American Drug Addict: a memoir

by Brett Douglas

  Jacques and his girlfriend, Bree, invited me to go out with them for the evening. I suggested we go to Sammy’s. They agreed. As soon as we walked through the door, strippers started surrounding me.

  “Why do all the strippers know you?” Jacques asked.

  “Well…uh…I came here last week,” I weakly replied. He looked at me as if he got a whiff of bovine defecation.

  The three of us sat in a corner booth. Ann approached the table to take our drink order, acting like she didn’t know me. I ordered straight cranberry juice but instantly noticed it had vodka in it.

  “Drink it. For me,” Ann whispered in my ear as she sat with us. So, I did, thus ending my year and half of sobriety. I got drunk with my nephew, his girlfriend, and my mistress. As the night progressed, the four of us laughed hysterically as Jacques and I interacted as we always had, paying no attention to the strippers on stage. Once again, everyone in the club wished they were part of our group. As my buzz intensified, I started to tip my hand.

  “Do you know that girl that’s sitting with us?” Jacques asked after Ann left to purchase another round of drinks.

  “No. Why? You jealous?”

  “No. Well, maybe a little. You two seem to know a lot about each other.”

  “Uh…remember, I was here last week,” I answered, somehow remembering the lie I told earlier.

  “Well, never in my life have I seen a stripper pay for drinks.”

  Jacques observed something I had missed. Ann never spent her own money when I was around. Her generosity was uncharacteristic.

  The Movie

  A few days later, Paula, Devin, Jordan, and I decided to see a movie. As I looked for my car keys, Paula and the kids walked outside and waited for me. When I joined them, I was stunned by what I saw. Paula and Ann were talking to each other.

  “Hi,” I stammered as the blood rushed to my head.

  “This is our new neighbor,” Paula informed me. “She lives down the street. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

  “Ann,” she replied as she extended her hand, smiling.

  “She lives in the house on the corner,” Paula said.

  “I don’t actually live there. My friend does. I just visit a lot,” Ann replied.

  “Well, isn’t that nice,” I sneered, glaring at Ann.

  “Well, we gotta’ catch a movie. It was nice meeting you,” Paula pleasantly said.

  “I’m sure we’ll see a lot of each other,” Ann responded as she winked at me.

  At the theater, I went to men’s room and immediately called her. “What the fuck was that?”

  “My friend lives—”

  “Bullshit Ann! You never mentioned anyone you know living in my neighborhood. What the hell are you up to?”

  “Maybe I want to go to the movies with you. I miss you.”

  I guess I should have noticed what was happening. My arrangement with Ann had always been straightforward. I had mentioned the word “love” before, but she always shot it down. But ever since the evening with Jacques and Bree, the dynamics of our relationship had changed. Ann started demanding more of my time instead of asking for money.

  “Look, baby, I miss you too. But you knew my situation when we started seeing each other. Paula’s my day life, and you’re my night life. Why can’t you just leave it at that?”

  “Because I want more,” she said, her voice starting to crack.

  I hung up and joined my family in the theater, but I couldn’t pay attention to the movie. My mind swirled over the recent change of events.

  That night, I met Ann in the Technologies for Tomorrow parking lot. As I sat in her passenger seat, she was staring at the floorboard.

  “I have something I need to tell you,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I’m in love with you.” Tears started rolling from her eyes.

  “How many times have I said the same thing to you? And you always blew me off. I thought we agreed not to go there.”

  “I know.”

  “So what changed?”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you. And I’ve never let myself slip like this.” Ann looked at me, black streaks running from her eyes. “I want you to leave Paula and be with me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” She started sobbing and hugged me. “Please be with me. I love you.”

  After an hour of pleading, I finally agreed. I told her I would tell Paula of my decision when I got home.

  As I opened the car door to leave, Ann said, “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you something.” She reached in the back seat and produced a small, metal dog. “Paula paid $700 for her dog. I only paid $15 for this one.”

  When I got home, I gave Paula the metal dog, leaving out the details of how I acquired it. As she placed it on the mantle, I prepared myself for the conversation I was about to have. I took a deep breath and walked into the living room. Paula was sitting on the floor with Jordan, helping her make a sign for her cheerleading squad. As I looked at them, I thought, What the fuck am I doing? One of the few moments of clarity I’ve had in my life.

  The next day, I told Ann I wouldn’t leave my wife. Like pulling the drawstring on a lamp, she went dark. No calls. No visits. She refused to answer her door. After a couple of weeks, I had to face the truth; Ann and I were through. I was despondent. To be honest, I didn’t miss Ann. I missed the crazy excitement that followed her around like Pig-Pen’s dirt cloud. Every extreme high has an extreme low. Life got boring overnight.

  I desperately tried to recreate what I had with Ann. I started seeing a 19-year-old woman named Marlo, who looked like Angelina Jolie, as well as several one-night stands I arranged on the internet. But sex wasn’t all I was seeking. I was yearning for the lifestyle Ann afforded me. When I realized these dalliances weren’t giving me the excitement I thirsted for, I turned to the love of my life. I started smoking crack again.

  The Itch

  For the next year, I smoked crack and shot Roxicodone every day. My addiction was back in rare form. Unexpectedly, Paula announced she no longer wanted to be sober. She had eight years of sobriety, but watching me get high every day became an itch which intensified with every scratch. She wanted to drink alcohol but claimed she wasn’t interested in drugs. The distinction between drugs and alcohol is a fallacious one. You guessed it. Time for another fucking diversion from the story.

  The Phraseology Irritation

  In my opinion, the phrase “alcohol and drugs” is deceptive and dangerous. Regardless, people say it all the time. For example, commercials for drug rehabilitation centers frequently use this phrase. Some clean-cut queer appears on your television screen and says, “If you or a loved one has a problem with alcohol and drugs, call us. We’re here to help. But only if you are rich or have health insurance. Otherwise, go die a slow, miserable death.”

  Why is alcohol presented as if it’s different from drugs? A typical answer is, “Alcohol is legal. That’s why it’s set apart.”

  If you believe that, my condolences on your lobotomy. Pain medicine is legal, so that argument doesn’t hold water. In fact, the two legal drugs, alcohol and pain medication, kill more people than all the illegal drugs combined. Also, during prohibition, alcohol was illegal, cocaine was in soft drinks, and heroin was sold by the Bayer aspirin company for baby colic. It sure helped me when I was colicky.

  Another typical answer is, “Alcohol has no medicinal purpose. Most drugs do.” And if you believe that, you need to stop drooling on yourself when you speak. Before modern anesthesia, alcohol was used instead. It’s also an antiseptic.

  I know what I’m about to say will upset some people, which means it’s worth saying. Here goes:

  Alcohol is a drug, and an alcoholic is a drug addict whose drug of choice is alcohol.

  If, when you drink, you can’t control and enjoy the amount or predict your behavior, you’re a drug addict like me. I’m no different from Bea and Rex, whose drinking negatively affected their loved ones. The subs
tance may be different, but the selfish, destructive behavior is exactly the same. The three of us willingly traded everything good in our lives for a glass of liquid or a bag of powder.

  I often wonder how many lives have been ruined by the belief that alcohol is different from other drugs. I fell into that trap once. After shooting pain medicine for a while, I decided to stop and drink alcohol instead. I reasoned since I didn’t like to drink, moderating wouldn’t be a problem. I weened myself off the Roxicodone, which never goes smoothly, and started drinking Captain Morgan’s and Mountain Dew.

  For the first two weeks, I had a few drinks after work. All my employees drank, so I fit in. I discovered if I filled a 40-ounce cup ¾ full with Captain Morgan’s and the rest with Mountain Dew and drank it as fast as I could, the rush was somewhat euphoric. I started waking up in the morning feeling like shit and drinking half a pint to cure the hangover. By the end of the month, I was drinking throughout the day, even waking up at 2 am, slamming a pint, then going back to sleep. I bought liquor on my lunch break and drank it straight out of the bottle before returning to work. My manager, Tina, asked me once, “You smell like booze. You drinking during the day?” I told her I was diabetic, and the smell was excess sugar.

  Paula caught the worst of my drinking. I would stagger in the front door after work and say things like, “I hate your fucking guts!” and “You’re a worthless whore!” and “You’re the worst wife ever!” and “I hope you fucking die!” Several times, she had to wrestle me for the car keys when I tried to leave.

  After enduring my drunken wrath for a couple of weeks, Paula said, “Would you please stop drinking and start shooting dope again? At least you’re pleasant to be around when you’re high.”

  I enthusiastically granted her wish. My drinking career lasted two months, but I definitely used alcohol like I used any other drug. Why? All together now...

  Alcohol is a drug, and alcoholics are drug addicts.

  If you still disagree with me, go fuck yourself.

  Shit I Know To Be True

  1. Don’t give tube socks to children for Christmas… EVER

  2. A preoccupation with external appearances is sometimes used to hide something unattractive on the inside

  3. The closest we come to immortality is the positive legacy we are remembered by

  4. Those things that make us different, make us better

  5. All good things go bad eventually

  6. Do not moon cars in your own neighborhood

  7. Never eat in a restaurant where the cooks are laughing hysterically

  8. No matter how small the detail, never compromise yourself for love’s sake

  9. Sometimes, what seems like an insignificant decision can become a life changing event

  10. Always fasten your seatbelt, even on short trips

  11. Properly motivated, everybody lies

  12. Never have a bachelor party the night before your wedding

  13. Always anticipate other people’s potential fuck-ups

  14. There is no such thing as a “Free Lunch”

  15. Alcohol is a drug, and alcoholics are drug addicts

  Anyway, back to the story...

  When most people relapse after an extended period of sobriety, the event just happens. It’s not planned like a vacation. Paula, however, meticulously organized her outing. She picked a date, made a reservation at the Beau Rivage, a casino and hotel in Biloxi, Mississippi, and bought a bottle of wine for the drive.

  On the selected day, we both drank a glass of wine before we left. With one sip, Paula’s eight years of sobriety evaporated. As we guzzled wine and drove to Biloxi, Paula called her family and informed them of her decision. Oddly enough, no one seemed as enthusiastic about it as we were. Oh well, fuck ‘em.

  Paula had eight years to make up for, and she wasted no time. Each drink she ordered was different from the last. Plus, she discovered several liquors and beers she had never tried. By the time we went back to the room at 4 am, she was stumbling drunk and horny. As she staggered around the room removing her clothes, she instructed me to go to the gift shop and buy batteries for her vibrator. Naturally, I rushed to the lobby as fast as I could. When I returned, I found her passed out and naked on the floor, lying in a pool of vomit. Oh well, it’s beat-off time.

  Paula’s experience twelve hours after her first drink is a perfect example of the progressive nature of addiction. Let’s pause once again to discuss…

  The Disease Concept

  Addiction is considered a progressive disease. Let’s break that concept down into its corresponding components.

  Progressive – happening or developing gradually in stages. Although an addict may abstain for an extended period, once they resume, their drug use will continue as if it had never stopped. Paula’s first day of drinking certainly bears that out.

  Disease – a malady or illness. Addiction is a mental disease. Some people bristle at that idea, thinking it absolves addicts from responsibility for their actions. “Sorry I stole your money to buy drugs. I can’t help it. I have a disease.” Of course, ten seconds of cognitive reasoning will dispel that belief.

  Diabetes is a disease.

  Diabetics are not responsible for having the disease.

  Diabetics are responsible for taking their insulin.

  Schizophrenia is a disease.

  Schizophrenics are not responsible for having the disease.

  Schizophrenics are responsible for taking their psych meds.

  Baldness is a disease.

  Baldies are not responsible for their chrome domes.

  Baldies are responsible for covering their scalps with Chia Pet seeds and watering them regularly.

  In other words, I’m not responsible for being an addict, but I am responsible for the treatment.

  Another misconception is that addicts are born with this condition. Again, a little logic will demolish that idea. Although most mental diseases are genetic in origin, addiction is an exception. Someone with an addictive genetic disposition who never encounters drugs will not become an addict. At the same time, a different person with no such disposition who associates with drug users can become an addict. Addiction is one of the few mental diseases which is acquired from behavior.

  So, if addiction is a disease, what are the symptoms? For me, the predominant one is a mental obsession which starts the second I ingest any mind or mood altering substance. At that point, I can never get high enough. My behavior, thinking, morals and values change, and I transform into an entirely different person. This compulsion is hard to understand for a normie, AKA a non-addict. I’ve been asked countless times, “Why don’t you just stop?” Addiction is a hunger, and simply stopping is like a starving man turning down a buffet.

  When it came to Paula, I thought her one day of drinking was just a passing phase, and she would eventually want her sober life back. But I was wrong.

  The Rock

  After the Biloxi trip, we decided to spend a weekend with Jacques and Bree. I purchased a quarter-ounce of cocaine, which consisted of one big, pungent rock, and reserved a room in New Orleans. By the time we got to Bourbon Street, I was wasted and started behaving erratically. We left the cocaine in the room; so naturally, we took hourly trips back to the hotel. Every time we jumped in the back of a cab, I barked at the driver, “Take us to the rock!”

  Apart from my 21st birthday, this trip was the most fun I’ve ever had in New Orleans. And a large portion of that fun consisted of my three companions watching me upset as many people as I could. Jacques stopped several men from attacking me because of my obnoxious behavior.

  For example, on the back patio of Pat O’Brien’s, I saw an older gentleman with a large nose. “You’re a Jew, aren’t you?” I bellowed.

  “Yes I am,” the man responded.

  “And what do you do?”

  “I’m a doctor.”

  “Of course you are. All doctors are Jews. Hey, Bree, take a picture of me with this Jew,” I yelled as I pu
t my arm around him. As she positioned herself for the picture, I said, “Would you hurry up, Bre? I don’t want to touch this Jew bastard any longer than I have to.”

  The young gentleman standing next to the Jewish man, probably his son, didn’t find my anti-Semitic quips amusing and lunged at me. Jacques intercepted. “Look man. He’s drunk. Just let it go,” he explained as Paula and Bree escorted me out of the bar.

  Despite my crazy behavior, I did learn something on that trip. The four of us walked into Harrah’s Casino and rented a wheelchair. I sat in the chair and tried to look as gimped and pathetic as possible. As Jacques wheeled me between the gambling tables, I noticed something unnerving. Every single person looked at me and then quickly looked away. Our parents told us never to stare at handicapped people. So, everyone recoiled as if I were a hideous monster. After fifteen minutes, I told Jacques, “I can’t do this anymore. It’s creeping me out.”

  As I stood from the wheelchair, I thought of the people who will never stand from theirs. Which leads us to….

  Shit I Know To Be True

  1. Don’t give tube socks to children for Christmas… EVER

  2. A preoccupation with external appearances is sometimes used to hide something unattractive on the inside

  3. The closest we come to immortality is the positive legacy we are remembered by