MONKEY ON MY BACK

I sat nervously. Hands fidgeting, playing with my dark, nappy hair. I glanced at the clock and asked my now ex-wife, “Babe, should we get more?” She and I have a monkey in common. It’s a particularly sadistic monkey. Makes you feel great, but once it has its’ paws on you, you’re in for a very long haul. Anyway. I sat, expecting her to say yes to my inquiry. She inhales deeply, skin flushed red, her pupils dilated to pinpoints. Matching mine as well. “Babe, it’s your money.” Not really an answer. I call my guy.

“Yo, are you good? I need two more.”

“Yeah, man meet me at the slots parlor by Circle-K."

As we leave to make our way and meet at the usual spot. A run-down gas station. Rife with garbage and random paraphernalia, needles, pipes, empty foil packets. It was the type of place illicit drugs would be sold. I have a dilemma though. I’m compelled to indulge in this terrible habit. At the expense of productivity and my obligations as a husband and father. As we arrive to the gas station and pull in. I see a look of disdain flash briefly through my wife’s eyes. I know that look. The monkey has her in a choke-hold like me, whispering sweet promises of dopamine to her body and mind.

“Babe, we got to’ stop eventually,” I say as I get the cash from my wallet. “I know I’ve been lacking and it’s making it hard for us.”

She looks at me lovingly, cups my face with her small, dainty fingers. “We will babe. We must. I can’t keep stressing like this. You’re supposed to be a provider.”

The warm cloud that permeates through my body shoves my feelings of inadequacy to the recesses of my mind. The monkey has choked them out of me. It feels so good, the clouds. Like being inside a fresh-baked loaf of bread. It felt as if someone had set a small space- heater inside my belly. My guy approaches the window, and we make our transaction.

As I pull out the usual materials, I pause for a bit. Faced with conflict within myself over a little blue pill. I crushed it and handed the powder to my wife. There’s a monkey on both of our backs. I feel a rush of warmth, as the clouds start in my diaphragm. Pure euphoric sensation rushes through me and even my wife’s nagging earlier dissipates. I do have duties though.

This is where the monkey becomes sadistic. It convinces you you don’t need it. It’s not even there. At first it is weak and whispers nothing but a good time to you. He isn’t lying either. Then once you’re used to him being on your back, the slow choke happens. You start to shag bills. You ruin marriages. The arguments? Thunderous. You waste money. Worst of all, you don’t want to get him off your back after a point. Somehow, as if you yourself are a masochist. You enjoy the monkey’s embrace even though it’s taking your life. Eventually it becomes a strangle. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu tier stuff, I’m talking rear naked. You’re borderline homeless now, your body ravaged and covered in cysts, scars and pimples. Your face has sunken in, you’ve lost weight. The monkey is going for the finish.

One day, as close to passing out as one with a monkey can get. I decided to fight. Getting the monkey off was harsh at first. It started with a cycle of intense pain, cramps, and diarrhea. As if the monkey had poisoned me, intent on finishing what it started. Being choked by a monkey is a grueling experience in all reality, getting it off is not a battle with the monkey itself, but a twisted version of you. Your wants and whims, and everything ugly inside as well. The things you would do for that monkey to let you breathe a bit. If you never take it off, it is satisfied. Me though, I wanted it off. Willing to make dire changes, I moved out of my marital home. I know, very abrupt. The monkeys had caused our relationship to deteriorate and were all that was left of our marriage. A travesty. A tragedy. I wanted my life back though. Months passed as I grappled with the monkey. I went from place to place, trying to get as far from the monkey as possible. It’s everywhere, it’s sweet promise of dopamine inescapable. I overcame it’s impetuous and perpetual advances at my throat.

The monkey is finally off. It has been off for a year this last October. I can now pay my bills. I have a stable, comfortable home. I can also keep and sustain long-term relationships. The monkey’s choke had effectively affected every aspect of my life. Those good times blinded me to my own suffocation. I see people with a monkey on their backs in passing. I can see them choking, silently bereft of air. I feel for them, but then I breathe deeper than ever. It’s a fallacy to make everyone equal, but if I can beat my monkey. They can too.