Going to Drug Rehab
It should’ve been a standard Saturday morning, but this time I woke up feeling different. It took me a while to realize why. I couldn’t remember what I’d done the night before; didn’t remember going to bed. That was normal. But trying to open my eyes was next to impossible. That was not normal.
Pain shot through my head, and I lifted a hand up to my face. Touching a finger to my cheek made nausea roll through my stomach. I felt the swelling and tenderness covering my eyes. I ran my tongue over my teeth, gingerly prodding a few of the wobblier ones. They’d heal; they usually did.
I rolled over in bed and through my swollen eyes, I looked at the holes in the wall.
Oh, right. I pissed him off again.
I slowly sat up, cradling my face in my hands. Usually, blurry recollections would come back to me shortly after waking up. I hated facing the embarrassment of knowing what I’d done the night before.
I Decided to Quit Cocaine
But instead of a day of missing memories, this morning should’ve been my first day of sobriety. Last night I had decided to quit cocaine, once and for all and going to drug rehab. After powering through a bag and a half by myself, I was sick of it. Enough was enough.
I sat at home on the floor of my living room, snorting line after line and watching the movie Clueless on mute. I just felt so sad. And lonely. Being a drug addict was lonely. That’s one thing Trainspotting didn’t touch on. Drugs were meant to be a social lubricant, right? So why did I spend my days alone?
I didn’t see my family any more. I was too ashamed of what I’d become. I had no friends; they were just people to do cocaine with.
My boyfriend hated me, and I hated him. I used him for free drugs, and he used me because I made him look good in public. He was big in the drug scene, and there was always an abundance of the stuff.
Deciding to Go to Rehab That Night Was Exciting
I was fed up. Deciding to go to rehab that night was exciting, motivating. Maybe too motivating. Because in my eagerness to turn over a new leaf, I ransacked the apartment. All the drugs I found, I tipped every bit down the drain. Coke, speed, weed, meth, ketamine, liquid morphine. Bags and bags hidden everywhere. I looked inside every pair of shoes and every pair of jeans. I ran shaky fingers across the tops of bookshelves and photo frames. There were bongs and crack pipes hidden in the air vents. I pulled the fixtures off the ceiling fans and found more drugs – I even found LSD inside the light fixture in the refrigerator. After living with a dealer for nearly four years, I knew all his secret spots. And I cleared them all out.
I sat down on the floor and lit up a cigarette, proud of this new me. And then the gravity of what I’d just done hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d just thrown out thousands of dollars’ worth of drugs – drugs that weren’t even ours.
I was still really high, so I didn’t feel fear – but maybe I should’ve. My ex had been such a sweet guy before he’d gotten hooked on drugs. These days he wasn’t known for his patience and understanding, and he certainly wouldn’t understand this.
I Was Tired of Feeling Less Than Human
The aftermath of that night was scarring, both physically and emotionally. Waking up the next day and seeing the debris of our fight was yet another wakeup call. I was tired of dismissing the fist-sized holes in the walls as nothing to be alarmed about. I was tired of stealing concealer from department stores in a bid to cover up my bruises. I was tired of being abused. Mostly, I was tired of feeling less than human, as if I wasn’t worthy of respect and love.
My Plane Ticket Was Waiting for Me at the Airport
Later that afternoon, when the house was silent and I was sure there was no one home, I filled up a garbage bag with my belongings. I was done. I was leaving. My parents weren’t fully aware of my sorry circumstances, but they knew me well enough to know that I was in trouble. They had offered their help and support, and I was finally going to take them up on it. I called the addiction line and the guy on the phone, Craig had made all of the arrangements for me. He spoke with my insurance company and had everything with them approved and set up for me. I knew where I was going and my plane ticket was waiting for me at the airport. I was finally getting sober, I was going to rehab.
This experience was just the start of my long journey to sobriety. It’s been a hard road. It always will be. But there comes a time in everyone’s lives when they have just had enough. I was aching, humiliated, and defeated. But for the first time in a long time, I was sober – and safe.
And I’ve stayed that way ever since.