It was almost a month ago now, and I still randomly get upset about the ordeal. And where do I even begin? I don't know what amount of back story would instill enough emotion to feel compassion for this girl. I don't know if in all of this, I am the selfish one. I don't know if I've been duped by a dope head, just looking for the attention she always needed, and the money she could use to prolong her addiction a little longer.
It was a Friday night. Natalie called me in a panic. I hadn't spoken to her in a few days. Previously she had been squatting at my place with her boyfriend Hubert, but one day she took off for a "doctor appointment" and didn't come back. She cried on the phone to me that she had no where to go again, and asked if I'd buy her a bus ticket back to Milwaukee. Wanting her away from Chicago and the drug scene, I gave in. I expected her to arrive at my place about one a.m.. I went out that night to film for a horror movie project, leaving notes on the doors (since she had no cell phone) about making herself comfortable, and I went off to Matt's.
After falling asleep at Matt's, I made it back to my house around noon on Saturday. Immediately I noticed the Newport aroma-- Natalie was definitely here. And despite my earlier scoldings, she had smoked in the house. Oh well. She was fast asleep on the couch, and she surely looked like she needed it. I had never seen her in such a horrible condition. She had scratches and sores all over her face, a crater-like infection on the back of her hand, and her skin was ghostly white.
Then I noticed the bags. There were probably twenty tiny bags, shredded open, still lightly dusted in a white/tan powder. She didn't. She did not do all those drugs. I looked around frantically. On the coffee table, on a photo of a couple people I've never seen, she had piled a hefty mound of heroin.
Gah I was so angry. I let her into my home and she brings this shit, this vile, life-ruining, home-wrecking, mind-destroying substance. I left her to her dreams and got in the shower. I did not want to start my day like that, I could at least be clean first. I deeply regretted this, however, once I was fresh.
Natalie was face down in the mountain of H. She had organized lines and attempted to do them all in the 10 minutes I had been preoccupied. Now she was in a pool of her own snot, unconscious. I ripped her head up from the table and tried to look into her eyes. They rolled around in the sockets and then locked on mine.
"How much did you do?"
"not even that much"
"Like enough to kill a person?"
"no, i'm not fucking stupid."
"You should see yourself right now."
"why? what do I look like?"
"Seriously? You used to hide this shit from me. You're not doing this to me today. How much did you do?"
I went into the kitchen to start coffee and wet a rag. If she hadn't done that much, I'd just try to sober her up and let her mellow. At this point, I had some hope that I'd help her get clean. I thought, this would be the last of this. And if she doesn't like it, we'll check her into detox. When I came back into the living room, she was face down in the fluffy stuff again, snot and all. She had tried to do more.
"Oh fuck you. Pick up your goddamn head."
"whaaaa?"
"Let me wipe your nose. Do you want coffee?"
"yeaaa"
I let her slink into the couch. I picked up the photograph and moved it into the kitchen. There was still a decent amount left, but I had no idea how much she did. She couldn't form sentences anymore. Her nose was a goopy waterfall and she'd fall asleep halfway through a gulp of coffee, letting it dribble down her powder frosted Chicago sweatshirt and black leggings. I had no phone. No computer. I left it all at Matt's. Was this girl overdosing? I threw my shit together and ran three blocks to his house.
"I don't know what to do. Nat's at my house. She did a lot of drugs. I guess I don't really know what a lot of heroin is... any is too much. It looks like a lot."
"Should I get my car?" Matt spits out, but Tom interrupts, "Get your car, dude. We'll take her to the hospital."
(Part 2)
No amount of back story can make anyone feel compassion for her. Compassion can only really be felt by someone who has been there themselves or with a loved one. It's an incredibly sad sad thing, but that does not make you selfish, nor does it forgive what someone does in their drug-induced and drug-addicted state. You have tried to help time and time again, and continued to try even when you were shit on repeatedly, which is an incredibly unselfish thing to do. People cannot be helped unless they want to be helped, she should thank you every day for still being there through all her bullshit.
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