Running From the Sun - Part 2

Staycie arose from her slumped position on the bed in the middle of the room with a look of excitement on her face. The first words from her mouth were, “Do you have it? Where is it? Give it to me!” Not caring too much for her absence of hospitalities I too was eager to get down to business. My reply to her was silent and without much emotion while I pulled the package from the inside of my sock where it was hidden. Pulling the wrinkled sandwich baggie full of relief out onto the table had reminded me that how I felt each day depended upon what label was on the next bag or bottle. We both made haste to prepare our “works.” Being ever so careful when tying off the vein in which we hoped would provide enough access to get a good “hit” also meant making sure that we would preserve a disposable needle long enough to get several more uses out of it. Never mind the looming possibility of breaking a fragile needle tip off while hitting a dead vein. One spoon, a filter, and a few cc’s of water later, we felt as if we had finally returned to what became an acceptable definition of “Human”, we relaxed and turned on the television to lie in wait as we prayed for satisfaction to come, but as usual, it never arrived.

As we lay upon the bed staring at the senseless chatter coming out of the idiot box, she turned her head toward me and posed a question that both shocked and enlightened me at the same time. She said, “We have enough dope here, why don’t we just put it altogether and kill ourselves?” This question scared me into what seemed to be a sober moment of thought. Regardless of the endless days of attempting to kill ourselves considerately, the thought of actually doing it was enticing to say the very least. This was a hard one to make at first. The isolation, degradation, humiliation, and utter contempt for “normal” life had brought me to a plateau where suicide was actually an option. This point of our lives was pivotal. This point in my life was monumental. Ending it all at that juncture seemed more sensible than the entire life preceding it. My mouth opened to utter a response, but my mind was slow to produce one. I was entangled in a web of confusion and wrestled with many things all at once. The obstacle standing before me was my family, my loved ones, and unknowingly, the grace of God. What would be left of them, how selfish of me would it be to end my life for nothing more than a ten dollar packet of evil and hatred. I had become willing to terminate my own life for the guilt produced by my own personal resistance. Despicable and desperate, I had become a societal waste of space. The reason I was even in this situation to begin with was my own self-will being a blueprint for my self-destruction. Of course, I had become good at defending the lies I told myself to justify living the dream that had become my nightmare.