Four Scenes, Five Bathrooms, Twenty Years: Heroin Addiction Revealed

Four short scenes depicting the surreal highs and lows of heroin addiction, all of which are based on experiences that I lived through (some almost verbatim).

Scene One: An inpatient rehab facility in Upstate New York, which looks a bit like a ski lodge and has hot cocoa worthy of one - which patients load up on as a way of circumventing its caffeine ban.

"It's facility policy that we have to see it before we can give you the antidiarrheal medicine."

"You have to see the diarrhea?"

"Yes."

"Seriously, Jamie? So embarrassing..."

"I know, honey, but it's the rules..."

"Why did they make that a rule?"

"I don't really know, honestly. To make sure there's no blood or anything, I guess?"

"Can't I just tell you if there's blood in it? Like, you can't just take my word for it that there's no blood in my poop?"

"I know, I know. I could lose my job for it, if I give it to you without checking."

"If I had a job that I could lose for not looking at someone else's sh*t, I might consider a career change."

Roommate: "Don't worry about it, B! I was super embarrassed when I started, too..."

Roommate (cont'd): "But you've gotta own it. Like, that's my bear carcass right there."

[Makes "hand guns" and points them toward imaginary toilet]

Roommate (cont'd): "Be like: I made that."

[Sighs]

"I guess I don't need the medication anymore, Jamie."

"Oh, honey..."

"Thanks anyway."

Scene 2. In a small bathroom in a small Cape Cod like hundreds of other Cape Cods in Upstate New York, whose door has just been kicked down by a frantic older brother.

"Where's the Narcan? Mom, where's the Narcan?"

[She runs downstairs and returns with a vial and syringe].

"How long has he been like this? Oh my God, he's gray!"

"Jesus Christ, Mom, I think he might be dead."

"There's foam coming from his mouth..."

"Give him the Narcan."

"The CPR isn't doing anything. I think he's choking."

"He's so blue..."

"GIVE HIM THE NARCAN!"

[Hands shaking so badly that he struggles to fill the syringe, which he has inserted through the seal in the top of a small vial labeled "Naloxone, 1 mg / mL"]

[Hesitates; shaking]

"Brian, you know how to do this!"

Ninety minutes later, a phone call from another bathroom, this one in the Intensive Care Unit of a nearby hospital.

"I've gotta tell you something, John."

"Colin overdosed. It's... really bad. They're saying that he -"

"That he -"

"That he -

"That he might not make it."

[Murmurs something to self; stifles moan]

"Can I talk to Mom?"

"She's with him. She said -"

"She sai-"

"She sai-"

"She said she wants to be in the room with him when he draws his last breath."

While I'm on the subject of junkies and bathrooms, I would be remiss not to mention Trainspotting, a 1996 black comedy-drama based on Irvine Welsh's novel, which depicts the sordid, stagnant lives of a group of smack addicts in Edinburgh. It is, in my opinion, one of the top five films of the 1990's and one of the top 15 films of the second half of the 20th century. It was revolutionary in portraying junkies as principled - at least, in their rejection of mainstream life and their treatment of each other - intelligent, and strangely charismatic despite their obvious brokenness and criminality. I'm not going to say too much about the infamous bathroom scene; If you know, you know. If you don't, watch it.

Scene Three. In a bathroom marked "Gents," which somehow appears dingy even though it is clean, whose key has been procured from a fierce-looking, late-middle-aged woman who just rang up $2.25 worth of purchases at the cafe's register.

[Knocks on bathroom door]

"You alright in there?"

"I'm fine. My stomach's just a little off. Need a minute."

[Mutters "I'm so sick of this junkie sh*t"]

***

[Returns and knocks again]

"You've been in there for 20 minutes, as*hole!"

"My stomach hurts, lady! What do you want me to do? I've got the f*cking runs."

"Yeah, I bet you do! Five more minutes and I'm calling the cops."

***

[Returns]

"I'm calling the f*cking cops!"

"Chill, lady, I'm coming out right now!"

"You better be."

[Emerges from bathroom muttering about how using public bathrooms for eliminating waste is passé; no one does it anymore]

"God, Miss, you need some counseling or something..."

"You know how many people I have nod off or OD in there every week! I am God-awful sick of it. I don't get paid enough for this sh*t."

"How the hell does it bother you if someone's in the bathroom a little longer than usual?"

"Cause other customers can't use it, is why..."

"Where're the other customers?"

[Makes an exasperated gesture; walks around the counter]

"Here, take this."

"What is it?"

"A complimentary muffin."

"What?"

"At least you'll put something decent in your stomach this morning."

"Thanks?"

"Welcome. I, um, I'm dealing with this stuff at home right now, too. With a family member."

[Takes muffin; they make eye contact for a petite infinity, during which a bond is forged]

"Sorry I took so long in the bathroom. My arms are wrecked."

"You better get some help before the rest of you is wrecked, too. End up dead."

"Thanks for the muffin."

Scene Four. In the bathroom of a cluttered one-bedroom apartment, where one put-together mid-20's man rubs the thigh of another, sallow young man, who is vomiting enthusiastically - mostly into the toilet.

"It says online that the withdrawal peaks after three days. So, at least it won't get worse, right?"

"It's been getting worse for eight years, Jake."

"What about treatment?"

"I'm not going back to f*cking treatment."

"You did so well last time. You looked - you were - so good when you got out."

"Just like every time."

"I wanted to - I know that this isn't the best time to talk about this, but -"

[Runs his fingers through the other man's hair]

"I don't know how much longer I can do this with you."

[Stops vomiting and offers a small, sad smile]

"I don't know much longer I can do this, either."

[Fin]

Thank you all for helping to make 2024 special! Happy New Year!