press the call button when you’re ready.”
I knew that I needed to get help, but I’d tried to get clean in the past and failed. Heroin was my crutch, my only friend. Even though I didn’t get addicted by choice, this drug had turned into my escape, and the idea of leaving it behind scared the hell out of me. If I couldn’t numb myself, I knew my memories and nightmares would be even worse. They were already so vivid and controlling, and the only reprieve I got was after injecting that poison into my veins.
I hated being dope sick. All I wanted to do right now was get high. If I went to detox, I’d be in serious physical withdrawal for days, but it would take my mind a lot longer than that in rehab to rid myself of the mental cravings. I didn’t want to try and get clean, just to fail again.
If I didn’t try, I couldn’t fail.
As many times as I’d wished I died with my friends that night…I didn’t really want to now. If an ambulance didn’t come last night, I’d have been dead for sure.
Maybe what I really needed was a fresh start. Get the hell out of this forsaken city and start over. I could get a new job, maybe go back to school and get my own little apartment somewhere. Make new friends and a new life where people didn’t know me—a place where people wouldn’t know what I had done and what I’d been through. It might be my only chance at a real life. At happiness.
Maybe I could call my family again after I was settled. I’d let them know that I was alive and that I loved them. I wouldn’t bother them until I was sure I could stay clean and sober, though. They had tried to be there for me, tried to help me, but I wouldn’t let them. I didn’t deserve them.
The idea of a new life sounded better by the second. Rehab would attempt to teach me new ways to cope. They’d give me medicine while I was detoxing so I wouldn’t be too sick. They’d help me get started with my new life.
Plus, if I refused treatment, this doctor threatened to Section me. I’d rather go to a nice program on my own, than be forced into some shitty place. If I were going to do this, I’d rather do it the right way.
I knew it was going to suck, but at this point I only hoped that it would eventually get better. I needed to look at the bigger picture. I wanted a new life away from Breckston, and this doctor was offering that to me.
With a deep breath, I hit the red call button attached to my bed. The doctor immediately returned.
“Whats your name?” I asked curiously.
“Dr. Trafalgar,” he answered patiently.
“Dr. T, I’d like some information on this great place you’re talking about. I want to get help.”
Oh God, I couldn’t believe I was doing this. My anxiety was insane right now. I was so sick from the heroin withdrawing from my body. What if I couldn’t do it? What if I couldn’t find a new way to keep all my demons at bay? Can I get high one more time before I leave? I haven’t been trying to escape reality over some petty shit. No, my issues were real and intense—nightmares. The kind of thing you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.
Beyond all my fears, there was a hint of excitement at the thought of starting over and being able to live the rest of my life in some sense of happiness. It would be worth the risk of failure.
It was what I wanted.
It was what I needed.
A genuine smile spread across the doctor’s face. He sat down in the seat next to my bed and handed me a pamphlet and a stapled packet of printouts. He had been prepared, hoping I would choose wisely.
“It’s okay to be afraid, but you just completed one of the hardest steps of all. You just accepted that you need help.”
I listened attentively while he explained where I’d be going and when I’d be leaving. I didn’t miss a word as he continued to tell me the expectations of the program, and their success rate.
I looked right in Dr. T's eyes when he finished explaining the program to me. I wanted him to see that I
I knew that I needed to get help, but I’d tried to get clean in the past and failed. Heroin was my crutch, my only friend. Even though I didn’t get addicted by choice, this drug had turned into my escape, and the idea of leaving it behind scared the hell out of me. If I couldn’t numb myself, I knew my memories and nightmares would be even worse. They were already so vivid and controlling, and the only reprieve I got was after injecting that poison into my veins.
I hated being dope sick. All I wanted to do right now was get high. If I went to detox, I’d be in serious physical withdrawal for days, but it would take my mind a lot longer than that in rehab to rid myself of the mental cravings. I didn’t want to try and get clean, just to fail again.
If I didn’t try, I couldn’t fail.
As many times as I’d wished I died with my friends that night…I didn’t really want to now. If an ambulance didn’t come last night, I’d have been dead for sure.
Maybe what I really needed was a fresh start. Get the hell out of this forsaken city and start over. I could get a new job, maybe go back to school and get my own little apartment somewhere. Make new friends and a new life where people didn’t know me—a place where people wouldn’t know what I had done and what I’d been through. It might be my only chance at a real life. At happiness.
Maybe I could call my family again after I was settled. I’d let them know that I was alive and that I loved them. I wouldn’t bother them until I was sure I could stay clean and sober, though. They had tried to be there for me, tried to help me, but I wouldn’t let them. I didn’t deserve them.
The idea of a new life sounded better by the second. Rehab would attempt to teach me new ways to cope. They’d give me medicine while I was detoxing so I wouldn’t be too sick. They’d help me get started with my new life.
Plus, if I refused treatment, this doctor threatened to Section me. I’d rather go to a nice program on my own, than be forced into some shitty place. If I were going to do this, I’d rather do it the right way.
I knew it was going to suck, but at this point I only hoped that it would eventually get better. I needed to look at the bigger picture. I wanted a new life away from Breckston, and this doctor was offering that to me.
With a deep breath, I hit the red call button attached to my bed. The doctor immediately returned.
“Whats your name?” I asked curiously.
“Dr. Trafalgar,” he answered patiently.
“Dr. T, I’d like some information on this great place you’re talking about. I want to get help.”
Oh God, I couldn’t believe I was doing this. My anxiety was insane right now. I was so sick from the heroin withdrawing from my body. What if I couldn’t do it? What if I couldn’t find a new way to keep all my demons at bay? Can I get high one more time before I leave? I haven’t been trying to escape reality over some petty shit. No, my issues were real and intense—nightmares. The kind of thing you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.
Beyond all my fears, there was a hint of excitement at the thought of starting over and being able to live the rest of my life in some sense of happiness. It would be worth the risk of failure.
It was what I wanted.
It was what I needed.
A genuine smile spread across the doctor’s face. He sat down in the seat next to my bed and handed me a pamphlet and a stapled packet of printouts. He had been prepared, hoping I would choose wisely.
“It’s okay to be afraid, but you just completed one of the hardest steps of all. You just accepted that you need help.”
I listened attentively while he explained where I’d be going and when I’d be leaving. I didn’t miss a word as he continued to tell me the expectations of the program, and their success rate.
I looked right in Dr. T's eyes when he finished explaining the program to me. I wanted him to see that I
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