Page 13 of Rat Park
“Better than choking down what they were serving in the mess today,” one of the men said. Lee smiled.
“Yeah, I don’t envy you guys.”
“Thanks for rubbing it in.”
“Hey—been there, done that. Let’s make sure that once you get out, you never have to eat that shit again, yeah?”
Dominic expected there to be a lot of confessional talk in the sessions. For them to be pressured into admitting all the stuff they’d done to get high. He thought he’d have to talk about all the people he’d betrayed, all the relationships he had neglected, the people he’d stolen from and cheated, the promises he had broken.
Dominic had no illusions as to what kind of person he was. For years, all his life had been about was getting his next hit, and nothing had mattered beyond that. He didn’t think normal people could understand what that place was like, the feeling of being willing to do anything because the will was not his own.
But the sessions with Lee were not an indulgent exploration of the past. More than anything, they were about understanding the internal machinations and practical implications of addiction and how to use this knowledge to set them up for the future.
“You want to get high. I think we can all agree on that,” Lee said with a tilt to his mouth, and there was a general titter of assent because they all knew that was an understated simplification. “But we need to acknowledge the cost of getting high. What does addiction ask you to give up?”
Dominic remembered one of the few children’s books he’d had as a kid,The Hungry Caterpillar. Remembered how page after page of the book had been eaten away, leaving holes in the foliage. That was what addiction was like. It was insatiable. It was a greedy disease. It took your time, your body, your aspirations. It chewed away at any relationship you might want to sustain. It consumed your mind.
They talked about what they had done to get their hands on drugs.
“I would have sold my nana for a score,” one of the men said, his smile sardonic because it was only a slight exaggeration. It became almost a game, playful just so it didn’t reveal the wealth of hurt and guilt underneath their admissions.
Lee didn’t stop there. He didn’t shy away from not just what addiction took, but what that high gave them. The bliss of being able to stop thinking. Most people would be able to understand that, how peaceful it could be not to think for a while. To fall into a kiss, or the sweet doze beneath clean sheets, or being able to lie in the sun for a little while and just be. But, for Dominic and the addicts around him, it was more than that. Their thoughts were diseased. They were like a buzzing infection under the skin, an alarm clock that kept blaring and blaring and would drive you insane if it wasn’t turned off.
That was what the high gave Dominic. An escape from the cruel anxiety of being. He didn’t know how he could tolerate living his whole life aware and present. To have to make decisions and live with them. How did people live with that pain without becoming so exhausted they wanted to just give up?
Ultimately, the getting high was a choice without full access to free will. That choice asked for the tolerance of sadness and anxiety and fear in return for a normal life, when most people had a normal life with a much lower cost. And yet they still had to choose between the sacrifice addiction asked for and the lack of consciousness it could provide.
“You’ve gotta choose because if you sacrifice more than you’re gaining, you’re gonna end up with nothing.”
Lee’s words echoed inside Dominic’s head. They made sense, in theory. After all, he was in prison with nothing to his name. But Dominic still wondered if it was too late. If he’d already lost everything. If it wasn’t better that way.
The thought of having something of substance to ruin was almost more terrifying than the loneliness of not having anything in the first place.
**********
Dominic kept mainly to himself inside, but it was never a good idea to be a stray gazelle in those wilds. Luckily, he’d bonded with his cellmate, Curly, despite Dominic’s white skin and shaved head making a decidedly bad first impression. Dominic took to wearing his regimented beanie, even when it was hot, to avoid any misunderstandings. It only worked because of Curly, a regular of that particular prison despite being non-violent and easy-going. He had a calm, even way of talking that was suited perfectly to defusing tense situations, saving Dominic’s skin more than once.
“He’s just lost his first tooth,” Curly bragged, showing him the picture of his six-year-old kid, chubby-cheeked and grinning widely to show his missing front incisor. They were outside, apart but not isolated from the other groups of men.
“Damn, he’s cute. How the fuck’d that happen with you as the dad?” Dominic teased.
Curly laughed. “It’s all the missus. She theone, man. To put up with me…”
“Hey,Iput up with you. MaybeI’mthe one,” Dominic joked, unworried about how it would sound. Nobody knew his inclinations, didn’t even suspect, and joking like that would keep that particular secret in the dark more than jumpy denial.
“And get stuck with your ugly mug? No way,” Curly said, although he was still looking at his kid’s picture.
Dominic watched him from the corner of his eye, his gut squeezing slightly. Curly was older than him by a decade and had a lot more to show for it, despite both of them being in the same place. He got visits every week, both from his girl and his parents. Dominic wasn’t jealous, exactly—it was difficult for your loved ones to see you trapped like an animal in a cage. Good thing, then, that Dominic didn’t have anybody like that.
“What’s the plan, man? You gettin’ out soon,” Curly said, tucking the photo away.
Dominic shrugged, feeling the familiar mix of excitement and dread stabbing his gut.
“What. You scared?” Curly teased.
Dominic snorted. “Me? I’m not scared of nothin’.”
“Oooh, tough guy. Man, when I get out of here, there ain’t no way I’m comin’ back. No.Way.Imma stay clean this time or die trying. I’m done with this bullshit. Done.”
