VIVA LA VIDOO part ii

continued from Viva la Vidoo i

When I tell people I have a teenage daughter, they give me the Look.
That is not unusual on their part, since I tend to be on the receiving butt of a series of Looks. But I do wish strangers wouldn't doubt me so unequivocally when I tell them I've adopted her, since I sport heavy self-doubt as well, and that just ain't too helpful. That 'But you are just 20' exclamation mark line is so three months ago.
And forget, just forget about telling them it was a drug-induced decision, if not for my sake then from the hazy viewpoint of two highly relevant persons, one of which being the adoptee. Then I'd get those killer Looks I try in vain to imitate as I brush my teeth.

The actual kablooie occurred a week before Rotem's Israel visit. It's been four months since Benny and I initiated a group-therapy program at an Anglo school in the area. I spent weeks getting on personal terms with the teens, and Benny ran the administrative.
Overall, they were a bunch of chemical-abusers, each to an individual extent, every single member originating in a religious home, and most supplementing mood-swings to an extreme which suggested varying levels of clinical depression.

Vidoo was different. No, she wasn't. I was different about her. Duh, a professional mistake, but then I never chose my profession. She was more accessible, possibly since her angst was overridden by savage sadness. She was rarely violent or socially inept. She was quiet, and listened to country rock and was to'ally hilarious. We spent long afternoons listening right through her entire CD collection, an exclusive snob club affiliating Janis Joplin and the Eagles.
We purchased Kojak the Beanbag together, we rollerbladed and laughed. It was impossible to hug Vidoo or verbally express her some lovin', but see if I care. Not so long ago I hated everybody too, and shortly before that, I was property of drugs and dicks just the same. Which is probably a good piece of training, since soon enough she began to impart some shocking anecdotes, especially at strategic times such as supper.
'Gross, Vidoo! I'm so off my pasta, you fat bastard!' Claire would yell.
'...And then I woke up in car and he said, "You don't remember anything, right? Right? You like those Quaalies, doncha?" and I was so high I just nodded.'
'Ohmygod you have such issues. Did you feel anything?'
'Nope. There is no evidence, except in my imagination. I am missing these two or three days of my life.'
'You should miss more, God willing. Gross. This bastard pasta is to'ally nil now. '
'Yep. And Quaas are so Seventies, could you believe it?'
I found myself loving her, sans reciprocal but to hell with it.

She told me she cuts, though I was aware. She was a recovering anorexic and hungry for silent medicated sleep, so she purchased some meds over the counter. In a kick of conscience Vidoo sat on Kojak and reported herself. Habitually she knocked on my door at 4 a.m. to dispatch off a razor, teary-eyed and confused.
I never had to deal with self-harmers before, and turned to Benny with some aggression, informing him of my incapacity. He laughed as usual, and said that Hell yeah I can. 'I heard it's a self-inflicted paradise,' he grins. 'Sometimes I'm tempted for an endorphin rush myself.'
Taking on Claire's cue, I replied that he's a to'ally diseased fat bastard.

Then she stole back the medication and overdosed. I found her at the last stages, blue lips spluttering brown foam, purple limbs convulsing, eyeballs rolling. Traumatized, I acted placidly. Called an ambulance, a Benny, an insurance company. Filled her details, replied thoughtfully, searched for evidence.
We followed her to the ER and remained with her throughout a crazy night of close death and seizures and valium. But when it was mid-morning and Benny had to leave, I decided to stay for another week, or at least until she gets out of coma.
The real reason being that I was afraid to sleep.

continued on Viva la Vidoo iii