I Seem to Be out of Drugs: A Phone Conversation

Hi baby. How are you?

I’m lousy. I think I’m out of drugs.

What do you mean?

Last week I forgot to take my pills for three days in a row, and now I’m feeling it deep in my brain.

Oh. Do you think it made a difference? Sometimes I don’t take my pills for weeks at a time on purpose.

Does that make you feel crazy?

I always feel crazy.

I can’t tell if I feel lousy because the drugs are out of my system right now or because I forgot. Maybe I just hate myself because I forgot. Now I’m punishing my brain by making it feel bad.

If that’s true, then it will work the opposite way. Think happy thoughts. Think about…um.

I lay in bed this morning and dreamt about aborted fetuses of friends, all grown up. They looked like race dogs except in their faces.

I have been trying to clean my apartment. I stare at the mess and the crap for an hour and then I turn on Montel. Then I sleep until 8 pm and then I call you.

I think it has to do with this heat. This heat just saps the drugs right out of my system. The happiness sweats away.

I know. I stay inside. I have to stay inside anyway or other people will smell me. I am ripe in the summer.

How long before I feel like myself again? Three weeks? I can’t wait that long. I’ll kill myself. Everything looks different. In the middle of the night, I can’t remember who my boyfriend is sleeping beside me, and I think of running away.

When my brother was in the hospital, he tried to kill his roommate once. He got his own room out of it though.

I want my own room. I want to hibernate there until the drugs are back in place. I miss the drugs. The drugs were making it all work. I feel like I’m just a prescription form waiting to be filled.

Have you tried talking to your therapist?

I accidentally missed my appointment and now I owe her $100 for nothing and it’s embarrassing.

Yesterday I spent half of my rent money from the government on colored pens and pencils.

I spent my last $20 on Mexican food. I couldn’t stop eating it. I could focus on the chips and not my own supply. I could dip them.

Last time I went to the doctor, he told me I lost nine pounds.

That’s great. That’s what I’ve gained in a week. Every night I say no more ice cream and then I discover ice cream for the first time and I hate it for making me feel better.

Coffee and cigarettes make me feel better.

Those are expensive habits.

Maybe, but I know a barrista and I smoke Kools.

At college I found an old man at an auto parts store who sold me local cigarettes for $10 a carton.

Sometimes I just smoke butts that I find lying on the sidewalk.

Sometimes I throw out the cookies and then dig them out of the trash can later.

What time is it?

I don’t know.

Do you want to come over? You can’t come inside because there’s no floor left but you can meet me at the frozen yogurt place.

I can’t. I’m sick. And I don’t have any money to buy stuff with and it will just make me more depressed because I can’t eat anything. I’m just going to stay here and count the minutes. Maybe make some macaroni and cheese.

Put on some music. That helps me.

Music makes me cry.

I’m reading a good book.

What is it?

It’s about shame.

Can I borrow it? Actually – nevermind. I am already reading something.


An erotica novel. I found it at the bottom of a stack.

Is it sexy?

I guess. If you’re into sex.

Only with myself.

I gotta go. That dog is barking next door again and I can’t stand it.

Okay. I hope you feel better.

Thanks. I love you.

I love you too.

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