This iReport is part of an assignment:
Overcoming addiction
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Posted November 6, 2009
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Location
Lexington, Kentucky
Lexington, Kentucky
Assignment
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A day in the Life of an Addict Pharmacist
At precisely 5:30am, the alarm clock blares with seeming hostility. I reluctantly kick off the covers and plant my feet tediously on the bedroom floor, so as to not wake my wife, Darcey. My head throbs as I try to piece together yesterday's events. Nothing. My mouth is parched and lips cracked from powder-induced nasal congestion caused by inhaling crushed narcotics. A vile taste occupies my mouth. I vaguely remember snorting the first few lines early yesterday morning. After that, the day remains a mystery. Slightly nauseous, dizzy, and in dire need of a narcotic refueling, I say quietly to myself, not today- I'm not getting high today.
I turn on the shower and glance in the mirror at the dark circles beneath a pair of bloodshot eyes and a prematurely thinning hairline. I'm only 28, but I look at least 50 this morning. Not today, I repeat as I step into the shower. The hot shower and a cup of steaming, black coffee bring only minimal relief. As I get dressed, my dog, Baxter, watches me with disappointment and concern. His tail wags slower than usual, as if to say he's worried sick about me. He knows. I don't know how, but he knows. I won't do it again today Bax.
I pat Baxter on the head and proceed to my car. So far, so good. My new job is 70 miles from home. The commute is necessary, since the drug-related arrest of my first job. Jobs are scarce for a small town pharmacist who gets escorted out of the pharmacy in handcuffs for drug theft. Backing out of my gravel driveway, I remember a promise I made to Darcey. Not today baby.
Heading west on highway 80, I continue to search my brain through the fog of hangover and impending withdrawl, desperate to remember what I did yesterday; what I said; mistakes I may have made; lies I need to maintain. My palms and forehead sweat profusely, and my sensitive eyes squint as day breaks over the horizon of the Appalachian Mountains. My entire body aches. Not today. I will not use again today. Every nerve ending in my body screams for narcotics, but I know I can't keep this up. It's killing me.
Just before eight, I draw close to the pharmacy that was desperate enough to hire me in spite of my reputation and felony record. That's when it takes over and asserts control. Yes, you will use today. This thought, inserted into my head without my consent, is the new manifesto. Choice is no longer a choice. Another battle lost to my cunning, baffling, and powerful foe. I am relieved. The battle in my head is over and I can somewhat relax. Immediately I start to feel better, although I've not yet ingested any drugs. I know all too well the ease and comfort soon to come, and I push down on the gas pedal a little more. A smile emerges with the surrender, and my grip loosens on the wheel. With anxious anticipation, I briefly think about the promises I made to my wife and Baxter. I dread tonight when I come home and have to face them both. They'll know. Today is lost, but I'll do better tomorrow. Tomorrow I will not use.
Day after excruciating day, I repeat this cycle of insanity that refuses to be broken. I continue to hold onto hope that I can stop on my own, but I cannot. I've tried many times to no avail. I look like hell, and family and friends are noticing the change. My wife's counselor has told her to leave me. My infant son cries when I hold him, because he doesn't know me. Baxter looks at me with concern and wags only the last third of his tail nervously, while licking me incessantly, revealing an uncanny compassion that's unbecoming a dog. I get high, go to work, and do it again the next day. I'm hopelessly circling the drain of addiction while those closest to me watch helplessly.
Then one day it happens; a moment of desperation followed by divine intervention. An answer to a desperate prayer sent from between pharmacy shelves breaks the addiction's grip. A savior disguised as a police officer brings handcuffs and hope. Once again, I find myself incarcerated. Inside the jail cell, an absurdly optimistic promise reboots my brain, and I know instantly that everything is going to be okay. I know with every fiber of my soul that today is the day of change. Hope fills the desperate hole that narcotics filled for so long. This makes entirely no sense, of course. I'm in jail, and my wife has her suitcase packed for a permanent vacation from me. My job and license are surely gone. Jail-time is imminent. Yet hope prevails. God has told the disease of addiction to back off. He has plans for me.
Hope is powerful. Armed with it in my quiver, I boldly say aloud that I am an addict and I don't have to keep living this way. I smile, which makes no sense either. Then and there I set out on a journey for a new life free from addiction. Hope is powerful.
My wife unpacks her suitcase. The board of pharmacy eventually reinstates my license. Rehab is offered in lieu of jail. Someone actually offers me a job. Baxter wags his whole tail, and with new vigor. Through the giving spirit of those having gone before me, I learn to live my life, instead of just surviving it. I learn the tools that help keep me walking the road of sobriety. I have a brand new life. Slowly, I learn how to be a sober husband, daddy, son, employee, and friend.
Read the whole story @ www.jaredcombs.com
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