Silent Screaming

I talk about myself a lot, because after all, the world is all about me.  I say that with a smile, because I know the fact is, I am so insignificant in so many ways, I am barely worth mentioning at all.  That is not poor self-esteem talking, though I do struggle with it, it is a fact based on the recognition of my own humility.  To three people in this world, I am the most important person they know, my beautiful and wonderful daughters.  To the friends in my life, my importance is fluid, as it should be.  To myself, my importance is also fluid, and that is also how it should be.  I am proud to say there are times I feel important.  It is quite a statement since there was a time for many years I did not feel I had the right to take the next breath.

I met someone the other day who reminded me of one possible future I could have had.  I have been thinking about him ever since.  I sometimes still mourn the future I wanted for myself, though it is not a significant part of any sorrow I might feel.  I am grateful for the life I have now, and for whatever the future may bring to me because I know had even one event played out in a different manner, I might be the person I saw the other day.  I will   call him Angel.  In fact, if I talk about anyone at all here outside of my story, I will call them all Angel.  I know very little factual information about Angel at all.  The story I will tell you about Angel is just my observations and conversation I had with him over a relatively short period of time.  There are readers here who know Angel, so I will not give any details about him that may identify him to anyone else. 

Angel is very charismatic, as most addicts are.  Over the years of treating addicts, I forgot the human side of them, something I am grateful Angel brought back to my attention.   From the nursing side of it, addicts were the least favorite type of patients I had to care for.  In that respect, I probably failed them as a nurse, though I did my job.  I had a bias against them, and it was not fair for me to approach them with a bias.  Addicts get on my nerves in the work environment because they are the most manipulative type of patient I deal with, outside of Borderline Personality Disorders.  Addicts try to use their charm to gain benefits while under my care they are not entitled to, failing charm being effective, the deceit is next, and when deceit fails, the threats and verbal attacks on me are the last ditch effort in order for them to get what they want.  There are professionals, who deal with addicts in a very compassionate and human way, and like I said, I do my job, but I have very little actual empathy for addicts.   My empathy lies for the people they have harmed through their addiction.  Angel reminded me he is suffering to a great degree, as I suppose many addicts are.

I come from a family of addicts.  My father was an alcoholic, as was my mother.  It is possible my mother was also addicted to valium, but this is just a thought, I have no evidence other than my suspicion to back this up.  My brother Richard is certainly an alcoholic, but he also uses street drugs.  I don’t know as a fact he uses anything other than pot, but I guess it doesn’t matter.  My brother Kevin is an addict who has never to my knowledge touched a substance of any kind.   His addiction is religion.  Finally, there is my brother Charlie, and he uses a number of chemicals to remain high.  Then there is me, the black sheep of the family.  I should have been an addict; I am clueless as to why I am not.  I think I had an addictive personality, because there were many things I did to the extreme, but when they began to consistently affect my life in a negative manner, I dropped it and moved on to something else.  I can say for the past number of many years, there have been no behaviors or chemicals I can point to as a possible addiction.  I believe in that aspect, I have made a full recovery from my childhood.  In this aspect, true healing has occurred.  There are very few days which pass I am not very grateful addiction was not one of the many battles I had to fight. 

I have anger for the things my brothers put me through as children, though anger is not an accurate word.  I understand they were children, and were behaving in a manner they were taught and modeled.  My regret in my relationship with them as an adult is I acted as if I were better, superior to them because I am not an addict, and they are.  I am certain I behaved like that toward patients, as well, so as far as my professional role when interacting with patients, I did my job, but I did not do it well.  Angel reminded me the degree to which they suffer.  It is hard to remember they suffer when you walk around with a bias, and a belief you are superior to them simply based on the fact you are not an addict.  Addicts cause their families, the people who love them, significant damage.  Often, the families of the addict are undeserving of how an addict treats them.  This is where my bias lay. 

I was in love with an addict, his name was Gordon.  He was my first love, the soul mate not meant to be in my life this time around.  I never thought I could break his addiction, I accepted his addiction to cocaine as a part of who he was.  I never saw him as having a future with me as a member of a family, since I would never allow him to be around my children much.  As far as his cocaine addiction went, I did not see it as interference between us, though in retrospect, I think the fact I did not do it with him may have been one of the things keeping us apart.  I had a best friend, Tiffany, one of those pivotal people in my life but she too, was an addict.  She was addicted to nicotine, alcohol, and I’m not sure if sex was her addiction or simply the result of her demons from her childhood.  I loved Tiffany, and will be eternally grateful for her presence in my life, but eventually I had to let her go out of my life.  Addicts see the world far differently than someone who is not addicted.  As I dealt with my childhood issues, and improved the parts of me I didn’t like, Tiffany and I were no longer compatible to remain as friends.  I realized one day that though I loved her, she was detrimental to my growth as a person, and threatened my spiritual growth, so I had to let her leave my life.  She did not grow with me.  I miss her quite often.

And then there’s Angel.  I didn’t mean to invest anything of myself in him; the intention was a one night stand.  I don’t know why there is a sexual chemistry between some people and not others, but there was with Angel from the second I laid eyes on him.  Like I said, he was very charming.  I tend to be calloused with the men I choose just for the night, and I never actually spend the night with them. They almost always want me to, but once sex is over, I’m done with them.   I spent the night with Angel, and I saw his pain.  He has been in my thoughts ever since.  Of course he used while he was with me, but I refused his offer to use with him.  I have tried street drugs, but I have yet to find one that appeals to me.  Maybe because of the ADHD or the brain damage I suffered I don’t process chemicals the way others do.  After all, the Ritalin I take for the ADHD should make me hyperactive, but it slows me down so I can function.  So street drugs don’t have any allure to me.  With Angel, I didn’t judge his use.  I didn’t judge it because I wasn’t going to spend any time with him after this encounter. 

Angel appears much older than his years, as addicts often do.  I know nothing of the details of his life; I know nothing of the source of his suffering.  Usually after sex, I get up to leave.  I couldn’t.  Angel clung to me. I lay with him, our skin touching, and it felt good.  I haven’t enjoyed the simple touch and feel of skin in years, and I wouldn’t have done it with Angel had he not held onto me so tightly.  I genuinely like Angel, and I sensed this was something he needed.  I didn’t need it, but I did enjoy it.  I had forgotten how nice it was just to feel the warmth and skin of another person’s body next to mine.  We didn’t talk about much, but as dawn approached and his high was dissipating, his pain returned.  Not physical pain, the emotional pain.  From experience, I can tell you I will take physical pain any day of the week over emotional pain.  You throw enough drugs at physical pain, and you can bring to a tolerable level, if not eliminate it entirely.  There are not enough drugs in the world to cut emotional pain.  You have to heal that from inside, it takes strength and love to heal emotional pain, and even then sometimes love isn’t enough, and the strength is no longer there. 

He asked me “Why am I still here?”  An odd question I didn’t know the answer to, except the stupid pat answers you say when there isn’t anything else.  “Because you are supposed to be, why?”  I answered.

“No, why am I still here?  I have tried to kill myself so many times, why am I still here?  I don’t want to be.”  He said.

Now in theory, this is where my experience, training and skills in psychiatry, counseling and addicts are supposed to be of some benefit, but I felt useless.  Maybe it is because I identified his pain, with the pain I have healed, and the pain I still carry.  Now I know why objectivity is so important.  I should have put on my nursing shoes at this point, but I forgot to bring them.  I asked him why he felt that way.  “Because my soul is dead.”  He told me.

I looked into his eyes.  He wasn’t a shell person, the people who walk around with only beating hearts as proof of life.  I saw his soul, and it was encompassed in a wall of pain.  “Your soul is not dead” I said, you are not a shell person.  He asked what a shell person was, and I told him.  He insisted his soul was dead, had died a long time ago.  I am beginning to understand this is a conversation that requires a great deal of time and dawn was breaking.  I had a great deal to do and didn’t have the time to deal with this on the level it needed to be addressed.  I wanted to help, but I knew this was much larger than I could effect in a short amount of time.  I asked him if he cared about me, I think he initially thought I meant as a future girlfriend, partner, something.  I asked if he cared about me even a tiny little bit.  He replied he did, and seemed sincere.  I said, “Then your soul can’t be dead.” 

I tried to give him a short version of my life, to let him know I have felt pain at the depths he was describing, and to let him know it was possible to live a life without all this pain.   I felt as if I was offering him a band aid when he needed major surgery.  I briefly outlined my childhood and described my own multiple suicide attempts, how I lived each and every day in the pain I saw in his eyes.  This wasn’t about me, and I didn’t want to make it about me, I only wanted to plant a tiny seed of hope.  It is true since I “stared down the abuse” as Jaycee says it, I live most days happy.  I feel centered and I have not thought about suicide in many years.  He grabbed his packet of drugs, which was nearly empty.  He asked me if this was all he had left.  I didn’t know, I wasn’t paying attention to his drug use, and I certainly did not use it myself.  I said “Angel, the drugs aren’t helping you.”  This time I wasn’t speaking in a judgmental tone and I didn’t tell him he had a serious problem which required drug rehab and detox.  I wasn’t on a soap box, nor did I give him any lectures, which is one of my specialties.  I love to lecture other people on their life and impress them with my wisdom.  I can’t tell you why I didn’t this time, it seemed pointless to me, actually.  At his age, I’m sure he had already heard it before, countless times.  I am not so wise, nor am I so smart I felt I had anything more to offer.  He said “I know, but I don’t think I could live my life without them.”  Angel wasn’t acting like an addict; he was acting like a person in great pain.  I wasn’t acting like a nurse, a professional who has seen countless addicts, I was acting like someone who cared, but didn’t know what to say to help him, to reach beyond his wall of pain.  Then I did something I rarely do with a hook up.  I let him know I would welcome seeing him again.  I wasn’t so egotistical I felt I could help him, he is very badly damaged.  I didn’t feel the need to rush in and save him, something I would have attempted to do in the past.  He looked far away, off in the distance of his mind.  He said “I would like that, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”  I asked why not and he said “I just don’t think so.” 

He either couldn’t or wouldn’t elaborate.  I simply told him if we didn’t communicate anymore, it would be his choice.  I did let him know how sad I was for him; he did not deserve to be carrying so much pain inside.  I let him know it was possible to be happy, but he kept that far away stare, as if in deep thought, I knew he wanted to believe me, but something inside of him was preventing him from allowing it.  He has been in my thoughts since, sending him healing and white light.  Surrounding him with the love of the heavens, because that is the little I have in my power to do.  I do wish Angel healing, but I am not convinced Angel’s life will have a happy ending.  I actually don’t think Angel has much longer to live. 

While I was with Angel, I was walking in light.  I could feel Heaven working through me, because I didn’t get on my soap box, I didn’t bring my nursing shoes to the table, and I didn’t rush in to save him, though I clearly see he is dying.  As he predicted, I haven’t heard from him.  That is probably for the best.  Even if he would let me, I don’t think I can save him.  His pain is so great, and he has been carrying it for a very long time.  I wish him peace, for I saw his tortured soul.  Angel is one of the people I speak for.  I don’t know Angel’s story, nor do I know the burden of his pain.  The only thing I know is he doesn’t have voice to speak it, and it is killing him.