SLINGS AND ARROWS

                                “ ... In the mind to suffer

                                the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

                                or to take arms against a sea of troubles ...?”

Sleeping better lately. Or more at least. Sure, there are the nightmares but, to meet them, you have to actually sleep. It’s almost a nice change; like going home after a long absence.

            Big decisions ahead: stay the course, or take drastic action? Is what you’re doing working? And if so, is it working fast enough? Is your impatience justified, or will you make things worse trying to make them better?

            I never wanted to be on methadone. I’ve been on it quite a while. At the beginning you rationalise it, saying, “If I have to take it every day for the rest of my life, it’s better than the alternative”. Thirteen years later, the rest of your life seems like a long time. The alternative might have killed you by now, but are you really alive anyway (Possibly. It certainly feels that way when the bad dreams start)?

            So, to rehab or not to rehab – that is the question. I’ve never liked the idea. To me, rehab facilities and all their twelve-step nonsense have always seemed a little cultish. Not sure I’m willing to admit powerlessness in the face of an incurable disease yet, or surrender my authority to a higher power.

            That’s not to say I’m on the willpower bandwagon. As a junkie you get to hear a lot about willpower. If only you had some, you’re told, you could kick this thing tomorrow; now; yesterday. Put simply, that’s bollocks. Nobody who’s ever seen what a junkie will go through to get their gear could ever conclude that they lack, of all things, willpower.

            It may, though, be a matter of power reclaimed. Contrary to the twelve-step dogma, Heroin is not stronger than you. I’ve always inclined to the view that the only power it has over you – beyond the purely physical – is the power you surrender to it. Take that back and it becomes a jackal moping about the dark edges of your life, beyond the fire at the centre. Sure, you wouldn’t turn your back on it but, as long as you stay close to the light, it won’t come too near; especially if you clear out any dead stuff stinking the place up.

            Methadone, much as I dislike it, has been useful. It gives you time to sift through the shit in your head; to figure out how you got here in the first place; and to start doing something about it. However, its usefulness is just about exhausted. The thing about high-functioning autism is you seek comfort, control and safety in routine. A trip to the Methadone clinic three days a week shouldn’t be anybody’s routine – not indefinitely.

            I’ve just about reduced my dose to nothing. I feel like a human again. A screwed-up human, sure, but awake and aware. I’ve seen a lot of people blow it by getting impatient over those last few mils. I think I’ll suffer the slings and arrows a little longer. Tis nobler in the mind, after all.

            Check back with me in November.