Sarah Vaughan is Not My Mother: A Memoir of Madness (20 page)

He gets a couple of barrels from his room and a tourniquet stolen from the blood-testing centre. “Do you need something to eat?”

“No, I'm fine,” I say as I pour the coffee into two mugs. I get Jared some cream from the fridge and pour it in. “It's so nice to have you here, darling,” he says. “I still believe you're my soulmate. I'm in love with you and it's not just because you're beautiful. I think you're special.” I don't know how to respond so I just say, “I love you too.”

Jared checks the oven. He takes the wrapper off the spoon and smells to see if the AA has cooked through. “Still couple of minutes, darling.” I use the bathroom and come back with some toilet paper. I put it on the bench and say, “So, how are your new flatties working out?” “Oh,” he says, checking the oven, “they're fine.” He puts down the spoon, puts the tourniquet on the bench, and starts swinging his arm in a circular motion to get his veins up.

He places a couple of filters on the spoon, and sucks the contents in the spoon up into the barrels. I look at the peachy colour of the liquid in the barrel and put on the tourniquet.

“Right, you can go first.” He comes over with the syringe and I put out my arm. He says, “Oh, I'm jealous of your veins—they're like train tracks.” He pricks the needle into my vein and I feel the drug coursing through my veins. I stay still for about ten seconds and just enjoy the feeling. I feel it rush to my head and suddenly the room feels a bit cloudy. I light my cigarette and suck in the smoke, feeling the euphoria. I stand up and walk outside and feel the breeze on my skin. I feel light and airy, as though I've no worries or stress.

I go back in. Jared has a clenched fist: he's looking for a vein in his hand. He puts the butterfly in by his knuckle and gets the shot away. He says, “Ooh, I felt that one.”

“That was a nice shot,” I say.

“Thanks sweetie, just a special treat for you.”

We walk down to his bedroom, which is also like a living room, with a TV and two big chairs in front of the fireplace. The room is cluttered with ornaments and other collectable items he buys from secondhand shops or finds in the big bins on roadsides. He switches on Radio Active. They are playing reggae. I lie back in the chair and enjoy the feeling of comfort and not having the stiff feeling. I roll smoke after smoke, but then I start to feel sick. I go to the bathroom and throw up. Jared rubs my back. “You'll be all right, darling. It's because you haven't had some for a while.”

I feel better after vomiting. We drink our coffees and talk. He tells me stories of his family and I sit and complain about mine. I talk about how I'm trying to get my own place because I don't want to go home. I continue to feel sick and run to the bathroom back and forth for a couple of hours or so. It makes me wonder why I do it if it makes me sick. I keep an eye on time. It's not yet three. Jared rolls a joint. I have one or two puffs and it kicks in the opiates. I feel even more relaxed.

I go out to the garden and start singing to the plants. I make long vowel sounds as I walk around the plants and the overgrown bush. Jared comes out, smiles at me and says, “Do you want to take some smoke with you?” I say yes, not thinking about the drug test. We sit on the step and he talks about missing me and says the door is always open. I say thank you and get ready to leave.

I feel sad about having to go. I am happy to be back doing what I love to do, getting high. Jared gives me a little plastic bag of weed. I check the mirror in the hallway to see how I look. My eyes are slightly pinned from the opiates but I doubt anyone will notice. I look at my hair and immediately want to put on a hat and more comfortable pants.

We walk down Jared's winding path. Jared loops his arm through mine so I don't slip on the damp moss. He drives me back to the ward and we chat about when I'll get in touch again. I can feel my head moving without my trying to move it. I convene with the voice and the voice tells me not to worry. I am slightly concerned that a nurse in the ward may pick up that I am stoned. I don't tell Jared this. I stare at the cars and licence plates, looking for signs.

We get back to the point where he picked me up. I kiss him on the cheek and he tries to kiss me on the mouth. I get out and tell him I'll call him. He says, “That would be nice, sweetie.”

I stand on the street for a minute and ponder whether I regret my actions or not. I don't feel that good, but I have a sense of physical energy from the drug, as though I could walk for miles and miles. I wish I could take a walk around Newtown.

I put my hand in my pocket and feel the weed. There isn't much, just enough for a joint. I decide not to give it to Lester because I don't want to get caught and don't know if it's the best thing for him. I walk quickly up the steps. In the ward I head to my room, hoping people won't see me.

As I near the nurses' station I recognise Waris's gold sandals. She sees me and smiles. “You're back. How are you? Did you get anything done?”

I tell her I went into the city for lunch. I lie about what I ate and did. It reminds me of the old days of lying to friends and family about what I'd been doing and whom I'd been seeing when I was really out using drugs. I told so many lies I could practically make a living out of it, but that's what drugs do: they make you lead a double life.

I try not to make eye contact in case Waris can see my pin-pricked pupils through my pink glasses. I tell her I'm tired from all the walking around and I go to my room and lie down. A wave of nausea hits me and I run to the bathroom. I dry retch into the bowl and some bile comes up. I don't stop to question whether it was all worth it, a quick high for an afternoon of being sick. I know Jared lies. I was using him but he was also using me. People who give you illegal drugs don't really care about you. They just make you use more and more drugs because you're paying for their habit. And the more you have the more you change, until you need the drugs every day just to get out of bed and enjoy the shower.

I go back to my room and lie down. I'm no longer thinking about when I can get out of the ward, just about when I can smoke the weed. The voice speaks to me and tells me to do it tomorrow. I lie there not thinking about much, just enjoying the feeling of relaxation. I decide I will move to another city and find drugs and use them all day.

Despite being paranoid that I may have had too high a dose at Jared's and could slip out of consciousness, I finally drift off to sleep. Waris comes in and tells me it's dinner. I say, “Thank you,” put on my hat and go for a smoke. There is no one outside. I walk around the yard and think about how I won't have to do this for too much longer because I'll be getting out.

Waris comes and asks me why I'm not going to dinner. I say, “I had a big lunch, don't feel like it.”

“Well, I will put some aside for you when you do.”

Just as I'm walking through the smokers' room Fiona comes out and says, “Hi, I came to look for you. You weren't at dinner so I figured you'd be here.”

We sit down at the table and I start to roll a smoke, but then realise I don't want it because I feel sick.

“Well, how did it go today with Jared?” Fiona says.

In my mind I am thinking about what to say. I don't want to tell her I got on because I feel it might disappoint her, so I say, “I went up to his place and he was telling his usual stories. I smoked a bit of weed and it's left me feeling tired. I kind of wish I hadn't gone up there, but it's just that my meds make me feel stiff.”

“Oh honey, maybe you should tell them that.”

Just then Rachel walks past and I tell her I'm feeling stiff. “I can see that,” she says. “I've noticed the way you have been walking last couple of days. I'll get Waris to give you something.”

I know I'm not being totally truthful to Fiona but I figure half the truth is all right.

“So, did he say anything about you and him?” she says.

“Just the usual, how much he still loved me, but I didn't believe him. I don't think it's a good idea for me to be with someone like him. He's a full-on junkie and has been for years. It's hard being in a relationship with someone like that. I've done it before. It's quite an isolating way to live your life, living just for drugs; so much effort goes into maintaining it.”

Fiona lights another smoke. “Well, you are speaking a lot of sense.”

I get an urge to smoke, which must mean I am feeling better. “Yes. It makes sense because I've thought about it often.”

I roll myself a cigarette and look around the yard. “Is Lester at dinner?”

“Yeah, he'll probably come out soon. Do you think you're going to try and see Jared again?”

“I don't know. Not for a while. I tend to go through phases of seeing him and then he gets too needy and emotional, wanting things from me, like a relationship, something I'm not willing to give him. I have a habit of going to see him when I feel sad or something. I like hanging with my other friends but Jared always listens to my problems. I worry that if this habit continues I won't be able to break it and move on for good.”

“Oh, sounds intense.”

“I feel I'm stuck in a place with him and I don't know how to get out. It's like I'm pulled towards him. It's beyond my control.”

“Well, I think you are strong and you can do it. You just need to make your decision and stick with it. It doesn't sound like you need him in your life.”

I think about this. Jared has been a mainstay in my life since I was twenty-two and went out with him for a few months. He was the first person who gave me a shot of heroin. I kept returning for the drugs. I was often depressed, which made me want to get high and feel better.

12

 

The sun is going down. Fiona says she's cold and goes inside. Waris comes out. “Darling, aren't you cold? You feel stiff. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was just putting up with it.”

“Well, come with me and I will give you something.”

I slowly follow Waris back inside. “You are tired,” she says. “Did you take any drugs today? Someone commented that you look a bit slowed down. They will drug-test you tomorrow and you have a meeting with the doctors.”

“What do they want to talk about?”

“They want to discuss where you go from here.”

“Really! Am I getting out?”

“Looks like it, maybe to another hospital.”

“Another hospital? I thought you thought I was getting better.”

“Dr Aso has talked to your parents about it and he thinks it's the best option.”

“Why doesn't he talk to me about it? I'm twenty-six and they treat me like I'm five.”

While Waris goes and gets the pills, I stew over the news. It will mean leaving the friends I have made in here and being away from my drug contacts.

Waris comes back with a Congentin. “You need to take it every four hours.” She looks at me, puts her hand on my shoulder and says, “Everything will be all right. You're going to get fully well.” I start getting angry at the voice for not telling me but I don't say anything to Waris.

I am frustrated that other people are making the decisions for me. Having the doctor consult my parents and not me makes me feel as though I don't count. It's as if my choice is irrelevant. I may be unwell but I am not stupid.

Waris takes me to my room, sits on my bed and talks to me. “It's not a bad place. It's a hospital in Dunedin.”

“What!” I scream. “You're sending me to Ashburn! How the fuck is that going to help?” I yell at Waris about how I have been there before and they put me in the anorexic wing because I was thin. I didn't have anorexia when I went in, but I nearly did by the time I ran away. I thought they were never going to let me out. Bless the other patient who used her credit card to book my flight.

“I'll be stuck there forever,” I yell. “They never let you go from that place.”

I stand up and pace the room. Waris tells me to calm down. I sit on the chair and say, “Last time I went there it was bad. I can't get well in that place. I'll get worse.”

Waris turns to me and says, “Well, you're meeting the doctors tomorrow morning and you can tell them. I have to go and get your meds.”

I start rolling a cigarette and then another and decide to keep the marijuana until the morning. I go outside and can't see Fiona or Lester. I sit at the table anyway, and I start smoking furiously. I see Nola walking around the grass. I don't say anything to her. I smoke three cigarettes and ponder the years of my life until now. It feels like I'm born to lose: three months in here and they plan to send me back to that hellhole. I start thinking of my parents and how happy they must be to see me locked up. Throw some money at the problem and hope it will go away. Ashburn is only a dressed-up version of the current stark facility I'm in. People just wear cleaner, slightly fancier attire. You wouldn't feel comfortable there wearing pyjamas in the daytime.

I start pacing the grass, trying to come up with a way out of it, but I fail to see how. Waris runs over to me with the meds. “I know you are upset but it's really not that bad a place.”

I take the meds and walk off to my room. I look around and remember my last visit to Ashburn, when I painted a lot. I left paint all over the walls. The voice starts speaking. “They just want to use you down there—use you for your art.” I decide then and there that I won't do my art and I won't take my guitar. I look through my drawers. I don't have many clothes. I decide I want to buy more before I go as it's colder down there. I pick up the sheet off the ground and put the fruit on the shelf. I decide God is certainly not helping me. I decide that all the people here are phony and there is no one I can trust. I lie on my bed and start to cry.

I go through all the negative memories I have of my last time at Ashburn. I pretty much had lost my mind and couldn't think, listen or concentrate. All I could do was follow what other people did. I continue to cry and start saying, “Don't want to be like that.” I sob and sob into my pillow as I recall the events that got me to Ashburn in the first place, taking drugs, not sleeping, panicking and boarding a ship to the South Island, hallucinating and taking my clothes off, passing out and being met by police in Picton.