Voices tell me I should carry on
But I am swimming in an ocean all alone
The loneliness was always hovering near him as he slowly recovered but he did his best to push it away. Jane had sensed his inner turmoil later that very day, aware of his tears and pain without letting him know. The had talked, friendly at first before conversation had gotten a little deep. They spoke of the drug, overcoming it, his progress and future. He had clammed up at the thought of his future, did he even have one, he had no idea? His career may be over, his daughter may leave him and he knew he would be followed with the shadow of the addiction for the rest of his life. At the time, his future hadn't looked very promising.
Jane kept him company occasionally without smothering him as she did other patients, although he tried to make her leave him alone she knew her presence helped him through the lasting pain of his withdrawal. He had a hard time, the cramps and fevers lasting longer than they expected. Even he hadn't realised just how much heroin he had been taking on a regular basis.
After the first week Dr. Corry declared him 'recovered' from the symptoms of withdrawal, but of course the battle still wasn't over, and never would be. Once the drug was flushed out of the system, he was told, an evaluation was needed. Physical, Jane had informed him, not mental. His relief at that was obvious to her but he still dreaded it, to return to any kind of field work he would need to be in peak physical condition.
The tests hadn't been too bad and he was pleased to learn that although underweight and weaker in strength than before, there was nothing seriously wrong with him. The first night into his second week he had slept peacefully, he would be out of here soon. He wasn't plagued with the dreams of being trapped in the clutches of heroin forever, it was as though he had accepted the life he would live after this.
Of course his positive demeanour left him the following day after a meeting with Dr. Hart, the psychologist. He had been uncomfortable enough around his health doctor so the meeting wasn't pleasant. Hart had explained, that basically, as part of the programme he was required to speak to a psychologist to determine his current metal stability and evaluate the odds of his returning to the drug.
He had been angry, of course, when Hart suggested this. He had no intention of going back to it, he had to stay away or he wouldn't get another chance at life, he had said. When Hart had probingly asked what he would lose if he did fall back into old habits, he sat in a stunned silence. He would lose nothing, for he had nothing. He would probably be unemployed when he got back home and he still feared his daughters life, that he may not be a part of it.
He had left the room and felt trapped. Hart was calling for him but his words fell on death ears. He couldn't run from his fears this time, he had nowhere to go, he felt trapped. He had gone back to his room and sat behind the closed door preventing anyone from entering. Only when he was alone he allowed more silent tears to drip down his face as his thoughts swirled out of his control.
He thought it was going to be easy once he overcame the initial pain of getting clean. He anticipated the cravings he would feel but was confident in his ability to overcome them. But now… he was troubled at the thought of giving in again.
He had failed Terri and Kim, Tony and Michelle, even Chase and Chappelle. He would never forgive himself for his failures and they would always haunt him and plague him with guilt. But he could still function with the burden, with or without the drug. But now it hit him, like a punch to the gut, he had failed himself. How could he ever recover from this?
He shook as he tried to control himself but the salty tears continued to roll down his hands which held his face. The revelation was enough, it chilled him to the bone, but the thought of failing again, the same way, it was too much to cope with.
He was scared. Terrified. What happens now, he wondered? How do I ever climb out of this hole without falling back down in it? How do I convince people I'm past this when I'm not even sure myself. Footsteps could be herd and the shaking stopped as he used the sleeve of his black jumper to wipe the evidence of his breakdown away. Somebody tried to open the door but he moved back so it stayed shut. He herd Jane call him, asking him if she could come in. Jack noticed how she hadn't asked him if he was alright and he was silently grateful for that.
"Just a sec," he called out calmly although his voice was still coarse.
Once satisfied he moved away and opened the door before sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at her expecting. His hands trembled as he watched her close the door behind her to give them some privacy, he felt the urge to fix again and pushed it away, glad he could do so as easily as he had, but annoyed to feel the sadness in his heart as he knew he could never run away to the drug again. He was torn inside and it was playing games with his mind, his sanity, he knew he couldn't take any more. He had mentally been pushed to his limit, any more and he would lose it.
"Hey," she said gently as she pulled the plastic chair from under the small desk and sat in front of him. She felt compassion as she watched Jack, his head hung low with his hands held tightly together in his lap as he fought the tremble in them.
Finally he looked up feeling like a child being scolded by his mother. "I guess you are here because of my meeting with Hart." He spoke softly but couldn't help but spit out the doctors name.
"Yes, well, not for him. He said he pushed you too much and you left. He couldn't give me any details of course, but I gave him a good telling too for pushing you at all. You were supposed to be discussing how you should go about the therapy, he shouldn't have launched right into it like that. I guess he expected it to be as easy as you did and so you clashed."
Jack had to smile. He realised the anger he had been feeling earlier was melting away along with the self loathing he had felt earlier as he had thought about Kim. He knew it was Jane that put him at ease and was thankful to have been appointed with her as his nurse, she had been like a lifeline since he arrived.
"What do you get out of doing this? I mean… It can't be the most appealing job, working with…" His voice trailed off, he didn't want to think of what he would have said, and he knew his self pitying wouldn't be put up with by her.
"With?" She said, a smirk on her face, waiting for him to continue.
Thoughts swam through Jack's mind as he though of how to put it. Nothing to harsh or she would know the extend of his damaged pride and self disgust, but he had to let her know how he felt about the level he had gotten to at the same time. He wouldn't want to give her any misconceptions about his self beliefs.
"Failures," he whispered, bringing his head up to meet her eyes once more, he felt he owed her that.
He watched as she leant back in the chair and tapped her thighs with the palms of her hands as she considered her response.
"I think that's a very fair way to put it Jack, although I don't believe it entirely. Each persons path to substance abusing is differently. Some, like yourself, think they have failed because they live a life of importance, a life of consequence." She stopped for a second when she herd him sigh but the look on his face told her he was listening even if he tried to appear as though he wasn't.
"Some people don't try in the first place. They just want a nice ride through life until eventually they get so low they realise there is no life left and they end up here. For others its simply a matter of circumstances. Bad home, rough upbringing etc, there are many reasons for why people turn to drugs. But that's what you need to understand, it happens for different reasons."
"You're not answering my question," he said uninterestedly, but she carried on anyway, ignoring his efforts to change the subject.
"A cop might think of a drug addict on the street as scum, and sometimes they are. But then they may see a colleague who has had to deal with so much pain and the horrors of life through the job that they turn to the drug for escapism. I know from experience that the cop would have the utmost respect for the addict, for finding a way to try and deal with it without eating a bullet. The cop would respect, sympathise and learn from there friends mistake. Just like you will deal with yours, and in the future, you will find other ways to deal with your pain, safer less life threatening ways."
Jack scoffed. "Please, enlighten me on how I can deal with what's in my head without getting so high or drunk that I feel nothing." His words were harsher than he intended but they only illustrated his pain to her more clearly than before.
"Jack you don't know what life is going to deal you. Maybe you will meet somebody who will make the horrors of this world worthwhile to you, maybe family or friends can help if you let them in. The key to this is speaking up, letting people know you're hurting. The more you hide away the more likely you are to relapse Jack, and that's a brute fact."
She saw that she had gotten to him and felt bad for being so blunt but she realised it was the only way to get through to him. She moved the chair back to its place, Jack was still staring at the floor as though he was processing the thoughts.
"What if I can't talk about it?" His voice just a whisper, filled with pain and worry.
Jane didn't know what to say to this but she felt her heart give out at the look of fear and confusion on his face.
"You have to," she said before smiling sympathetically at him and sitting next to him on the bed, hopeful she could get through to him now he was slowly lowering the barriers that surrounded him.
"You will talk to people here Jack and it will be hard. Dr. Hart is a good man and he understands what you're suffering through, just give him a chance okay?"
He smiled at the effort she was making with him and suddenly felt incredibly selfish. She got up to leave but his voice stopped her.
"You never answered my question, about why you do this." There was a hint of humour in his voice and Jane couldn't help but interpret the question as a 'thank you' from him.
"I was lucky enough to live a happy peaceful life Jack, with no worries about the world. One day I decided I wanted to help others, the people who have to suffer to give me such a comfortable life. People who deserve a second chance and a right to live…" Her hand tapped him on the shoulder lightly, "people like you Jack."
She moved away and left the room. She felt a great deal of relief as she closed the door behind herself, as though she had accomplished something. She hoped so, this man, like others she had met, was hard to get through to but the most rewarding kind of patient. She moved on to her next patient with a smile on her face as she thought about Jack.
Jack moved back on the bed and laid down after she left, a slight smile playing on his own lips. How did she make him feel comfortable? How did her mere presence make the itch of the drug go away and his resolve to beat this stronger? How could a stranger make him feel better about his future? Most astoundingly, he thought, how did she make him stop hating himself?