Another Lost Weekend
I don’t recall the exact year, likely around 1984—but it was time where death seemed to be everywhere. Friends were lost to AIDS, to drug overdoses, and a few were lost to suicide.
One of the hardest deaths was that of my friend Gomez, a Columbian artist, married to Sally Mutant at the time. They were friends rather than lovers; Sally had married Gomez primarily to help him attain legal U.S. status. Gomez had the soul of an artist—sensitive and often moody. I liked him and identified with him in many ways; we often had long conversations about art, life . . . and death.
Gomez liked speed—a debilitating and destructive drug. A year of intense use can age a person ten years—and in Gomez’s case, it took his life. Not only does speed ravage one’s body physically, its psychological effects are devastating as well, easily destroying an emotionally stable person’s sanity in a relatively short amount of time. I noticed this happening to Gomez, saw him slipping deep into what I would recognize today as clinical depression. I saw him at a party just the weekend before his death, sobbing uncontrollably, over an affair his girlfriend was involved in while he was visiting his sick mother in Columbia. I tried talking to him that night but could not make sense of what he was saying; one of my deepest regrets is wishing I’d tried harder to find out what was going on.
The call of Gomez’s death came while Sue Mutant and I were at work at Julie’s Hotline—the world’s first fantasy phone call service. Julie's had been my brainchild and I also managed the business. The first thing I’d done was to hire all my girlfriends—mostly those who were involved in the punk rock scene, including Sue and Sally Mutant. We would spend our days sitting around the ‘office’ taking calls and sipping cocktails. It was a fun place to work. Bored, while working there one day, I came up with this catchy little rap:
Sally and Sue and Effie Lou
Pick up the phone. say, “may I help you?”
We’re all down at the choke and stroke
I mean we all need a nice, nasty poke!
So moan and groan
Say there sir, are you all alone?
Well let’s do it . . . on the telephone.
(The above is an attempt at some light-hearted humor before going further into the rest the story—as it is a little depressing. Also, I always thought it was quite entertaining).
Sue took the call from Sally that day. Immediately, I could tell from Sue’s face that this was no ordinary wanker calling for a telephone tryst; it was something deadly serious. Gomez had shot himself in the head at the warehouse downtown; he died on the way to the hospital. It threw all of us into a terrible depression. I started having nightmares of various friends who'd recently died. As I did with everything else that was painful, I tried masking my feelings with substances, which is what I did the weekend following Gomez's death.
That weekend was typical of the many lost weekends in my life, distinguished only in that it had nearly resulted in my own death. I’d spent the weekend snorting cocaine and popping valiums with Sally when in the wee hours of Sunday morning—trashed to the hilt—I decided to do a shot of heroin, something I had only done once before. Now, I had shot intravenous cocaine but heroin was not my drug of choice at this point. Wasted beyond recognition, I threw caution to the wind, rolled up my sleeve and let a junkie by the name of Geza give me a fix.
Immediately, I knew he gave me too much—after all, he was used to fixing for himself, not for someone who had no habit. Before the syringe was even out of my arm, the church organ started up and sweet Jesus took me in his arms. My last conscious thought was, “This is the best I have ever felt.”
Then I lay down on the couch and died.
The next thing I remembered was thinking, ‘why does Geza have a pillow over my face—I cannot breathe.’ Then, shadowy forms surrounding me began sharpening and my eyes finally focused on the worried face of the paramedic who was holding an oxygen mask over my face—that was the pillow.
As I was starting to come around, the paramedics began cutting the arm off my favorite black, cashmere sweater. As strange as it sounds, I remember saying to them, ‘Hey! This is my favorite sweater—don’t cut it; just roll up the sleeves—oh DARN!’ Too late. He had already cut off the sleeve and they were sticking a needle in the same vein that had been the recipient of the overdose a short time before. And as twisted as this sounds, I was hopeful what was going in my arm might be something I would like! (What can I say? Drugs can lead to some irrational thinking!).
“This is Narcane, Melinda” the paramedic explained, “to take away the effects of the heroin.”
Darn. I just spent twenty dollars on that bag! Even that close to death—I had no sense at all. As the paramedic was wheeling the stretcher into the back of the EMS van, he looked at me with tragic-stricken eyes.
“Why does such a pretty girl do such un-pretty things to herself,” he muttered.
“My friend—he died this week,” As if this would explain my overdose.
“Do you want to join him?” he snapped.
“Yes,” I whispered. I realized this was true.
I was lucky that night—just as I have been so lucky so many times in my life. It would be years before I would finally get the help I so desperately needed. That experience was not enough to deter me from doing drugs, as crazy as that sounds. But that paramedic saved my life, which allowed me to live long enough so that one day I would have a chance at a wonderful, worthwhile life.
Since then, I have often considered how tragically different this scenario might have ended. Luckily, Geza and Paul, the junkies whose house I’d been visiting, had called 911—rather than just drag my body out in the alley, leaving me for dead. How lucky was it that I hadn’t been alone when I’d done the drugs so that someone could call?
Yes, I have been lucky in a million different ways throughout my life, as tough as the hard parts have been. It is because of that luck and the nine, ten—or a hundred lives I have had, that I feel so compelled to try to save other lives. It’s time to pass a little of my good luck on.
Life truly is a gift.
Peace,
Melinda
Played: 1831 | Download | Duration: 00:07:26
As I was reading this, I remembered something I read on a blog today. It was about Dooce's blog. Are you familiar with her? The blogger wrote a post comparing her to the other famous blogger, The Pioneer Woman. Dooce is into hard-core reality. The Pioneer Woman's blog she described as a trip to Disneyland. The point the blogger was making - was that she'd stopped reading both - for different reasons. She quit reading Dooce because she said she got enough hard-hitting reality in her own life and just couldn't embrace or sustain someone else's. I thought of this while reading your blog, b/c I am always amazed at how gut-wrenching your posts are, and yet, it never feels like reality is hitting me hard. I think it's because I know this story has a happy ending, and although so many of your friends died, you're stil here, and we can all benefit from your memoir. You work your magic and I always leave here amazed and energized. I follow a lot of blogs, and many, I admit, I skim. But, I read every word you write.
On another note, I worked as the public information officer for a couple years for the large ambulance service in Central Oklahoma. As part of my training I rode w/ medics on calls. Wild times, much of which I'd like to forget. One day, we got a call about a young woman with heart pain. We ran "hot" (lights and sirens) to the convenient store where she collapsed. When we got inside, the medic started yelling at her. "What'd you do?!? What'd did you!?!" I couldn't believe it. I thought he was so mean and had no clue why he was saying that to her. And, then she said, "Meth. Last night. My first time." She had her 2 year old with her, who I took care of in the ER until DHS came to take her away. Medics have a tough job. Some are kind, some not so much. Medics love to hear stories though about how they saved lives. I know the one who saved you would love to know the impact he made.
On a final note, there was that narrow span of time during I saw AIDS ravage people. They were all strangers to me - people I'd see at the grocery store, etc. Their faces are forever in my mind. But, then one day, they all disappeared, or we no longer saw those tell-tale signs - sores on the faces, etc. Those who didn't die I guess benefitted from the amazing drugs available to fight the disease now. As a young journalist I wrote a story about the AIDS quilt, which was on exhibit at the large convention center in OKC. I still remember many of the blocks. So many lives lost. I bet you knew some of the people on that AIDS quilt.
Blessings on you, Melinda.
Reply to this
Wow, Jen--thank you so much for your kind comments! I can't tell you how much it means to me because your blog is so amazing and I know you follow many others. Coming from you, it is a real compliment.
I think it is important for me to tell my stories--to let people know the really hard truth that went beyond my addiction. Most people don't understand that there are stories behind the addicts--reasons for addictions that are complex. I am particularly happy to hear that you leave this blog with feelings of hope--because that is the primary purpose--to try to help people understand that treatment really does work--that no matter how far down the path of addiction that one person might go, there's always a possibility for change. Therefore, I try to weave lessons into each would-be tragic story--because I have learned many lessons in my life.
And yes, there is such a happy ending today. I sometimes rub my eyes and pinch myself! Is this really my life? Yes! It is!
Thanks as always for stopping by, Jen--
Melinda
Reply to this
Wow...so you died and came back? Certainly a gift. Working with addicts, and having spent some time around them in the past, while, fortunately, never doing more than dabbling over that edge, I've certainly gotten a taste of the strange logics that are possible: from a guy saying that he does heroin because it hurts him so much that he can't see his daughter, ignoring the fact that heroin is the reason he can't (and that his continuing use will make sure he won't any time soon), to a young woman recently telling me that she went to court to regain custody of her kids on crack, as if that was a good thing--since, basically, it showed she cared enough to show up at all. Then, the mind, even without drugs is a strange, strange thing...perhaps most of all in its inability to understand itself....
Reply to this
Jay,
Working with addicts is really hard because they are -- well, addicts. Your example of the man who uses heroin to get over the pain of not being able to see his child (even though that is due to his heroin use) is so typical of addict thinking. Anything to rationalize behavior -- anything to deny.
Our minds are very susceptible to irrational thinking, whether it is brought on by our own twisted thoughts or through someone else's (such as brainwashing). The human psyche is very, very fragile. And of course, some people are much more fragile than others are.
I'm extremely lucky. Yes, I have had a hard life in some ways--but I have also had an amazing life in many ways--full of gifts. And yes, life is the biggest gift of all.
Thanks, as always, for stopping by Melindaville.
Melinda
Reply to this
For some reason, this post hit me especially hard today. So I'm going to focus on the gift, of life and renewed chances, of reborn dreams.
Reply to this
I'm sorry it hit you hard, Jennifer--but remember, this does have a happy ending. My life was saved--and what a gift it has been!
Melinda
Reply to this
Melinda - Another powerful story! Thank you again for bringing out such difficult phases of your life. I can only marvel, as you do, that you've had those 100 lives and chances to get your life together. The writing is compelling, as usual. I can't wait for that memoir that puts it all together in one place.
All my best - John D
Reply to this
Thank you so much for your kind words, John--they mean so much to me.
You take good care,
Melinda
Reply to this
Hi Melinda,
Another fantastic story from you - showing just how little regard we can have for ourselves!!
Luckily other people did have some regard for you, and yes, saved your life.
In my own 'dances with drugs' in my late teens/early twenties, I watched in horror as some friends upgraded their status from 'party drug' people to shooting up speed and taking drugs to even go out in the day time.
I lost my oldest and best friend to drugs, not once, but twice. She's possibly still alive but I have no idea where she is. After wealthy friends of hers spent a lot of money helping her get clean, and she was doing so well... someone gave her some ecstasy as a birthday present.
Her logic suggested to her it was quite okay to have it! After that, she started becoming the unreliable, lying person she'd been before... and I knew I couldn't do anything to help her. Not until she can face up to things properly.
I still pray for her, and hope she's clean, and hope that one day I'll get to see her again. And that when I do, she'll be clear eyed, with drug taking well in her past.
Bless you for passing on the love and luck you've been fortunate to receive.
Reply to this
Svasti--I am so glad you never became acquainted with the needle--because far too many lives are lost in that process. I'm so sorry to hear about your oldest and best friend--how hard it is to watch those we love kill themselves slowly. Her story shows just how fragile the gift of recovery can be--particularly for some.
You are right to keep praying for her--and to keep hoping that she will make it back to life. I know more than anyone that when there's life, there is hope. There's always hope Svasti!
I hope I can help save some lives--I hope to give others the amazing gift of life after heroin--it is out there. I will send some up for your friend.
Melinda
Reply to this
Some people fear the prospect of death and feel it symbolizes unknown endings. And yet, other people sense perpetual transition, growth cycles, learning opportunities in this life and others, even reunions with kindred spirits and the opportunity to come around in a different form again. Your story evokes nostalgia and also demonstrates your awareness is taking you to new levels of perspective.
Reply to this
I swear, Liara--everything you write is like poetry in motion. You know, interestingly enough--because of my experiences with death--or being close to death--I no longer have any fear of it. I have come extremely close to death on several different occasions--and none were scary, really.
Thank you so much for stopping by--
Melinda
Reply to this
You are truly lucky to be alive. Though I've used a lot of illicit substances in my past, I never shot up. It wasn't because I was afraid of needles--I took allergy shots for 9 years as a child--it was because I knew how easy it was to O.D.
Several of my friends died that way. My friend Erol Ali--a brilliant soccer player with world class skills--got addicted to pain killers from having injuries. Soon he was eating pain-killers like candy. Then started shooting up. Then endless blood infections. Then murdered a man struggling for a gun over $10.00.
He is currently serving 65 years.
My dad was so hardcore military. He used to inspect my forearms, smell my breath and examine my pupils almost every day. It was hell and I was rebellious--but I did listen to a few things he said. And he was right come to think of it.
You have some powerful writing here Melinda, and I know it helps everyone who reads...even if their not addicts.
Reply to this
Bobby,
I hear so many stories like that one--the one where your friend got addicted to painkillers, then turned to heroin and then lost his life or ended up in prison. It's so easy to lose control to those types of drugs. I have been in correspondence with a few heroin addicts from Ohio and rural areas around the country. Doctors gave them oxycontin for no real reason and then when they were taken off the medication they were raging addicts and turned to heroin because it was cheaper. It's really frightening these days.
Interestingly enough--during my college and graduate work in biobehavioral psychology, I learned that heroin actually does much less damage than most drugs do--but it is the lifestyle that is so destructive. Infections, overdose, and dealing with some very dangerous characters are the biggest causes of death for junkies.
Thank you so much for your kind comments--you are such an amzing writer yourself, I take it as a real compliment.
Take care,
Melinda
Reply to this
Thanks for sharing this really personal story. I'm glad that you made it! I hope that addicts who read this will realize what they are doing to themselves, that they are not the only ones and that there are ways to get out of this vicious circle.
Keep on writing!
Reply to this
Thanks very much for your comment, Eva--that is my biggest motivation in blogging--to try to inspire others to change the direction of their lives. And to raise awareness about the need for free and available treatment for those who do want that change.
Thanks also for stopping by--
Melinda
Reply to this
Dear mam
your last two posts are really depressing for me. When I was reading this one only one question was coming into my mind and that one is what the paramedic had sked you. WHY ?
Why you were doing like this. Torturing yourself. Worse than suicide I think.
take care
harneet
Reply to this
Dear Harneet,
Oh dear! I'm so sorry to have depressed you! My next post is a very positive one as I recognize that people need a break from some of the sadder stories.
Harneet, in many ways my existence was worse than suicide at that point. Why? Because I was in terrible, unyielding pain for much of my early life. I wanted--no needed to escape from my painful reality. Drugs did allow me to do that. But of course, that was not a real escape--it was only an illusion and when the drugs wore off, the pain was there--bigger and badder than ever.
But this story does have a happy ending! Remember, my life is wonderful today! I need to illustrate, though, how hopeless one can become before changing--and to try to reinforce to our society that no matter how hopeless things may seem, they never are hopeless. Because there is always hope--and whenever there is life, there is always a promise of hope that change can occur.
Thank you so much for stopping by my friend--you take care,
Melinda
Reply to this
What a story, Melinda. Hard to read and to think how close you came to leaving Melindaville before the rest of us had a chance to visit this honest, renewing, consoling, blunt, dreamy, humorous, and beautiful Capitol of this section of the blogosphere....
Reply to this
Ah, Lydia--your words are so lovely to read. How happy I am to be alive and well in Melindaville today.
And you too! To be alive in Lydialand is also quite wonderful, isn't it, my friend?
Hugs,
Melinda
Reply to this
Lydialand....I love it love it! It sure is great to be alive and well.
Valentine hugs back at ya,
Lydia
Reply to this
Melinda
Reply to this
Hey Melinda.
Not sure why I haven't subscribed to your blog before now, I have corrected that now
Well firstly I am glad you came back
Secondly do you believe that you kept on falling until you hit your own personal rock bottom? And is it at the point you sought help? I only ask this because we were talking about this in college the other night, in regards to going on placement. Most in my class seem reluctant to get a placement working with alcoholics or drug addicts and at the moment I am not sure how beneficial person centred counselling would be if they are still drinking or using?
Reply to this
Hi Claire,
Thanks for stopping by! Addiction is very complex--and each person has his or her own individual reasons why addiction became an appealing path. It is my belief that in order for recovery to be successful, you really do have to address those reasons. However, of course, a person first needs to detox and become drug free.
It is true that each person has to get to the point where he/she is completely willing to change and most usually, that involves hitting some kind of bottom. This bottom can be quite variable though--there are people who are arrested for DUI and that is their bottom--then others, such as me, need to come close to losing their lives.
What I do know is this. Before I was able to enter treatment, I had many moments of clarity--there are times in addicts' lives when they see the stark reality of what their lives have become. However, those moments of clarity pass very quickly--if no treatment options are available at that moment then use can continue along for quite a long time. In other words, we can each have many bottoms. For example, I was incarcerated at one point--and I believe I had hit a bottom at that point--but I needed treatment and was unable to find any place that would take me with no money and no insurance. Therefore, the moment passed, I got back out onto the street and before long, the terrible emotional pain (never addressed) reared its ugly head and I began using again.
You cannot 'make' someone want to change--but what we can do is to provide opportunity for change when that person is ready. I fully believe it should be as easy to get into treatment as it is to buy drugs on the street--or even walk into a store and buy a bottle.
When a person does enter treatment--it needs to be comprehensive. Once addicts have some clean time (even 30 days), therapists can begin to start to address the root causes for the addiction. In my case, it was due primarily to mask the terrible emotional pain of my childhood abuse--as well as the simple destructive tendency of a person with extremely low self-esteem. However, in many cases, people use substances to mask psychological problems. In fact, I believe that a high percentage of people who abuse drugs actually have depression, bipolar, or anxiety problems that have not been adequately addressed. Once you address those and give people other needed skills such as job training, life skills training, parenting classes, etc--then he/she has a real chance to be successful at recovery.
Sorry for the length of my reply! It is a complicated issue and there is no one 'standard' answer. Each person has her/his own dynamic.
Thanks again for stopping by!
Melinda
Reply to this
Hi melinda,
I'm speechless everytime i read your life story.
Do you plan of writing it on a book?
God bless,
michael
Reply to this
Hi Michael,
Yes, I am writing my memoir! In fact, I am finished with the rough draft and am now in the editing phase! It's been going a little slowly lately due to how busy I am with teaching--but I have picked up the pace recently.
Thanks so much for stopping by--
Melinda
Reply to this
hey melinda-
yes, its that Brendan from the good ol- bad ol days- in your post on facebook you mentioned the struggle you went through with heroin-just briefly- amidst the light hearted little bits of notes that makes up most of the facebook writing. i knew that what i had- have- to say was much too private for such a public place. i hope you don't mind me adding my two cents here. and really what this is about is the sudden realization upon reading your remark that i owed you a sincere and heartfelt amends for any contribution i have made to that spiral of addiction which you describe so eloquently. i ask your forgiveness for any harm i may have done in my headlong rush to get away from my own demons
thank you for surviving to live the life you so deserve and writing about it and not forgetting what you had to go through to get where you are.
god bless
in peace love and tranquility
brendan
Reply to this
Dear Brendan,
You have no reason to make any amends to me--no more than I need to make amends to you (perhaps we should both make amends to each other). We were all caught up in the scene at the time--and to be honest, I was doing hard drugs (cocaine) long before I met you. Yes, we did do heroin together--early in the first days of my experimentation with the drug--but we all encouraged each other to get high, high, high.
And that we did.
Brendan, how lucky we both are that we made it through those days. You and I both know that we are some of the few soldiers still standing.
I so appreciate your comment but I want to stress to you--that you and I both encouraged each other to step into the darkness.
Much Love,
Melinda
Reply to this