Hello again, gentle readers. The following is the first of a few vignettes I wrote whilst at Emerson Hospital for another bout of med changes and "staying safe" this month. All names have been changed to protect the innocent/guilty.
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Carl throws a stress ball across the common room, hitting Blake in the shin. They're talking about all the ways you can make alcohol and drugs from household items. They have a case of what Bob would call "the spin drys". Guys come in for 3-5 days because their wives, bosses or families beg them to get clean. They dry out enough for the physical effects of their substance of choice to wear off, claim Jesus as their guide, and go right back out and use. They have no intention of quitting, they just want to make their families happy, or keep the money coming in. Blake has already managed to ingest Purell to try to stop his tremors and hallucinations. In his mind, the ethanol in a hand sanitizer would be better than sobriety; all hand sanitizer has been confiscated from the unit.
Carl has taken to Blake and a few others who are all trying to dry out. They laugh a little too loudly, proclaim their love of the Patriots, Red Sox, and Bruins a little too vehemently, and know everything. All exclamations have at least one "fahhk" in some part of speech. They are frightened little boys, wearing their fathers' jerseys and expressions, trying to be just as brave. When their knowledgeable statements and information are questioned, they are almost always wrong, and they bluster through all the reasons why. Their glasses weren't on, they thought you said the '77 Sox lineup, not '87, and that bitch nurse gave them the wrong med at the window this morning. These are the guys who tell you who REALLY killed Kennedy, but can't remember their son's birth date. Their tales come forth through gravelly, smoke-filled cords.
I ask one of these gentlemen why he's so angry. He says "I'm not angry at nothin'. Nothin' bothahs me anymoah." This is the same gentleman who thought Purell would make a good mixer.
It seems to me that I sometimes see these sober men for the last time on earth. They are walking and talking ghosts, who won't ever be in this corporeal and sensitized state again. Alcohol and opiates will numb their pain, desensitize the body, until they sleep forever.
