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Thursday, April 7, 2016

These Seeds Grow From Hell

Two days into withdrawal, I realize poppy seed tea is no joke.  My body is twisted and oozing like a salt covered slug.  This is nastier than pills and more akin to a long term heroin withdrawal.  Never mind the mental part.  That will come later.  The sweating, the shitting, the puking and shivering agony is upon me like a wild beast.  Two days without a sip of seed tea and I am a fucking dying.

The worst part is I never got the HIGH of heroin.  I never got the POP of pills.  In fact, I never thought much of the seed tea at all except it just sorta made life nicer.  But looking back, perhaps that is not what happened.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And life slips away.  A cocoon of complacency.  The shit part was the damn tea never fucked me up.  It just slipped into my life and took control.  Opiates makes the ocean uncomfortably cold.  I used to surf before and after work.  I still surf but am noticeably weaker in the lineup.  And my brain.  I am forgetting things.  Repeating myself.  Most of my long term planning involves ordering more poppy seeds before I run out.  My truck has needed an oil change for three months.  My radiator leaks.  When I remember to fill it, I usually leave the cap off.

How did I not see the cycle rising again?  Now the leash is too tight.  Strangling me.  Drowning my existence.  So two days with no poppy seed tea.  Pure hell.  And according to the laws of the Universe, while I am laying here, I will get kicked again and again.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is what happened.  I was bored at work.  I was reading sites where quasi-legal highs are discussed and an enlightened baker clued me in.  At his bakery, he started to guzzle concoctions brewed from the wholesale bags of poppy seeds they purchased for poppy seed bagels.  The instructions were clear.  This high is not gained from a spice rack bottle of seeds at your grocery store.  On a whim, I ordered five pounds of organic poppy seeds online.

I am probably one of the first online lemmings to leap off this cliff.  But I have always used the internet for immoral purposes.  Pornography, ninja training secrets, pharmaceuticals from foreign countries and eBay.  Before this baker, I had a Canadian "doctor" mail me codeine pills.  After that dried up, I had a solid Indian connect that was good for hydrocodone.  A Mexican man sent me fent lollipops.  Then the dialup internet world of wild, wild west pharmacies dried up.  So after I got tired of alcoholism and chugging dextromethorphan, I found the baker's post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you have the luxury of hindsight, you can see all the pieces and a picture forms.  But I knew it wasn't a good idea because I hid it from my wife.  Unconsciously, I knew she would perceive the problem.  I was high again.  Not stoned, tripping, drunk or the ultra rare high on life stuff either.  In fact, now that I think about it, there were moments when she had to know something was up.  I fell asleep every night with the light on.  Often, as the euphoria swallowed me, I wanted to hold her and touch her face while I drifted away.  Opiates do make me a more affectionate person.  Maybe she looked through my hiding places for drugs and maybe she didn't.  But there was nothing there.  I had the seeds delivered to work.    

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How many months have passed?  My first emailed order is from seven months ago.  Jesus.  Has it been that long?  Like a collared thrall, my days blurred into habit and routine.  Plodding dully forward into the dream...as my mind and soul eroded.  

Wake up.  Groggy, but solid eight hours of black sleep.  And I'm still high.  I shave, shower and eat toast.  Then off to work.  I hate this fucking place.  My work has has everything from the owner fucking his cousin to massive commodities fraud to deal with.  But I make nice bonuses so I put on the mask, lie accordingly and pretend to care.  The first two hours are wasted.  Drink some coffee and read the online articles.  Later, I'll eat my flavorless lunch.  The machine needs fuel. 

After lunch, I'll mix two Gatorade bottles of poppy seed tea.  Seeds, lemon and water.  It tastes awful, but taste has never been the point.  I drink one and feel better instantly.  I take the other one to go.  I work at least two more hours to gauge the office vibe.  Nine times out of ten, the boss and his cousin are gone.  So I talk to the facility manager because I am slightly responsible.  He is the only person that actually works here.  We set up orders and plan the next day.  Then I leave.

It takes more than an hour until I FEEL the tea.  And I never FEEL it like oxycodone or heroin.  I just feel it.  Sleepy, I go home and nap.  When my alarm rings, I wake up blissed and go get my kids.  Back home, we do homework and I drink beer.  Around 6pm, I'll chug the other bottle, hide it in the trash and make dinner.  


And the days just melted away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~



"Hi."

"Hey what's up?" asks my wife.

"I got fired.  Sorry."

"You did?" her voice goes to the same tonal range she uses to soothe our children's knee scrapes.  "Oh...I'm sorry."

"It's ok" I sigh.  

"Well, something else will turn up.  It always does right?" soothes my wife.

"Yeah, I guess."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's too late too late to order more seeds and frankly I am sick of them.  They fuck me up too much without fucking me up enough.  So I set up an appointment with my doctor.  Time to do my knee trick again.  

Like always, it's just a temporary thing.  Just a little prescription love to get through this nasty tea.  Just a little.

And the circle continues.