Waiting for the bus I notice that someone has carved APATHY into the pole, but they have spelled it incorrectly. Maybe they knew how to spell it but they just didn’t care. After I board I sit somewhere in the middle.
Usually on the bus my nose is buried in a book, but for some particular reason at that particular bus stop I looked up at the passengers boarding. Maybe it was because the bus was becoming full; I hate a full bus, it makes me even more claustrophobic. It was a hot day yesterday and she entered wearing a white tank top and skin tight jeans. There were bruises all over her chest and arms, dark circles under her sunken eyes and sores on her face. Her hair had once been bleached, but it had been awhile because several inches of dark roots were showing. She weaved a little trying to grasp at the bar as she stood there hanging on.
The track marks were no surprise; I knew they’d be there before I saw them. An older gentleman who was seated in the seats reserved for the elderly and disabled stood up and gave her his seat. It was fitting somehow as she plopped down next to the blind man with a guide dog and the older woman clutching her purse as she looked around nervously.
From her worn out leather purse she pulled out a water bottle containing a brown liquid and took a swig as she turned her eyes towards the floor. I don’t know if she saw anything at all.
I have been her. I don’t know if she’s been me. My whole life I have been looking for a way to end the pain, to quell the anxiety. I have looked in the places she has found; in the illegal drugs and the alcohol. I have looked on the therapist’s couch, and ultimately, in the bottles of colorful little pills I pick up each month to keep me barely functional at my worst, and very functional at my best.
For a long time after starting the dreaded medications I felt as if I had failed, as if I no longer deserved to take pride in my hard fought and won sobriety. Every time I popped a Xanax or a Klonopin for the panic attacks or swallowed the maximum dose of the flavor of the year antidepressant I was on I felt like a failure. I wasn’t taking these medications to get high; I was taking them to get well. They came from a doctor in the form of a white slip that I took to a pharmacy where they were carefully counted out and placed in bottles containing warnings of dizziness and sleepiness and an inability to operate heavy machinery. I no longer had to wait at bus stops in the rain, or parking lots, or street corners, or public parks for always late dealers or their runners.
Insert Velvet Underground lyrics here:
How many of us are hurting? It seems to be everywhere I turn. Ah, look at all the lonely people…surrounded by other people.
Years ago I used to work with a woman who was a recovering alcoholic and a devoted member of AA. I liked her well enough, but her insistence on giving all of the credit for anyone’s ability to kick drugs or alcohol to what she constantly referred to as her “higher power” really got on my nerves. I wanted credit. I didn’t feel any higher power with me when I was writhing with the agony of a cold turkey withdrawal. I felt she deserved credit too, but she wouldn’t take any. She felt that anyone in the hell of a deep addiction had no way out without handing their lives over to God.
The woman on the bus picked at the flesh on her arms. I wondered about her. She could have been twenty; she could’ve been fifty. There was no way of telling. I imagined her as someone’s daughter, loved and cherished. I wondered if she ever found delight in anything. I wondered why some people can kick and others can’t.
I got off the bus and went to pick up Polly.
These flowers are for her. I hope that one day she will be able to really see them, to revel in their brilliance and color. I hope that one day she will find peace. I wish that for myself too. And for you, my reader.
' May 10th, 2007 at 10:26am 6 comments
That was powerful, and a good reminder of how much we are simultaneously “like” and “unlike” others whose paths we intersect, even strangers. Noticing others will help us recognize where we’ve been, where we might have gone, how much we’ve accomplished and what direction we want to go. Knowing ourselves will help us define that direction and the best road to travel there. So, in that way, we have to be lonely, but still we have to be part of the crowd. And we try to absorb the best out of that mix. Thanks.
Two years ago I would never have understood what you writing, but now? OMG. We are dealing with an adult son who is so sick right now that we are at our wit’s end. How do you help someone when they don’t want to be helped? Or, maybe want to be helped but cannot be helped? We don’t know where to go or what to do and he is ruining his life and it is heartbreaking. This was a person who was the best, the brightest, the most wonderful child ever…and now this. How it got to this point is beyond our comprehension. It’s our big secret, knowing the hell we are all in right now.
I keep hoping with desperation that someday he will have a revelation or power or whatever the hell you had to get help and begin the process of becoming whole before he becomes that person on the bus. You are proof that it is possible!
Dear Leonardo,
As always it is so nice to have you here; to hear your thoughts on things. You are a gift.
Tammy
JustMe,
Thank you for your comments. It breaks my heart to read what you’re going through with your son. If you have read through my archives a bit you will see that my husband and I are also facing difficulties with our son. It is the most painful experience in the world and it is isolating in so many ways. We want to help him; we keep on trying. I refuse to give up on him even if he gives up on himself.
It was actually easier when I was going through my own personal battles than it is watching our son do the same.
My only advice to you would be to keep trying, to never give up hope, and don’t be afraid to seek help outside the family. Whether it is a support group, a therapist or Alanon, don’t try to go it alone.
I would never recommend that anyone take the road that I took to get off drugs and alcohol. I was sitting on a bus bench, my period was late and I was certain that I was pregnant. I stopped smoking and drinking at that point. Fortunately I had kicked the hard drugs a couple of years earlier. I ended up living for my children, which is dangerous as they age and hopefully move on with their lives and into a space in their lives when they won’t need me in the same way.
I have had relapses and times when I was sure that
the only alternative was suicide. I have to remember that it’s not that I don’t want to live; it’s the pain I want to stop. I take things one day at a time. Sometimes when that is too much I take things one minute at a time.
There are two phrases that I use as mantras when I can’t seem to relax or when things get so rough that I don’t think that I can go on a minute longer.
The first is, “This too shall pass” and the second is “Don’t stop five minutes before the miracle.”
My goal in starting this journal, besides the obvious personal catharsis, was to reach out to others who are suffering and lend a hand if I can. If I can do that then what I went through and continue to battle with will not have been in vain.
Best Wishes,
Tammy
This is really moving. I think you deserve the credit for turning your life around too. Life is hard work. I think you’re inspiring.
Thanks Karen. Life is hard work, isn’t it? I meant to clarify that if AA or NA works for people then I think that’s wonderful. I tried it and it didn’t work for me.
I’ve never considered myself particularly inspiring but the truth is I was once really very sick with my addiction and I managed to get out of it. If I can help even one person it would make me very happy indeed.
Tammy