Friday, December 21, 2012
Bad drugs
Just creepy yesterday. Exhausting too. I'll talk about it soon. All day today I've been telling people, "You're so very brave and I'm so very proud of you". Drugs and alcohol make shivering cowards of us. Weak, whiney, horrible little people. It really is a miracle when one of us takes a chance at recovery.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Discouraging
Sometimes you kind of want to tell them to go fuck themselves. The clients that is. Some kid smuggled in a cell phone. He called his dealer and met him out at the edge of the property. He came back with a syringe and some heroin. He started sharing it around with some other kids.
Of course, they got caught. The case managers said, "Tell us what happened. We'll call it a relapse and let you stay and finish the program".
The kids got all hard. There was this one kid that I kind of liked. He went into a big routine about how he "wasn't raised to be a snitch". I'll give him credit. He was practically born in jail. His whole family is some kind of dope dealers. Still, he was being an asshole. I tried telling him, "This isn't a fuckin' prison you know. It's a fuckin' hospital. When they ask you what happened they want to know what went wrong, not who to punish".
He didn't get it. He wanted to go home, see his daughter and hang out with a bunch of old punks. That's what he said. When I dropped him at his grandparent's house he ran in the door to talk to his cousin, who sells heroin.
There was another kid who picked a fight over something. I can't even remember what. He was all tatted up and had piercings all over. He came on like a hard gangster. He wasn't scared of prison. You pay a cost for this lifestyle and he didn't mind paying. I had to take him home. Home turned out to be in a gated community on a golf course. You could fit two of my house into the garage. Fuck the police. Yo.
There was a very angry and obviously crazy young man. I had just come from driving almost 400 miles and dropping off Mr. Gated Community Gangster. On the way back I witnessed a terrible accident. I was told that I'd have to drive the angry young man to the bank so he could get money to buy cigarettes. It turns out he didn't have a bank account and he didn't have any ID. Somehow he managed to cash a check from his grandma but no one would sell him cigarettes. He got mad at me because I didn't want to buy his cigarettes for him. One of the case managers tried to tell me it was my job to "serve the clients". Fuck that. When I got sober I was told my job was to serve other people. I will not coddle a belligerent addict. That's not service and it's not teaching them about service.
I went to pick up some guy in a lovely, wealthy old mining town in the mountains. He had a sweet little house and a beautiful wife. He was a mumbling grey blur on the couch. He was smoking medical marijuana in a vaporizer. He was drunk as hell. He kept insisting that he couldn't leave until he had some more "medicine". All the way back in he kept telling me about his rights. He had a right to smoke marijuana in the center. He had a right to keep his cell phone so he could check in with his wife every ten minutes, which he did throughout the ride in. He had a bunch of other rights. When he got to the center they gave him valium to keep him from convulsing and dying while he was drying out. He slept for two days. On the third day he woke up and demanded his marijuana. He was told he couldn't have it. He called his wife and left.
I dropped a really sweet, likable guy off at home. He was excited about his new, sober life. Two weeks later he was drinking all day, every day. He wasn't eating either. He begged to be allow back in. I went back and got him. He was a little sheepish, pretty drunk and as sweet and likable as ever. Two days later he became incoherent and his already swollen stomach started swelling up alarmingly. He's in the hospital with all kinds of holes in his guts. He's probably going to die in the next day or two. What a fucking waste.
I could use a big success story. I know this is a J-O-B but I want to believe. Even though I know what the odds are, I want to see someone get what is being offered and go on to live. It happens from time to time. It doesn't seem to have happened lately.
Of course, they got caught. The case managers said, "Tell us what happened. We'll call it a relapse and let you stay and finish the program".
The kids got all hard. There was this one kid that I kind of liked. He went into a big routine about how he "wasn't raised to be a snitch". I'll give him credit. He was practically born in jail. His whole family is some kind of dope dealers. Still, he was being an asshole. I tried telling him, "This isn't a fuckin' prison you know. It's a fuckin' hospital. When they ask you what happened they want to know what went wrong, not who to punish".
He didn't get it. He wanted to go home, see his daughter and hang out with a bunch of old punks. That's what he said. When I dropped him at his grandparent's house he ran in the door to talk to his cousin, who sells heroin.
There was another kid who picked a fight over something. I can't even remember what. He was all tatted up and had piercings all over. He came on like a hard gangster. He wasn't scared of prison. You pay a cost for this lifestyle and he didn't mind paying. I had to take him home. Home turned out to be in a gated community on a golf course. You could fit two of my house into the garage. Fuck the police. Yo.
There was a very angry and obviously crazy young man. I had just come from driving almost 400 miles and dropping off Mr. Gated Community Gangster. On the way back I witnessed a terrible accident. I was told that I'd have to drive the angry young man to the bank so he could get money to buy cigarettes. It turns out he didn't have a bank account and he didn't have any ID. Somehow he managed to cash a check from his grandma but no one would sell him cigarettes. He got mad at me because I didn't want to buy his cigarettes for him. One of the case managers tried to tell me it was my job to "serve the clients". Fuck that. When I got sober I was told my job was to serve other people. I will not coddle a belligerent addict. That's not service and it's not teaching them about service.
I went to pick up some guy in a lovely, wealthy old mining town in the mountains. He had a sweet little house and a beautiful wife. He was a mumbling grey blur on the couch. He was smoking medical marijuana in a vaporizer. He was drunk as hell. He kept insisting that he couldn't leave until he had some more "medicine". All the way back in he kept telling me about his rights. He had a right to smoke marijuana in the center. He had a right to keep his cell phone so he could check in with his wife every ten minutes, which he did throughout the ride in. He had a bunch of other rights. When he got to the center they gave him valium to keep him from convulsing and dying while he was drying out. He slept for two days. On the third day he woke up and demanded his marijuana. He was told he couldn't have it. He called his wife and left.
I dropped a really sweet, likable guy off at home. He was excited about his new, sober life. Two weeks later he was drinking all day, every day. He wasn't eating either. He begged to be allow back in. I went back and got him. He was a little sheepish, pretty drunk and as sweet and likable as ever. Two days later he became incoherent and his already swollen stomach started swelling up alarmingly. He's in the hospital with all kinds of holes in his guts. He's probably going to die in the next day or two. What a fucking waste.
I could use a big success story. I know this is a J-O-B but I want to believe. Even though I know what the odds are, I want to see someone get what is being offered and go on to live. It happens from time to time. It doesn't seem to have happened lately.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Secrets
People trust me with secrets. Sometimes they trust me with terrible secrets. I want to be a trustworthy person. It's exhausting though. Occasionally, I will have to drive for 10, 12, 14 hours. Those are round trips so half of that time I might have a genuinely suffering soul in the car with me. It is very hard to be open to them, focused on the road and care for myself. I hope I am worthy of the confidences I have received.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Respectability, Part II
The guy who was worried about respectability mentioned to me that a friend of his "got ahold of some bad stuff". It seems his friend killed his roommate, cut out his heart, cooked and ate it. I don't know anyone who ate anybody's heart. I think, once your friend has eaten his roommate's heart, that you need to aspire to something besides respectability. Fuck. Call me judgmental.
Mind you. I make no claims to respectability and I have no great respect for it either.
Mind you. I make no claims to respectability and I have no great respect for it either.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Respectability
I need to write about respectability. I've met a few hard core addicts who were terribly concerned to maintain the appearance of respectability. The stereotype of the junky who has slipped the bounds of mainstream society isn't always true. I just had a client who really didn't understand that he was a junky, a dope dealer, a thief and a player in the criminal world. He honestly believed that he was a deeply religious person, a devoted father and a respected member of his small town community. He did seem like he was trying his best to act like a good father. Drugs can make that difficult though. He was genuinely indignant that he was handcuffed when he was arrested. After all, he played football with the chief of police in high school and he, not the chief, was the starting quarterback. More on this later.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
"You've got a lot of damn nerve doing this to me."
Took this woman to Catholic Charities today. She had no more insurance. The treatment center couldn't afford to keep her. No one from her family wanted her. Her husband continues to carry her on his insurance but he refuses to live with her anymore. Her friends have all kicked her out. Apparently her husband and family have placed her in any number of situations, treatment centers, group homes, private apartments, hospitals etc. She walks out and starts drinking.
She wanted to stay in the center because she knew her next stop was the homeless shelter.
She was in her early 40's, tall, good looking, very well dressed, jewelry, manicure, yoga pants and an iPhone. The psychic effect of sitting next to her was that she seemed to be covered in long sharp spikes. She wanted to drag me into her problems. She did not feel she deserved any of this. She did not complain. She made demands. I told her. "I'm just a driver. I only go where I'm told. I'm not a cab driver. I don't drive people around at their whim. I'm not the person you need to address your complaints to".
She wanted me to stop so she could have a cigarette. She wanted me to take her somewhere to eat. She wanted me to get her into a different treatment program. She did not want to answer the questions on the Catholic Charities forms.
The people at Catholic Charities were very nice but they had seen it all. The client tried to bully them by acting "desperate". They ignored her. I told her, "These people are pretty used to desperate people. You're not going to get a rise out of them that way. I had to sit next to her. I felt as though I was going to be impaled on the spikes. I stopped talking to her and closed my eyes. I tried to relax and watch my breathing. I thought, "As awful as she is, she is really suffering. You're never closer to God than you are at moments like this". I made it a point to note that it was an almost perfect day. I noticed the garden at the Catholic Charities house. I noticed humming birds at the flowers in the garden. I got up and walked into the garden. An old cat walked over and lay down on the gravel path. She was friendly but did not want to get petted. I talked to her a little bit. The cat that is. I figured the client was not in any state that would allow her to notice flowers, or humming birds, or old cats. I thanked God that I could still notice those things. After that I felt a little safer.
There was a whole group of people waiting for an interview to be admitted to this six month program that would supposedly lead to employment and housing. I started talking about baseball to a guy who was waiting with us. He was sober 5 months. He had the heart of a lion. He talked about his sponsor. He said he was grateful for any help and willing take whatever help was offered to him. He was not happy about having to live in a shelter but he figured he'd be alright if he stayed on his current path. I liked him fine.
The client interrupted several times to announce that she was hungry and that she wanted me to get her something to eat. I got her a glass of water because she refused to ask the Catholic Charity people for water. Someone else should figure out that she needed water. She did not have the heart of any known mammal.
Partly out of curiosity and partly because she refused to answer any questions she didn't like, I went with her into the interview with the worker. When asked why she was homeless she started to talk about all of the people who had let her down. The worker asked, "Have you been recently released from jail or prison? Were you in a hospital? Were you evicted from your home? Did you leave your home because of domestic violence?". The client said she was homeless because her husband's insurance was no good.
Finally I looked at the worker and said, "She drinks." The worker thanked me and checked off the appropriate square. The worker told her she was accepted into the program and could go there right away. The client said, "I think I'll come by around 7:00 maybe 7:30". I explained that I had to go home and that she would be going to the shelter by 4:30 or 5:00. She didn't like that either.
I had to take her back to the center to pick up her things. She announced that she was going to get something to eat and take a nap and that we could discuss the time she was leaving afterwards. I went and got one of my bosses. I told him I was in way over my head with her. I reminded him that I'm only a driver too. He was going to have to convince her that she was going to be leaving shortly.
A few minutes later she came out with the first of two enormous suitcases. She also had a couple of shoulder bags and a a make up case. Remember, this is a women with jewelry, a manicure, an iPhone, etc. Someone from the center came out with the other enormous suitcase and we were on our way. She wanted me to stop at a shopping center. She wanted to know how many miles it would be to someplace where she could use a computer. She wanted me to take her somewhere she could use a computer. I took her to the shelter.
It was pretty goddam bleak. A former National Guard armory in the middle of a field. It was clean. It was quiet. She picked up one of the shoulder bags and said "Help bring my luggage in". She finally agreed to maybe take care of one of the enormous suitcases. Some of the clients looked troubled. Some of them just looked like anybody else. Almost everyone I saw seemed friendly enough. Several people said hello to us. I noticed that I felt perfectly comfortable around the homeless people in the shelter but the client made me want to jump out of my skin.
When we got her luggage inside, she threw herself down on a couch and said to me, "You've got a lot of goddam nerve doing this to me". I wished her luck and got out of there. I can't imagine what it will look like when she hits bottom.
She wanted to stay in the center because she knew her next stop was the homeless shelter.
She was in her early 40's, tall, good looking, very well dressed, jewelry, manicure, yoga pants and an iPhone. The psychic effect of sitting next to her was that she seemed to be covered in long sharp spikes. She wanted to drag me into her problems. She did not feel she deserved any of this. She did not complain. She made demands. I told her. "I'm just a driver. I only go where I'm told. I'm not a cab driver. I don't drive people around at their whim. I'm not the person you need to address your complaints to".
She wanted me to stop so she could have a cigarette. She wanted me to take her somewhere to eat. She wanted me to get her into a different treatment program. She did not want to answer the questions on the Catholic Charities forms.
The people at Catholic Charities were very nice but they had seen it all. The client tried to bully them by acting "desperate". They ignored her. I told her, "These people are pretty used to desperate people. You're not going to get a rise out of them that way. I had to sit next to her. I felt as though I was going to be impaled on the spikes. I stopped talking to her and closed my eyes. I tried to relax and watch my breathing. I thought, "As awful as she is, she is really suffering. You're never closer to God than you are at moments like this". I made it a point to note that it was an almost perfect day. I noticed the garden at the Catholic Charities house. I noticed humming birds at the flowers in the garden. I got up and walked into the garden. An old cat walked over and lay down on the gravel path. She was friendly but did not want to get petted. I talked to her a little bit. The cat that is. I figured the client was not in any state that would allow her to notice flowers, or humming birds, or old cats. I thanked God that I could still notice those things. After that I felt a little safer.
There was a whole group of people waiting for an interview to be admitted to this six month program that would supposedly lead to employment and housing. I started talking about baseball to a guy who was waiting with us. He was sober 5 months. He had the heart of a lion. He talked about his sponsor. He said he was grateful for any help and willing take whatever help was offered to him. He was not happy about having to live in a shelter but he figured he'd be alright if he stayed on his current path. I liked him fine.
The client interrupted several times to announce that she was hungry and that she wanted me to get her something to eat. I got her a glass of water because she refused to ask the Catholic Charity people for water. Someone else should figure out that she needed water. She did not have the heart of any known mammal.
Partly out of curiosity and partly because she refused to answer any questions she didn't like, I went with her into the interview with the worker. When asked why she was homeless she started to talk about all of the people who had let her down. The worker asked, "Have you been recently released from jail or prison? Were you in a hospital? Were you evicted from your home? Did you leave your home because of domestic violence?". The client said she was homeless because her husband's insurance was no good.
Finally I looked at the worker and said, "She drinks." The worker thanked me and checked off the appropriate square. The worker told her she was accepted into the program and could go there right away. The client said, "I think I'll come by around 7:00 maybe 7:30". I explained that I had to go home and that she would be going to the shelter by 4:30 or 5:00. She didn't like that either.
I had to take her back to the center to pick up her things. She announced that she was going to get something to eat and take a nap and that we could discuss the time she was leaving afterwards. I went and got one of my bosses. I told him I was in way over my head with her. I reminded him that I'm only a driver too. He was going to have to convince her that she was going to be leaving shortly.
A few minutes later she came out with the first of two enormous suitcases. She also had a couple of shoulder bags and a a make up case. Remember, this is a women with jewelry, a manicure, an iPhone, etc. Someone from the center came out with the other enormous suitcase and we were on our way. She wanted me to stop at a shopping center. She wanted to know how many miles it would be to someplace where she could use a computer. She wanted me to take her somewhere she could use a computer. I took her to the shelter.
It was pretty goddam bleak. A former National Guard armory in the middle of a field. It was clean. It was quiet. She picked up one of the shoulder bags and said "Help bring my luggage in". She finally agreed to maybe take care of one of the enormous suitcases. Some of the clients looked troubled. Some of them just looked like anybody else. Almost everyone I saw seemed friendly enough. Several people said hello to us. I noticed that I felt perfectly comfortable around the homeless people in the shelter but the client made me want to jump out of my skin.
When we got her luggage inside, she threw herself down on a couch and said to me, "You've got a lot of goddam nerve doing this to me". I wished her luck and got out of there. I can't imagine what it will look like when she hits bottom.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Not cynical
Sometimes I want to voice my darkest thoughts about the people I drive. They're not my only thoughts. I love the people I deal with. I couldn't do this if I didn't love them. That's something I love about the people I work with. They really care about the people who come to them. They use the word "we" a lot. I can't separate myself from the people I drive and do what I do. I don't have to act like them but I have to know that I am still them.
Let me tell you something. When I was growing up the entire point of life in my family was figuring out who was to blame. It was absolutely crucial that someone be made wrong so that everyone else could feel right. More than once I was told, "You're not one of us." because I had committed some minor infraction. The book of rules was infinite and infinitely mysterious. You never knew you'd crossed a line until you got hit in the head. Anything you did wrong marked you as separated out and despised.
It is such a fucking relief to be with people and say things to them like, "I know how that feels".
Let me tell you something. When I was growing up the entire point of life in my family was figuring out who was to blame. It was absolutely crucial that someone be made wrong so that everyone else could feel right. More than once I was told, "You're not one of us." because I had committed some minor infraction. The book of rules was infinite and infinitely mysterious. You never knew you'd crossed a line until you got hit in the head. Anything you did wrong marked you as separated out and despised.
It is such a fucking relief to be with people and say things to them like, "I know how that feels".
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