Dope Dreams

If you've ever used drugs for any real length of time, you're going to have dope dreams.

Last night it was my husband, all messed up, staggering everywhere, his focus in a million places at once and me dreading all the things that go along with that.

I had dope too, and a pipe, no lighter.  Then I had a lighter, two pipes, more dope and he wasn't there anymore.

The entire dream I want to get high but I don't want anyone to catch me or see me getting high.

Room to room, situation to situation, still the dope is in my hand, the lighter in my pocket and he's given me a pipe so loaded it's brown on the inside, even though it's no longer than a cigarette butt.

I never did get high.

I never do in these dreams, the lighter is breaking, the pipes are falling apart, the dope never gets smoked.  I don't know how many of them I've had but the only one that I almost got high in I was shaking so bad trying to light it, everything was shaking out of the pipe and then I woke up.

Am I disturbed?  No.

I don't get high anymore, I haven't gotten high in many years now and I don't want to get high.

It's all just a trick of my mind, some filed away memories in my subconscious clearing out and making way for new ones.

I've never even had the desire to get high, though I've had thousands of thoughts about it, millions of images in my brain and memories over the years.

I don't struggle with it, I never have.

I know where al the dope boys live in two different states and still I don't care anything about getting high.

I've had long conversations with God to help me have more sympathy for others, because I don't understand why they still struggle.

I don't understand why my husband still struggles and I've been trying to figure it out going on seventeen years now.

The world is full of lies and it infuriates me to see the lies taught to others and to be told it's a disease and I'm going to die with it.  Really?  I can't tell.  Why haven't I come down with it again, if it's a disease and can be caught?  Recovery groups say, "Here let us help you but understand you're never going to be better."  "Keep working it until it works", "Go to a meeting."  I could go on and on with the nonsense I've seen taught, with the lies that have been told, with the false hope they pass out.

Why not just sit down and have a talk with your maker?

Why not take full responsibility for the choices you've made?

Why not decide it's not for you anymore and just don't do it?

I understand that it could quite possibly be different for every single person, but I don't understand struggling with it.

Had a friend that used to tell me to let the tape play out.

I let the tape play out until I didn't have to play it anymore.

It wasn't any fun and I'm a fun seeker.

So, letting the tape play out for me, is listening to that voice and letting that voice have more power than my own psyche. (Not happening.)  Let's just say I did though.

Okay, so that voice is talking talking talking and ruining my concentration on everything else and I'm listening right?

 Then the plotting begins, gotta have money, gotta have a person in mind to buy the dope from.  Gotta have a lighter, the tools necessary to consume the poison and a place in mind to go and do it.

Believe it or not, I used to sit on the side of the street, at the bus stop, day or night, smoking, like it was legal, like no one could see me and to tell you the truth right this second my stomach is rolling around and bubbling and there's a huge darkness suspended in the air of my room

Let's say all those things fell into place and the person I bought the dope from really sold me dope and not something they made to look like it, because that happens as well.  I knew a boy who constantly mixed goody powders to look like it and tricked people coming and going all the time, I've purchased $20 worth of dry wall flakes, after walking nearly a mile there and back.

Now what?

You get high and the minute you do that voice starts telling you you have to get more and that wasn't enough and it's on then.

The nightmare begins.

The tape continues to play, gotta get more, gotta get high.

The ending of that tape is me, jumping in and out of cars, no place to live, food would take my dope money, something to drink would take my dope money, sleep would stop me from getting high, scared to get I the next car, even though I need the money, because they might be the police or something even worse.

Nope.

Not doing it.

Been there done that, got the tshirt.

I am not going to die with this thing, you can't convince me to believe a lie.

I'm healed and whole and I don't care anything about it!

I go into the streets all the time, same people, same situations, they're getting high, the dope boys sometimes take plates.

It never crosses my mind.

I remember people in the trap, talking about how they'd been clean for such and such, I always ran into those at the end of their run, their family looking for them, they've pawned everything they've got with them, they've driven the dope boys around for days for crumbs, they are writing bad checks, overdrawing their bank account and somehow I've gotten stuck with them.

I remember one boy pulling his car into the middle of the park, in the middle of the night, then turning on the interior lights of the car!  I'm gone!

I was the scariest white girl you've ever seen, paranoid, jumpy, impatient, would ditch you for the woods in the blink of an eye, turn money down all day long and drowning in misery.

The memory of that misery is what has kept me out the streets.

Pure unadulterated, want to die but don't have the courage to step in front of the bus, misery.

Thanks but no thanks, that's not for me

So, last night I had dope dreams.

Still I didn't get high.