Last night I was awakened every hour on the hour. I took five Clonazepam, but I couldn't find a comfortable rest. It wasn't until four AM that I finally got some REM sleep. I dreamt that I had found love. His face I could not see, or cannot remember, but I do remember him defending my honor, and stroking my hair in comfort. My heart swelled at the thought of him. I was for the moments in my dream, in love.
My alarm sounded at six thirty as usual, and I was up and wide awake. I had much to do this morn. I was to go to the clinic and get my blood drawn, and go back to the clinic three hours later to get my blood drawn again. All this to test the levels of Methadone in my system. My mother and father planned on accompanying me to the clinic, and had planned on going to the mall for three hours while I waited to return to the clinic and have the blood drained from my wasted veins. I hate shopping, and was bring along The Collected Works of Jane Austen. I finally finished Wurthering Heights a few days before this day.I am reading the first of the novels in the voluminous book, Sense and Sensibility. I am but six chapters in, and still learning about the characters. I had planned on reading my book in some lounge area of the mall while my mother went about shopping as my father followed and tried to control her spending. This I had planned. I also had an appointment at the Social Security office in Green Bay at two thirty this afternoon, to get my SSI reinstated. They have cut me off because my ex probation officer did not send the proper paper work showing that I am no longer wanted in the state of Wisconsin. This is a whole long story in itself, suffice to say I got my ex probation officer to write up a letter to satisfy the Federal government Social Security office that I am no longer wanted.
I had all this to think about while getting ready for the day ahead. I figured I had the day planned to a T. Last night I had left the fan in my open window. As soon as woke, I could smell the earth thaw, and see the gray clouds hid the sun. It was warm for an early April morning. The day outside could only be made better for if there was a thunderstorm coming in this afternoon. Perhaps a tornado warning too make the day my favorite of the year.
I dressed in my usual manner, clean clothes, but old clothes. A pair of black pants, a white T-shirt, and and my favorite color blueish violet hooded sweat jacket. I slipped on my almost ruined converse All Stars. Grabbed my book, and purse, fed Eleanor and walked out the door behind my parents. I got in the back seat passenger side of the jeep, my dad the driver, and my mother front passenger. My mother doing her morning crossword puzzle, and my dad listening to his favorite oldies radio station. Myself in the back rolled down the window to take in the weather in which I thrive, and opened my book to the page I had last read. The ride to Green Bay went by faster than usual. I was engrossed in the book, and imagined myself to be one of the Dashwood girls in Sense and Sensibility. I pretended that I was in a horse drawn carriage on my way to meet a handsome, well mannered, educated man who enjoyed my taste in book and song. A man who would stare at my face in pure adoration. I would only allow myself a glance at him in my peripheral vision. I was truly lost in my imagination when my father pulled into the clinic's parking lot. It was nine AM, and the parking lot was full. I grabbed my book, and walked into the clinic and found a seat.
The councilor who's duty it was to manage the waiting area was to the left of me. I told I was here for my blood work, and she went back to see what the doctor's orders were. She came back quickly, and said I must be mistaken. I had just had my blood taken a month before. I looked at her confused. Yes, she was right I had just had my blood drawn in early March, but when I saw the doctor two weeks before today, he ordered another blood draw, because I complained that the Methadone was not doing it job. I still having intense cravings, and after five PM every night the Methadone had worn off completely. He had said that my tropht levels were just fine, and that I didn't need to up my dose. I disagreed, and he ordered another blood draw, this time not just a tropht, but a peak also. Hence the coming back in three hours to get my blood drawn again the same day.
The councilor went back and check with the doctor again, and the doctor checked his computer, and sure enough I was to get my blood drawn. The councilor comes back and tells me I was suppose to be there before eight AM, and it was already nine AM. Also after I got my blood taken before getting my dose , I was suppose to get my dose and then wait three hours at the clinic for my next blood draw. She told me that she was rescheduling me for another time to get this blood work done. I was a bit upset that nobody had told me about this before hand, but I kept it to myself. I had fifteen people ahead of me before I was to dose. So I read.
Then I noticed a boy a few seats from me reading a graphic novel. I've never really seen a real graphic novel, so I ventured over and asked him about the book. He showed me a few pages, and to me it was just a longer version of a comic book without color. I found this did not interest me in the least. I knew I should probably read one, just for the sake of making sure I read every style of writing. If I plan to write for a living. I used to dislike books written in the 1800's or even set in the 19th century. After reading The Age of Innocence I found I like the older style of writing which was the norm in olden days.
I was standing against a wall next to the boy reading the graphic novel. Then he walked in. There was only two more people before it was my turn to dose. I had wished I ten more people ahead of me as soon as I saw him. He walked in the door, and my eyes studied every aspect of his face and body. His eyes were blue, his hair blond and dirty. His jaw was chiseled, and he had a five o'clock shadow. He strolled in with his eyes on the ground, only looking up to grab his number. When he looked up our eyes met, and he looked away, and turned to take a seat. He was wearing an old dirty Green Bay packers sweatshirt with what I'm almost sure was peanut butter on the torso just below his chest, his pants were khaki, loose as if he had been wearing them a week. I watched him sit in his chair and glance around at the faces in all the other chairs. He sat so relaxed, so indifferent to what anyone thought of him. I couldn't stop staring. He looked almost identical to Kurt Cobain. Its been over four years since I saw someone who I was immediately attracted to in such an intense way. I asked him his name, but I don't remember his response. I was to worried that my number would be called, and I would never see him again. After he told me his name, I said, "I've never seen you here before". He mumbled "oh yeah". That was it, my number rang, and it was my turn to dose.
I went to the window, and set my book down. The nurse asked me about it. I figured she would since it is as big as a Bible. I explained to her that it was the complete works of Jane Austen. I wanted to speak loudly enough that "he" herd me. I wanted him to be listening. I told the nurse the first novel in the book is Sense and Sensibility. She asked if had ever seen the movie, and I told her no. Which was partially true. I had never seen it sober. Every time I tried to watch it I was nodding out from a shot of Hydromorphone. Then for no reason I told her my favorite author was William S. Burroughs. My favorite book by Burroughs was Junky. I just wanted to hear who my favorite author is.
I took my Methadone, and turned to leave slowly. I wanted to ask him for his email address. I wanted to ask if he was single, did he have any children, did he have a computer, or would I need his phone number. I walked slowly to the door, which he sat right next to. I kept my gaze on him every second of my walk to the door. I so wanted to speak to him, at least ask if he will be here again at the same time. Will this be the only time I will ever see you? I knew I wasn't allowed to speak to the other patients after we dose. Such a stupid rule. As I walked out the door he kept his gaze locked on mine, and my heart fluttered. All too soon I was out the door and in the jeep explaining to my parents that they were not taking my blood today and why. All the while I was memorizing every facet of his face, every expression he made while I looked at him.
I was in a daze, now we didn't have to stay in Green Bay all day, we could go home, and drive back down for my two thirty appointment at the Social Security office. My parents talked amongst themselves figuring out what they were going to do. My mom wanted to go to the mall, and myself and my father didn't want to. We ended up dropping mom off at the mall, and said we pick her up at around three thirty this afternoon.
The whole way home I for once grateful that I my suicide attempts didn't take, for I would have never saw "him", I would have never been so completely attracted to someone in an instant. I fretted about weather he felt the same as me. I knew he didn't, but I also knew he could tell I was attracted to him by the way he met my gaze as I walked out the door. I wondered why I had never seen him before. Had he just started going to the clinic. Was new to the Methadone. Did he still have track marks. Fresh ones. If so I know the last thing on his mind would be a woman, or even sex. I on the other hand have not had sex in over two years, and as soon as I saw him my loins burned. My libido returned in an instant.
I thought about "him" and myself using Heroin together. I imagined him defending my honour, even though I didn't deserve it. I imagined him stroking my hair as I untied the tourniquet around my after pushing the Heroin into my veins. We would just sit there looking at each other as the Heroin circulated throughout our bloodstreams. I'm conscious of the fact that I'm letting myself romanticize using. Soon he became an after thought in my daydream, I let Heroin over take the reason my heart was thumping. I brought myself back to reality.
I would probably never see him again, he was probably disgusted by me, and is probably either really dumb, or extraordinarily smart either of which would make him uninterested in me. He didn't take pride in his appearance. I loved that. He was a junky, I loved that, he looked a bit like Kurt Cobain I loved that. In my mind he looked like him more than a bit, but in reality it was just a bit.
I got home, and he was still on my mind. I knew I had write about him, after writing about him the lust would subside. The truth would come to light, and I wouldn't have to worry about being hurt or disappointed. "He" may have no interest in me what so ever, but Heroin will always love me, Heroin will love me to death. I don't need men, or sex.