Lost

It's hard to say how old she is, what with the missing teeth, ravaged face, and ratty hair. She's a regular at the store. Most of the clerks despise her. She wants to borrow the store phone, or spare change, or she babbles on incessantly about how life is doing her wrong. She's an addict. I knew from the moment I saw her and heard her speak. Addicts have a way about them that screams: "I'M FUCKED UP!"

There's a saying in the sober tribe I belong to that is both sad and humorous: "What's the difference between an alcoholic and an addict? An alcoholic will steal your wallet and run. An addict will steal your wallet and hang around to help you look for it." She fits the bill, this one. I've watched her over the last few months, and the deterioration has been steady.

This morning, she enters the store and asks to use the phone again. I hand it to her and return to waiting on other people. She dials a number and begins a long, weepy, angry, prolonged conversation with her mother. I know it's her mother because she keeps repeating: "Mom! Mom! LISTEN TO ME, MOM!" It's a one-sided conversation, but I can guess from the woman's responses that her mom ain't buying what she's trying to sell her. Her rent's overdue and they're evicting her. She doesn't have a ride to her new job that she just got four days ago. Her utilities have been cut off. It's someone else's fault, not hers. Really, Mom...Are you listening to me? He's no help. I've tried that. No. No one will help me. Mom, I need a place to stay and a ride to work. MOM!

I know the machinations of her mind better than she does. Been there---done that---got the tee shirt---saw the movie. I prevailed on friends and family for help out of situations I'd gotten myself into because of my own addictions. I begged, pleaded, whined, cried, and stormed at them and the world because nothing went my way. It wasn't my fault! I just got behind, is all. Never mind that I got behind because I didn't pay the bill because I drank up the money for it. Oh, no...that couldn't POSSIBLY be the reason.

The longer I listen to her rail at her mother, the more I am reminded of those days. I'm relieved when it's six o'clock and my shift has ended and my replacement shows up to deal with the situation. I want very much to go to her and say: "This bullshit could stop right now if you are willing to let me drive you to a treatment center and check in and go through whatever they tell you to go through." I would be willing to do that for her. But, she isn't at that place yet. The place where you have to be in order to be willing to walk on coals to get some relief from the pain and madness of your life. She's still arguing with her mother when I leave the store. I drive home, feeling a little guilt that I didn't approach her and make the offer. I know that all addicts/drunks have to hit a bottom before they are willing to look up, and I'm wondering if this is enough of a bottom for her. Or, will she die? That's the choice we all have in the end. We can find a way to quit, change ourselves, and gain a new life...Or we can die. There's always jails and institutions, but death is inevitable for us if we don't find a way out of the mire.

So, before I sleep today and prepare for another night at work, I pray for her. I pray something or someone guides her to recovery. To life. To joy.

As I was.