I just caught a snippet of that ambush intervention show on A&E. That's where they follow around an addict, lying to them by claiming that the camera is filming a documentary or something else innoculous. Meanwhile, they also have behind the scenes interviews with the addicts family and friends, telling them that the only way to help the addict is with an intervention. These two parts of the show travel in parallel, with one showing how frakked up the addict is, and the other with how trapped their friends and family feel. Then, in one glorious kismet, there's the ambush money shot where the addict is confronted by everyone else and told if they don't immediately agree to go into treatment, they will be cut off from all contact and support. Cue the tears and screaming and ranting and uncomfortable silences. It's spiffy.
Anyway, the promo spot I saw was for the next episode where the woman being targeted is a prescription pain medication abuser. She has rhumetoid arthritis is and is obviously pretty farked up overall. In the few clips, you see her passed out on the floor of her kitchen with broken crockery around her and in another, sitting on a couch doing the glazed stoner bob.
I sometimes think to myself that there but for the grace of God goes I. Which is immediately followed by the thought that maybe it's not grace but a curse. For me, pain medications and opiates have never been happy pills. Taken in a high enough dose, they always come with the side-effect of nausea and a heavy-headed malaise. I'm sure I've mentioned a few times how I've often felt incredibly gypped at this response. It just dosen't seem fair somehow that there are all these wasted crackheads running around getting happy off drugs that only manage to make me want to puke. Fuckers. Of course, just having the pain relief is nice enough, but I was always hoping for something...well...more. I mean, what the hell do I care anymore? It would probably be worthwhile to have a happy pill in my life. God knows it might be a nice change of pace.