DRUG DREAM (original) (raw)
As my body was tossing and twitching on the couch last night, my mind was wandering the aisles of every pharmacy I've ever known.
Like most of my dreams, these dreams were like dropcloths spattered with paint. There was no logic or narrative thread - just splotches of memory and spilled emotions.
My drug dreams are all context and no story.
I hear the sound of the pharmacist opening the Schedule II safe, hear the rummaging and the rattling. Then I hear the safe shut. For a moment I'm filled with dread waiting for someone to call my name and tell me the drug I need is all gone. Or I'm filled with dread when I hear someone pick up the phone. I look around for an escape route in case I'm suddenly accosted by police or DEA.
Then I hear the rattle of pills being counted. I don't even need to see the process. Decades of experience have taught me not to look too anxious or impatient.
Best to stand nonchalantly gazing at the condoms and Astroglide. Or sit in the waiting area. I must remind myself not to sit on the edge of the chair or to grip the armrests.
Whether they're using scales or counting, I KNOW the sound of my scrip being processed. The rattle. The weight. The size.
"Yes, that sounds to me like 90 Ritalin SRs being dispensed."
The cold sweat that's covering me starts to evaporate as I realize I'll soon be in possession of my pills, ripping the bag open and chewing a handful before I'm even out the door.
So I can get on with my life.
The same dream repeats itself again and again. There's only a fleeting relief as I chew a mouthful of stimulants. Just like in real life.
The irony is, I actually have ADD. I've got it bad. But decades have shown that I can't be trusted with stimulant meds, or any meds for that matter. I can eat enough rits - 500 milligrams or even close to 1,000 milligrams - to give a rhinoceros cardiac arrest, and still fall asleep in a couple of hours.
I am a 48-year-old white male. How long have I been a drug addict? All my life.
And yesterday morning, my wife found a stash - my only stash, the motherlode. This is an event that seems to repeat itself, like my dream.
To a non-addict, there was several months' worth of meds in the bag. To an addict like me, who never knew the meaning of "take as directed," there was maybe enough for a few days.
So welcome to my nightmare.
Well, I can't help but notice there isn't a lot of activity here at the moment... plus, it's not in the rules that advertising other related…
My little addicted (in recovery) brain has been running on overdrive for two days. Spin, spin, think, think, worry, worry. Funny only because…
well sorry haven't posted in a while i have been enjoying the weather and some fun new things i have found to do around here. when i got of yesterday…