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April 2017




  

Dazed and Still Dazed


I arrived at the garage apartment just a little behind
schedule, which seemed pretty good since I had no
schedule. Gerald was waiting, along with the band. I looked
around but didn't see Molly. I couldn't say for certain if I
was relieved or not. Either way, I was there, exposed in
more ways than I could count because, no one, and I mean
no one, had been spared the ugly details, the muted cruel
facts, muted because, unless you've been there like me,
they seem just miserable, and that's so far from the truth it
hurts. But I fault no one for their blind ignorance. Doing
cold turkey brought back all the negative shit I'd never
wanted to see, all that those around me only speculated on.
And just to let you know, not one word had been
uttered about my rehab through my own lips. Kristelle had
talked, and I thought she'd been mortified from
embarrassment, to Molly, and Molly had talked to those
curious at the plant who hadn't overheard, and she'd told
Toots, who'd told the band and Gerald, and the chain of
misery had gone full circle. And it was all true, but I'd been
the one who'd gulped down the real memory. I'd dug my
own hole.
Our first gig at RAVE was sold out.
Who wants his rock n' roll clean?
And who says you have to pay for advertisement?
Freak shows sell themselves.
"Well, Eric, you could attract a fly off a wall. Why,
I'd fuck you myself if I wasn't straight." Gerald watched for
a reaction, but my reacting eyes were hidden behind the
shades.
"Your point is?"
Gerald answered, but I'd already known his words
as they shot out in a steady stream. He knew about my
habit, my rehab, and the disturbing statistics that made me
one big fucking risk. I could save him from wasting energy
on the words that had turned into a plea. Yes, I could be the
one to fuck the whole band's future up. It was no different
than handing a junkie a wad of cash and expecting him to
come back from the corner store with a carton of milk and
eggs. The truth would be more like you wouldn't see him
for the next three days, and when he did return, he'd already
be hurting, and instead of an explanation, he'd rip off the
TV to pawn.
Introduction to Junkiedom 101.
"Drug laws are steep in the UK." Gerald was
attempting to reason with me, and I knew he should save
his breath. Reason meant nothing to a junkie, rehabbed or
not. But all this talk got my heart beating faster with a taste vibrating in the back of my throat and a fucking pain the
size of a boulder cutting through my stomach.
"Can we not talk about it anymore? It's like
watching a porn film without the possibility of release."
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