The Indian Doctor, and the Demon

A recount of what it’s like to be in total addiction, and how and why it’s so easy to do the things addicts do. Below, is my example.

So here I am, sitting anxiously in front of my new Doctor. Either my new best friend, or most hated enemy. I don’t know yet. This is how the start of every doctor shopping trip goes. She looked Indian. Her attire was smart casual, but still reflected what I believe was Indian dress culture. The most prominent thing though, that I remember about her was her smile. It was a really nice smile, warm, friendly, caring.

She waited in anticipation…

“So,” she said with a pleasant smile “What can I do for you…Harrison?”.

I lost it, I broke down into tears. I could barely speak through the shudders that were pillaging my throat.

“It’s my best friend, he..he..took his own life a few days ago.. I, only found out this morning”

I don’t remember what she said, but she was assuring, and calm. I could feel the empathy…., the sympathy… her voice. Her voice was comforting.

The demon in my head feels pleased, because I know I’ve got a good one. I’ve got a truster.


I milked her some more with a little backstory, about how he’d sent me a message on Facebook a few days before, and I how I hadn’t replied. I told her that he had depression, and drug problems but wouldn’t get any help. His mum didn’t even really know what was going on. Only I knew. It was my secret. I could see her heart bleeding for me in front of me.

“I feel like it’s my fault?” I sobbed.

Of course it wasn’t. She consoled me once more, assuring me it was not my fault in anyway.

Eventually I got round to explaining that I had to fly to the UK for the funeral. I needed some pain killers for the flight. The usual story. Usual excuses.

“Normally I’d see the pain clinic, but it takes a month to get an appointment and I don’t have time”. She wrote the script, and the letter. The demon in my head smiled,
and I felt the warm sensation so familar to me brewing in my stomach. Soon, I would be feeling good. I had fooled the mule, as lovely as she was, and now I had what I wanted.

She was a lovely doctor, a truly kind, caring, and compassionate human being, yet I played her. I manipulated her in every way. Emotionally, physically, morally.

And still I didn’t feel the slightiest built guilty. She thought my pain was real, so her sympathy…her kindness was real too. I really liked her. I made an appointment
to come back and see her in a week, or after I’d gotten back from the fabricated funeral.

The irony being it was far more likely to end up being my funeral.

And that was that, I thanked her kindly, and she smiled. She asked me to come back once I was back so we could see how I was doing, whether I would need some assistance or counselling etc. She truly was a lovely women.

This is what it’s like to be a drug addict, I did a shameful, immoral, probably not legal, horrible thing. I used my abilities to manipulate a kind passionate doctor who was genuinely trying to help, Unfortunately what had really happened  was I had betrayed myself, betrayed the Doctor, betrayed just about everyone. I didn’t feel even am inch of guilt. The demon inside me, does not feel emotions. It has only one true agenda. To kill me. To drag me down to the lowest place I could possibly reach. It felt like I could never stop. I would continue to do the Dance until I was either homeless, loveless, alone, and or dead. I felt truly trapped.

My mental health was in such a state, that I actually felt GOOD about using the story of a friend, hanging himself, and  having to fly to the UK for his funeral. It was easy. The demon makes it so easy most of the time. It just makes the right (wrong) things come out of my mouth, it makes my emotions feel real, like the whole thing actually happened. It’s so authentic because in some sense you start to believe it’s real too. The self justification nullifies the guilt a normal person would be feeling for making up such an awful story just to get some addictive drugs. The whole act, including the “fake but real” feelings, the tears, the trembling and anxiety are all just part of some sick act just to get a Doctor to give you what the demon wants. It’s the only thing that matters, fuck morals, fuck people, fuck feelings, fuck guilt, fuck everything.
The demon would do anything to relief it’s insidious desire for the very poison that destroys you from the inside.

If anyone has ever told you to be careful with drugs, whether it’s beer, weed, opiates, and you think you’ll be ok. You’re ok now, surely a couple of pills here and there couldn’t do too much harm. Certainly couldn’t change you right down to the core. You are wrong. Drugs can. Drugs will. Drugs do. You don’t see or feel the change of course, and you’ll believe that everyone else thinks nothings wrong too. Again an ill-fated judgement. Your family will know. Your friends will know. Everyone knows. They might not know why, or what is happening that is causing the change, but I promise you, everyone see’s it. Most just won’t say anything because it’s too hard to. When I was at my worst, the amount of stress and worry I must have put on my entire family was huge. Yet I had no awareness of this at all. Then I’d get all angry when any of them showed the slightest bit of frustration at my doings. I believed I was fine. They were crazy, paranoid, delusional.

But no, deep down, even when you feel your fine, and that you haven’t changed and that people are just acting crazy, or ignorant. I believe most people, if they look deep enough inside, until you reach the part of you that is still the real you, you’ll know everything is true, and that something must change, because you’ve lost yourself.

The real me, and the addict inside me are completely different people. We have nothing in common, we just share the same body, the same mind. It’s a constant struggle for control. The real me is kind, caring, empathetic, considerate, sometimes annoying, sometimes anxious, sometimes stressed, but it’s still the real me.

But that thing, I become when I lose control, is nothing like me. It cares only about the next high, the next relief. You are basically on standby mode, the only actions you do, will all be in some shape of form, moving you towards picking up* Acquiring drugs one way or another”.

It’s not easy to stay in control, it’s so easy to slip. Hopefully it’s just a slip, and you can get back up and keep going forward. Unfortunately, statistically speaking this just isn’t what happens. Unless you are very strong, and have a lot of support and people around you then your chances are slim. And even with the most support anyone could offer it will still be hard. Every addict knows deep down that only they can brake the bond. Others can help, but ultimately it’s your journey. They can give you a boat, oars, food supplies, a map, everything you need to get going. However they cannot row down the river for you. They can’t direct you. You just have to try and make the best decisions you can, at each and every turn. No one can change you, unless you change yourself.

Harrison aka KM

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