the line at some point in time.