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nursing home. Sandy tries to hide her pain, but I know not having the relationship she wants and needs from her family hurts her. That’s always been something we’ve had in common, and I tell her all the time that I know exactly how she feels.
    Sandy couldn’t hide her shock at my horrible appearance. I knew I looked like a bum off the street, and in many ways that’s exactly what I had become.
    “Sarah, honey, you’ve got to get cleaned up first. It’s gonna be a while before I can put you with any of my clients. I need you to be clean from head to toe - no drugs, no alcohol. If you can’t stay clean, then you can’t work for me, and that goes for all of my girls. Do we have a deal?” Sandy asked as she looked me in my eyes.
    “I need this so badly, Sandy. Yes, we have a deal. I’m going to get clean, and I’m going to stay clean. I promise.”
    Sandy convinced me that I needed professional help. She took me in and covered expenses for a rehab facility that was about an hour outside of Detroit. For years I believed I was strong enough to get clean on my own, but during those times, I always relapsed quickly. I promised to pay Sandy back as soon as I had the money, and I meant it. I knew Sandy loved me, but I would not take advantage of her or our friendship.
    The facility was beautiful and in a remote location. There were lots of trees, bushes, beautiful gardens and sitting areas all over the grounds. It was peaceful, and when you think about it, when you’re dealing with a sickness like addiction, you need peace in your life. Being cut off from the outside world was exactly what I needed. For most of my life I’d been surrounded by chaos. Even when alone, I never had peace because my thoughts and memories plagued me like a recurring nightmare. At the rehab facility there would be no more distractions, no more temptations, no more hiding from the truth and having an excuse for everything. It was my time to come clean - mentally and physically, and I felt like I was ready.
    The withdrawals were awful, but the staff at the rehab facility were right there helping me through it all. I spent four months in rehab, going through all the steps and not rushing anything like I did before. I invited my family to the facility so I could apologize to them individually. I refused to invite my father, but I did extend an invitation to my mother. It was no surprise when she declined. “If you can’t talk to your daddy then you don’t talk to me,” was what she told me.  My counselors weren’t happy about the stance I took against my father, but I didn’t care. I did speak to my mother on the phone a second time, and I managed to stay on the phone long enough to apologize to her for all the hurt and pain I’d caused her. I didn’t go into detail about each and every offense because I was afraid she’d hang up on me, so I made my apology broad to cover all of my offenses against her. I tried to keep it as heartfelt as possible, but she was cold and short towards me anyway, and I expected as much. To say it was an awkward and uncomfortable conversation would be a huge understatement, but it needed to be done as part of my recovery and for my own closure.
    If there was one thing that I hated besides the withdrawals, it was talking to the psychiatrist. His name was Dr. Walters and he was an older gentleman and knew bullshit when he heard it. I participated in our sessions, but I kept some things buried and gave just enough to satisfy him. There were things he wanted me to discuss that I simply wasn’t ready to. He challenged me a few times, calling me out on my bullshit and he would remind me how transparency was key to my recovery. I understood this, but I also felt overwhelmed at times. I was addressing so many things at once.
    When I finally left rehab, I felt like I was ready to conquer anything. Now that I’d gone through rehab and had become honest with myself about my mistakes and the choices I’d made, and how