It had been 975 days since I last held a meth pipe in my
hand, but there I was, shut inside a small bathroom staring at the glass
bubble, with nerves igniting sinister thoughts, and that old familiar lump burrowing down my throat. I should have known not to look inside the rolled-up bandana on top
of the toilet paper dispenser. Nothing
good can come from this. But my curiosity dictated that I unravel the
mystery anyhow, so I did. When the bandana unfurled, I saw a shiny pipe, a
lighter, and a tube commonly used in the drug world for snorting crushed up crystals.
What I saw took me back over two years to the morning I
walked into the courtroom for my sentencing. I had just woken up two hours
before my scheduled appearance and spent the entire time between the bed and
the door smoking meth. It reminded me of how that little piece of glass
controlled my life; everything I did was entirely dedicated to keeping the high
going.
I noted the contour on the glass bubble, and saw the noxious
residue inside, and knew the only choice was to roll it back up and put it back
where I found it. It was only a matter of a few seconds, but it felt like an
eternity to me in the confined space.
This might sound like an old story, but it happened
yesterday at the old Copper Dome restaurant on Randolph Avenue in St. Paul.
When I exited the bathroom, I informed the manager that there was some drug
paraphernalia in there, and he promptly went and removed it. My hands were
trembling; palms damp. I never had the thought to actually use the device or
any of its accessories, but it sucks that there was the option.
Throughout the day I had thoughts of the poor guy who lost
it. I wondered what chaos his life was, and if he would ever find his way in to
the rooms of recovery. On the same note, I have lost many pipes, many bags of
drugs, and an excess of drug-related material over the years, and I wondered if
anybody in recovery had ever come upon it, and if so, if they had the strength
to resist temptation. Was this all some test? Was I meant to be shown my former
life? No. It was, of course, a coincidence.
It’s been a rough 24 hours since that chilling moment in the
bathroom, but nothing could compare to what things could have been under the
influence of the addictive substance that made me give it all away. Twice.
It’s late, and I need to rest, but I wanted to get that off
of my chest. Goodnight.
