The Ritual

It’s always the same. The music starts. It’s slow at first. Soft. Relaxing. It’s meant to calm the inevitable anxiety, but rarely does it succeed in that endeavor – not completely. Still, it is better then silence, and it always comes first.

Next is the preparation, the physical preparation. All the requirements are laid out on the table. First the bottle is set down, followed by the vial, and so on, until finally the last item is put into place. Everything is opened and prepared to enable the process to flow smoothly from start to finish. I like preparation. It allows for a small delay.

Once all is organized and neat and ready, the task truly begins. The needles swap. The syringe fills its void with air – but only to the mark. Then the vial is pierced and the emptiness is quickly transferred. Not too hastily – that would cause pockets. Pockets are bad. Mere seconds pass, and the syringe and the vial both are ready for the second phase of transference to begin. This time it’s slower, gentler. This is the true beginning of the ritual, when the fluid slowly fills the cylinder. I stare at it in wonder every time. The awe has never abated. The music flowing in the background transforms this moment into magic. Soon the mark is met for the second time, and the needle withdraws.

The needles trade positions once again, and the first is discarded. It has served its purpose. The second has yet to fulfill its duty, but soon it too will be put to good use. Very soon. I caress my outer thigh with cotton damp from alcohol. The music shifts. No longer a meandering melody, the new sounds come hard and fast. The tempo is quick, the beats are loud, and it comes crashing down all around me. The sounds signal a slight rush of adrenaline. It provides focus, and numbs the fear of pain. Pain caused by the needle placed against my leg. A deep breath. A bit of pressure. With very little effort it slides past the skin and deep into the tissue beneath. It is held steady, while I adjust to its presence. My thumb tugs slightly upwards on the plunger, but there is no rush of blood to taint the cloudy yellow substance. There never is. It never hurts to check.

The worst has passed. The anxiety is all but gone. I allow my muscles to relax. It is with calm anticipation that I begin to force the liquid inside of me. I press downward on the plunger. Slowly – it must be slowly, for the liquid is thick and offers much resistance. The seconds tick by. Once again, the music is helpful. I focus my attention on the sound and the pressure against my thumb. Finally, the container is empty – there is nothing left. There is no longer any reason for the bit of metal to be taking up space in my thigh. In one swift motion I remove it from my body and place a bit of cotton against the puncture wound it leaves behind. The cotton serves as a temporary placeholder, as I prepare the bandage that will be relieving it shortly. With the bandage in place I gently massage the fluid beneath my skin.

The music is turned down. I breathe a sigh of contentment. All is quiet. All is right.