There's Nothing You Can Do That Can't Be Done

I’m on the treadmill. God this is an awful place. In front, behind, and either side of me, are people I don’t know – although I vaguely recognise a GP I once had an argument with. All dressed in unflattering, dingy, sweat-stained shorts and tshirts, they’re walking, running nowhere, staring, blank-eyed and expressionless, as if in a trance, at a giant Technicolour Anne Robinson on TV screens which hang at intervals from the ceiling. It’s like a zombie film without the humour

I’m wearing heaphones and listening to Joy Division loud, because someone told me that you go to the gym to meet people here – it’s the local pickup place, and that’s the last thing I want to do. Everything hurts – still, from the day before. Each step makes me wince. It’s not working though. The volume is as high as it goes, but it isn’t working.

The day before, I emailed him. I said “I’m not going to give up on you, and I won’t unless you ask me to. If you don’t reply I’m coming over – I’m serious;” then I said, “Joe would be doing this too, if he were here.”

I’ve only ever mentioned Joe once before, when he discovered crystal meth and disappeared. It worked then and I know if he can read this it’ll work again. We’ve had this thing, the two of us – since Joe died, all those years ago. Not living for two exactly – just knowing that we have something Joe didn’t – and a feeling that we mustn’t fuck it up.

Then I wait.

It takes a couple of days before the reply comes. By then I already know when the flights are, and how many phone calls it would take me to arrange everything. At last - he’s still there – somewhere. I feel as if someone’s lifted an unbearably heavy object off my shoulders.

It’s disjointed. Badly spelled, unfinished sentences – all this from someone who writes beautifully – who has a first in English. At least he’s still there – just. He says, “Don’t come. Nothing you can do except send love”. One more week until Thanksgiving – then he’ll have a few days in which to stop. Cold turkey. “Just send love. Hell if I could….” it finishes, mid sentence.

I call Zach. He’ll know if there’s anything I can do- there must be something. I tell him what’s happened, then I have to hold the phone further away from my ear because he explodes – launches into a long diatribe, hardly pausing for breath. I haven’t heard him this angry for years.

“Look– give up - it’s too late - he’s not going to change”

I try to get a word in edgeways

“He will do it” I say, “…remember he did it with meth”

“.. it’ll always be fucking something though – he’s in too deep now. You just need to write him off”…..

He pauses for a second, then he starts again,

“ If he leaves – town – the States .. perhaps…..it’s not the cold turkey that’s the hardest you know – it’s afterwards. You get bored. He’ll need something to fill the days….. If you can get him here there’s my new project– there’s more than enough going on ……. I can’t have any fucking junkies around though. And I don’t want you getting hurt. That’s what’s going to happen”

Twenty years ago I would have told him to go and fuck himself, but I understand now – it’s to do with love – Zach’s worried about him not making it – so many of our friends haven’t…

I thank him and he disappears in a whirr of anger.

I google heroin addiction

“….the most important thing to understand is that by offering the addict help you are in fact enabling them. They have to reach rock bottom before they can climb back up.”

I try another page

Common Myths about Addiction

1. Help should not be offered to the addict – this is enabling them. False

2. The addict needs to reach rock bottom. False

I think I’ll just wing it – go by instinct. I’m not giving up and I’m not daunted – well maybe just a little bit, but I trust him, and I’m not giving up. I think we will get through this.

I email him back – sending love. I say if he needs anything just to tell me, then I ask “…hell if you could what?”

I go back to the gym and turn up the pace on the running machine. The man with the sad eyes is there and he comes across and asks if I want some personal training since I seem to be so motivated. I say thank you, but I’m fine the way things are, and I smile brightly until he goes away. Then I turn the music back up until my ears hurt.

When I get home I find he’s sent me something – a song. There’s no message, I don’t think he’s capable right now. Anyway, it says everything that’s needed at the moment. I click play and start smiling for the first time in days. I’m pretty sure he’s going to make it. I think we will too.