|Dope Lady 2004|
I had lunch with a good friend of mine yesterday. He's also a friend I transported to detox exactly one year ago yesterday. His tragedy is now his success. His battle field strewn with the remains of narcotic fueled outbursts, empty promises, and dwindling memories of a once strong athletic young man. Forked silver tongue in cheek and devil's tail dragging closely behind we watched him ooze his way through the door, grudgingly giving up his nicotine for several days in a medication filled embryonic sac of horrors. The twitching, itching, spastic muscles and runny nose, all the while writhing in hallucinogenic nightmares, hopelessly reaching with all your might to grasp that Holy state of normal health and welfare that never seems to come. And yet the tears that flow every few minutes don't really mean anything but the simple fact that you're scared to death for yourself and yourself alone. You feel bad for wrongs committed but mostly it's that selfish desire to not feel pain. Pain that's been avoided throughout life by numbing out with anything that makes you feel like someone or something else. The best anti-pain solution becomes your best friend and worst enemy, in the shadows and under the bed, the one and only.....the dope lady. She isn't real, she lives in your head. She won't promise anything she can't deliver. She never minces words and will not take "no" for an answer. She is seductive, sexy and downright gorgeous when she morphs into a bottle of pills, a needle and spoon. But when she's done with you she becomes your personal tyrant, oppressor but she's still not real. She becomes what your brain believes she is and you believe its real. You become weak to her and she flexes her will to watch you meld into her, leaving a bead of smoking metal engulfed in a layer of slag. A mental weld more powerful than metal.
Like the lyrics from Breakdown by Guns n Roses:
Funny how everything was roses
when we held on to the guns
Just because you're winnin
Don't mean you're the lucky ones.....
When I received the call yesterday morning and he said "Remember what happend a year ago on this day?", I could already hear the forced words and choked whimpers in his voice. The tears streaming down his face visible through the phone line. One more purge of liquid shame flowing from baby blue eyes and streaking a young face worn early by years of abuse. The black murky water running from the pipe is not the poisoned soul of Billy B., its the dissolving veins and tendrils of addiction losing their grip on the brain which will heal the body and preserve the soul. The gratitude although appreciated would be better served on a silver platter on the table of his wife, young children and family members who never abandoned hope. Congrats Billy boy. Congrats.
But if someone really cared
Well they'd take the time to spare
A moment to try and understand
Another one's despair
Remember in this game we call life
That no one said it's fair..........
Written by: Axl Rose, Performed by Guns n Roses