Look, I like pills- probably more than most. I like knowing they are there, just in case more than I actually like taking them. Sometimes Xanax and champagne are my toxins of choice. 14 hour flight? Hit me. Directly after a emotional break up? Yes please, I’ll even take a full pill.
I mean, I’m a product
of my environment, which for a good eighteen years sat in Scottsdale, Arizona -
a few hours from the US/Mexico border. Recreational
drug smuggling was the norm. Even though I was completely terrified when I did
it- convinced I was going to end up as a fifty year old rotting in the Mexican prison
by the border. How border patrol never saw my stark white face as an indicator
that I was doing something wrong, I’ll never know. I was and still am a
complete baby when it comes to breaking the law. Police scare the shite out of
me, even when I am a model citizen.
It was definitely not uncommon for people to discreetly pack a few doses of antibiotics, you know, just to save yourself a trip to the doctor when you are sure you are getting strep throat, again. As we got a bit older, we realized how fun muscle relaxers could be, then moved on to painkillers. Not often, but one or two pills on the weekend with some St. Ives.
The use of prescriptions drugs was (probably still is) fairly mainstream in high school and college. Some were probably stolen from elderly parents, leftovers from wisdom teeth removals or smuggled one way or another. Taking pills for fun was so common in fact, you would have been hard pressed to find a frat house without a few worn copies of The Pill Book. Heading down to the beach for Spring Break and not returning with a stash would be unusual. Let me clarify, not a stash to sell, just personal use.
When I arrived in
Australia people believed that because I liked the occasional (very occasional,
like once every three months) Xanaz and
always had them on hand that I was a bit … addicted? The occasional Xanax is
just like the occasional aspirin. Right? Slowly but surely,
those same friends experienced the joys of Xanax on a flight or after a
break up. Now they get it. It’s
not uncommon for them to hit me up before a long journey. I am happy to help them out.
Incorrect. After a few
drinks she started bragging about how
many pills she had in her possession. She was ‘holding’ them for someone. Wait, am I in Scottsdale or South Central LA?
After that moment, I just don’t think I could ever look at
her the same. So wait, you really believe that possessing illegal drugs (yes, I
carry Xanax but somehow I have convinced my doctor here that I need them … because
‘my doctor in American always gave them to me’ AKA not illegal) is a good
thing? Something to boast about? Whoa.
Clearly we are on different levels these days. I thought most people grew out of their drug
phase, whether it be pot, coke or pills. Looking at her, I felt instant pity. Not
pity, like I wanted to help her- more like pity with a heavy splash of disgust.
I didn’t want to know her.
Why? I have no idea. It just all seemed to have the pathetic and desperate vibe to it. There were a few other factors relating to our uneventful fall out following that night, but there is something about the way she truly believed it would be impressive to show me her ‘stash’ that has stuck with me. It was like a dog pulling in a dead bird for it’s owner as a gift. I felt the same distaste I would have for a dead carcass. The only difference being that I got to walk away without the responsibility of dealing with the unwanted ‘gift’.
Now, don’t get me wrong, had a good friend, a decent acquaintance
or just about anyone turn to me for support in fighting any addiction, I’d be
there. This girl didn’t even recognize that she was still carrying on like she
was sixteen. Complete disregard for what those pills are doing her liver and how unattractive she looks when her eyes glaze over. As
far as she’s concerned, she’s totally fine. Maybe she is ... I don't think so.
