Did you ever watch the show “INTERVENTION”? It’s this show where they exploit the escapades of an addict on camera then film the family intervention and subsequent recovery. I’ve never seen one where the person dies. There should be episodes like that. The percentage of success is not realistically represented on this facakta show.
When I was 13 I started to think partying was better than school, dancing, gymnastics and most of all my parents’ divorce which was the backdrop to all. I mean all. There was no getting away from it. Air and their divorce were the only sure bets in my life. Weed made it go away. Boonesfarm wine made it go away in basements with boys getting to third while I knocked back the rest of the bottle. That was probably a sign, no?
I stopped in 1989 at the height of expensive cocaine and the decline of the white dealer. I would periodically return as if on vacation, shoveling coke up my nose but not drinking preferring the undiluted and crisp high of pure chemicals. Or something.
Then I would stop.
Then go back and add new heavier drugs, perfect the art of dealing to hillbillies for 3 times the price and stay high enough to tolerate the cast of heroin addicts parading through my nice apartment with all mod cons because, in case I forgot to mention, I was such a high functioning and perhaps elitist drug user that it was hard to really tease out if I was even was one considering the normal trappings of my life in contrast to the flickering lights of the lives of the others.
Then I would stop.
I was the worst drug addict imaginable. I once had a boyfriend whom I adored – a rip roaring junkie – who forever said “You SUCK to get hight with! You ruin it with your need to get fucking sober! Can’t you just get high and fucking enjoy it! You’re torturing me!” and shit like that. I would not resign to the addiction. I refused to go without a job, clothes, cable, a car, name brand cigarettes. I would rather die than be seen with a pack of Basics. I was not cut out to be a drug user.
Here’s the thing: I never appeared to be high. I never hung around my family all fucked up and looking like a crack whore, stealing their money and helping them look for it like the “INTERVENTION” drug addicts. Perhaps if my life had been brought to you by Mazda I would have been a more declined, depraved and higher rated drug user. Insofar as Neilson ratings anyway.
Addiction isn’t produced in Hollywood. It is lived deeply, lightly, fearfully or in a full embrace. And it is often stealth and easy to manipulate, to incorporate into your personality as if it were a sense of humor or some other natural aspect that your loved ones would think normal. Drug addiction was a lump of clay for me which I molded poorly in the beginning but became so good at it with practice that the ghost of Patrick Swayze would have been afraid to help me spin it. I was a sharper. I was too good. I was so good I didn’t even know I WAS good.
I was not a good drug addict. Just ask the 13 odd junkies I knew who are now dead: the mark of a truly committed addict.
I guess what I am trying to say is that “INTERVENTION” bugs the shit out of me.