Cast out, mocked and feared: this is the life of a pariah, this is what it is to become feral in a domesticated world, writhing in the gutters and speaking with shadows, 21st century lepers. We all wear the same filthy mask. This is the face we show when the drugs begin to take us, as our humanity is slowly snuffed out and replaced by callous indifference and numbness; it is hideous and grows uglier by the day as it gluts upon what once was, developing a mind of its own, a cruel parody of its formerly human host.
Many people believe that anyone can be saved from addiction, and mostly, if the person is willing and strong enough, this can be true. But is there a point of no return? How far down can one really sink before it becomes impossible to return to the surface? I suppose that’s subjective. The deepest depths to which I have plunged may have paled in comparison to those reached by others who still managed to recover. But is there a point at which there is no coming back? A point at which the pressure builds enough to crush even the mightiest of us?
The deepest point on Earth is the bottom of the Mariana Trench, far beneath the Pacific Ocean. No submersible -manned or otherwise- has been able to penetrate to this depth due to the insurmountable oceanic pressure. To venture there means certain death, and a point of no return would be reached far above the actual bottom. I can’t help but wonder if addiction isn’t dissimilar to that: if there is a place so dark and horrible -objectively- that it is inescapably deadly; how close has the worst of us made it to this point and returned? Moreover, what changed?
To engage in any hard drug use is to court death. Do we leave a piece of ourselves behind when we return from the pit? I feel I have changed as a man, but I’m not precisely sure how, or if it’s good or bad, or just different.
For now, I’ve beaten the devil, torn back the parasitic mask of addiction and resumed my role as a human being, brother, and friend. I may never know what’s at the absolute bottom of rock bottom, but there are some things we are not deigned to know -at least not without consequence. Some things are best left to imagination. As for the lepers among us who still stalk the blood-soaked streets and dilapidated trap houses yearning for their fix, I will continue to wish them well with sincerity… from a safe distance.
Towers of Rust 