we have a date with the underground, chapter 46
by Turtle Jones

Part 3 of a series.

Part 1
Part 2

I guess the first few hours weren't that bad. Well, yes they were. I was detoxing off the alcohol. That was bad. I guess what makes it worse is that I knew if I was sober for more than a few hours, I would probably seize up and be in the hospital. So my paranoia was slipping in to my head. Any kind of excuse to get a drink in me. When my body starts to sober up, a really weird feeling takes over me. As each minute passes by, my front teeth start to feel as if they are pushing out of my skull. It used to get really painful. Usually, I would seize up before the pain got too unbearable, but it was always a nice alarm clock in my head. When the pain gets too bad, I knew I would seize.

librium111.gifThat was one of the big reasons I had decided I wanted out of my life. When it seemed that I wasn't living my life on the edge anymore. Now I was over it. I guess I could compare my life right then to the last scene of Escape From New York. You remember that movie. Where Kurt Russell has a clock on his hand and if he doesn't get his fix before the timer hits zero a small explosion would happen inside of his brain killing him. That timer started about three hours after my last drink. Every time. Every day. That explosion was waiting in my brain.

That was the feeling right then. The pain was getting bad. I knew I had a few more hours in me before I hit the danger zone but from the look of the place I was in, I knew there was no vodka to be had. White walls and smiling faces. Fuck this. I was about to die and these assholes were asking me my name. Asking me if I was comfortable. If I needed to sit down. What would they say if I died right then? "You would never believe what happened to me today at work..."

Fuck that. They had seen it before. They had seen people like me before. Another face who tried to escape with the world's greatest eraser. Now they had to pick up the pieces. Albeit making a good profit, but I was nothing they hadn't seen before.

Then the questions came from them. What did I do. How much did I do. When was the last time I did. How long had I been doing it. All the while I was staring at the prohibition ads on the walls. From the 30's. I stared around the room. There had to be something around there to see other then to show the nurses my trembling hands. It was kind of like me showing off where I was at in withdrawing to them. A little proud, I guess. I needed to do something. Look around the walls some more. A picture of a beautiful girl with the words "Lips that taste wine will never touch mine" proudly displayed underneath her face. Geez. I needed out of there. I just needed a fucking gas station and a half hour alone. Then we can talk again. Just point me in the direction of the nearest town and we can talk later. I'll be back.

But, I wasn't there to leave. I wanted to stay.

I ran through my drug history to the doctors which is no big deal. Everyone lived like I did. I am still convinced of it. Well, not really. I know I went out of my way to do the things I did, but all of my friends did them too, so it never really felt strange. Didn't everyone start out their weeks like this? Getting high and staying high?

None of this admission crap would have been so bad if my mom wasn't there. That whole "we need you to be honest about your drug use" thing never really held much to me. Sure, I knew was an alcoholic and a drug addict. I really didn't care who knew it. Well, I did care about my mom knowing. Big ass bad motherfucker hanging his head down as I recited all of the drugs I used through out my life. What I still used and when I started this whole drug run.

I found out I really did care what others thought about me right at that moment. A single tear down my mom's face as I blurted out that I couldn't even take a shower earlier that morning without a bottle of vodka next to the sink.

That was low. Of all the words of hate that have been directed at me though out my years, nothing hurt as bad as the silence of a single tear.

180px-Klonopin1mg.jpgA red wristband was affixed to my arm as I was searched. Not like jail searched or anything like that, but they did find the pack of smokes I had on me. Didn't matter. I had another carton in my bag. About twelve different samples of my blood were taken. My teeth were ready to jump out of my skull. I had to say something. Fuck whoever was around to hear it. I just had to say it.

"Do you guys have any Librium or Klonos?"



It's pretty bad when you know detox drugs and have no shame in asking, or rather begging for them to give you what your body needs to stay around. Even in front of your mom.

"Yes we do."

"Could I get some?"

After that my teeth came back into my head and my breathing slowed down. Sure, I wasn't clean yet. Not by a long shot. But at least this was a start. Something at least.

And I had just gotten there.

We Have A Date With The Underground Archives


I never know what to say to these stories except glad you made it.


I really look forward to these every week. Sometimes it sounds a lot like me, sometimes it sounds a lot like my worst fears. But I'm getting something out of this alright. Thanks Turtle. Nothing for no reason.


what do librium and klonos do?

when did you know?

am I patient enough to let you tell me this story?

probably not. don't indulge me.

tell it.


Thank you for doing this. It takes a brave heart.

I'm glad you're on the other side.


Note to self, if booking The Turtle for a roundup or convention, make sure you give him enough time to get sober.


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