lines of addiction.

Nicole began to ask me some questions, questions I had been asked dozens of times before in similar circumstances.  'When did you start drinking?'  'When did it become a problem?' (Immediately, I answered). 'How many brothers and sisters do you have?'  'Any substance abuse or mental health issues with any other family members?'  And on it went.  I envisioned this giant family tree, compiled over the years, with some sinister family lines drawn in red, leading down to me.  I tried to remember which of my relatives were alcoholic so I could assist Nicole in her endeavors, so she and all of the other social workers and substance abuse counselors could chart the whole world, drawing these red lines down to people like me.  And for what reason?  Maybe it is make-work.  Maybe big pharma is working on a vaccine, one that will be given to the children that appear on the horizon from all of those people in red at the end of those lines.  I thought about this.  Stopping the red lines.  I wish it would have stopped before me. 

Slowly, the medication began to take effect.  It's never quite enough, but the first dose always feels warm and relaxing.  The anxiety melts away a bit; the racing thoughts slow down.  The attention span increases from seconds to a minute.  You look at your watch to mark the time, because you know that in three or four hours, you will be getting some more.  And, you already worry about tomorrow, because they will probably reduce the dose from 50 to 25 milligrams. All of this went through my head, but there was something else.  If I can make it 72 hours, I thought, I can get through this.  Three days.  That's how long it takes before you can even begin to feel quasi-normal, like you have a fighting chance.  How many times had I made it to one day?  Or two?  If you can make it to three, then you might be able to make it to five, which is the magic number.  Right now, I had to make it to three.  My thoughts were suddenly interrupted, Nicole was speaking to me again.  'We are trying to find a transport to get you to the VA hospital.  It might take a couple of hours, but we will have you there before morning.'  The good old VA, I thought.  Detox.  The smell of bleach.  Burgundy, brown, blue, yellow pajama sets.  Socks with rubber treads.  Board games and puzzles with missing pieces.  I was all for it.