No affordable drug rehab - victims are caught in the cycle
As I was unloading my car this evening after having worked late and then having gone shopping for basic essentials like milk for my morning coffee, the neighbor that lives across the street from me came over to tell me the news. Our fellow neighbor, Wayne, was found dead in his house late this afternoon. Apparently, Wayne's brother had received a anonymous phone tip that he needed to check on Wayne. The brother tried calling and got no answer, so he went to Wayne's house and found the car in the drive and the television on. He tried knocking but no one came to the door. Since he had no key, his only option was to break a window to gain access. Once he broke the window he knew what waited for him on the inside.
He found Wayne dead and Wayne had been dead for days. The smell hangs heavy in the humid night air as I type this, the broken window covered, but not replaced. An autopsy is to be performed, but I would venture to guess that Wayne died of an overdose. You see, he was our neighborhood drug dealer. When the supply was in, his driveway was as crowded as the McDonalds drive-thru at lunch time on pay day. At first he just pedaled marijuana, but the market and his appetite called for more. I don't know what he was into these last few years, but I know it wasn't good, his appearance over the years having changed from vibrant to washed out, his eyes from clear and red to cloudy and confused.
Wayne’s drug use began like most, recreational use in high school that lead to an entire social life that encompassed drugs in all shapes and forms. Then he found he could make money supplying drugs, then it was more than just money made to buy more drugs, it was money made to live off of, to not have to work, to be a free spirit. Despite the “criminal” nature of his vocation and habit, he was a nice guy. To be honest, the drugs and the alcohol abuse had killed so many of his brain cells that he became a simpleton of sorts, but he was a simpleton with a great big heart.
I moved into this house almost 20 years ago. Back then Wayne was vibrant and feisty, we argued constantly about his use of my pier when he was too drunk or loaded to know what he was doing. I didn't want someone getting hurt and suing me, so I didn't let him use my pier. He had helped to build the pier before I moved in, so he felt he was entitled to use it. It was a constant battle for us and he would display his anger over my denying him use of the pier every 4th of July and New Years Eve by bombarding my house with bottle rockets and other loud, obnoxious fireworks.
The feud over the pier ended when Hurricane George washed away the pier. The cleansing of the storm. When storms hit this area the bay rises into our yards, bringing with it the trash tossed into the bay by those who take her for granted. When the water receeds, the trash remains, piled high in our yards, as if God threw up in our backyards. After George came and left, Wayne was one of the first people to come to my aid. He helped me take down the plywood protecting my house and he helped me clean up the debris in the yard. Hell, it was just a little over two weeks ago that he came over with cordless drill in hand to offer to help me put up the plywood over my windows when Hurricane Dennis was threatening our coast. The drug use had taken its toll on his body and he looked frail and haggard, but still he smiled his goofy smile and still he offered to help. He was like that. If my dryer was broken, he would fix it. If he saw me doing something under the hood of my car, he would come over and offer to help. If I was up on the roof, cleaning the leaves off of it, he would ask if I needed help and he would hang around to make sure I made it down the ladder safely. He was a decent human being.
Wayne was addicted to drugs and to alcohol. The same drugs that brought him pleasure as a youth, that made him invincible as a young man, that paid his bills and made him popular among his crowd, killed him this weekend. It was inevitable, I knew that. I had a friend die years ago from an overdose. He laid in his house for a day before he was found, barely alive. He survived long enough to hear his family members tell them they loved him, to hear me say I loved him, before he slipped into a coma and died. I knew the signs, and yes, it was inevitable for Wayne. But that doesn't take away the sadness, that doesn't lessen the pain. A human being died this weekend and he died alone.
I can't tell you how many times Wayne’s dog, Dixie, would get out of the fence and run the street, howling and carrying on, causing me to go out to quiet her and herd her back to his house. His car in the drive, the television on, the sound of the window unit humming, I would hesitate before I knocked, stopping to say a prayer that he would answer, fearful that he would not answer because he couldn't, because he had died from an overdose. Loud banging on the door would rouse him and those foggy eyes would eventually peep out the window and my prayers were answered. I wasn’t the one that found him. It happened as I feared it would, but I wasn’t the one who found him. How sad it is that he died days ago and wasn't found until today. He was only 45.
The truly sad thing is, Wayne got in trouble with the law for his drug possession, but no offers of rehabilitation were ever made. Most members of our society don't recognize drug abuse as an illness, they see it only as bad behavior that requires punishment. The ones wealthy enough to afford rehab are treated, the rest, discarded to the human land fill that is known as prison or jail. Wayne had a record, so he could find no work that paid him beyond minimum wage and the sale of drugs was the only way he knew how to make a decent living. It’s a nasty cycle that exists in our society. Drug use to escape, drug sales to make a quick buck, jail time for the crime, drug use to escape and celebrate, drug sales to survive.
As a society we do nothing to stop the cycle. Hell, how many folks, let alone drug dealers, do you know don't have health insurance? Even if they want to kick their habit and give up the "job" they can't, there are no avenues of escape. The cycle continues and the Waynes of this world die and others will take their place, take over their markets, use the drugs, push the drugs, go to jail because of the drugs and eventually die because of the drugs. We are a disposable society and we have little patience for those that do not fit our image of perfect or that have broken “society’s” rules.
Every Christmas Wayne and his friends would get toasted and climb high into a tall, slender tree in his front yard to string colorful lights. Those lights will never be strung again. Wayne died this weekend.
post script: And as I try to sleep, Wayne's dog, Dixie, sits in his front yard barking and howling, waiting for him to come out and put her back behind the fence. She won't leave the yard. She paces and she waits. It is my humble opinion that a loyal dog is the sign that the owner was a good and loving person.
mmh Tue Jul 26, 2005 3:32 am
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Posted: Tue Jul 26, 2005 10:23 am
pss: As I left for work this morning, there was Dixie sitting vigil in her master's front yard.
I wrote this essay last week as a form of therapy when my neighbor was found dead. I have had others suggest I post it, but I hate the idea of posting it in GD or the Lounge for fear of freepers ridiculing and mocking the contents and/or Wayne. I hope you don't mind that I post it here.
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