Page 157 of Relapse

The estate felt smaller than I remembered.

I’d spent twenty-two days dreaming about leaving Flourishing Foundations, about sleeping in my own bed, eating food that tasted better than what they served at the cafeteria.

Having a door I could close whenever I wanted.

But now that I was here, I just wanted to leave.

Damian had been cheerful when he picked me up. But he did warn me that things were going to be different. I could tell the minute I walked inside and up the stairs that they had been through my room and all of my things. Normal, drug-using me would have been pissed off. Sober me understood why this was done. It still didn’t help the shame I felt, knowing my family didn’t trust me.

And sitting there, on my bed, reminded me that every room held a memory.

Most weren’t good.

I couldn’t walk down the hallway without remembering a fight. Couldn’t sit in the living room without hearing old arguments in my head. Or seeing my mom abused. Or feeling the slap David landed across my face. I couldn’t look at certain spots without remembering exactly what had happened there.

Every corner of this house, every wall, held ghosts of my past that I had yet to confront fully.

I found myself pacing from room to room, unable to settle.

It wasn’t a craving. Not really. It wasn’t like I wanted anymore heroin.

But I wanted air.

I wanted distance.

I wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t here.

One of the things they drilled into us during the twelve-step meetings was learning to identify what we were actually feeling. Not what we wanted to call it. What it really was.

Were we hungry? Angry? Lonely?

Back then, I thought the exercise was stupid.

Standing in my bedroom, staring at the floor next to my bed. The floor my father pressed me into as he took me by force, covering up the evidence like it was nothing, I realized the answer immediately.

I was afraid.

Afraid that I’d worked so hard to change only to come back to the place that had made me want to disappear in the first place.

So I did what I knew how to do best. I ate my dinner with my family in silence. I pretended everything was alright. I let them know that my counselor would be calling within the next few days to speak to me. I went to bed early.

Then I snuck out of the house. I waited until everything inside was quiet before opening my third-floor window and carefully shimmying down to the ground.

I walked. And the feeling was bliss. My legs burned with each step, but it was a familiar kind of pain that I didn’t have to worry about regretting later.

My feet led me right to a club. Part of me was just desiring to feel something normal. Just for one night, I didn’t want to feel like someone’s project. Maybe I could even be touched by someone who didn’t know enough about me to be disappointed yet.

The urge hit me as I stood outside, watching the bright lights pulse against the wet pavement. I told myself it was just for the sex. I’d go in, find someone new, fill my body with pleasure and be done with it. There were no rules against having a one night stand in my twelve step program.

At least, I didn’t think so.

All I knew was that I needed to feel something other than the painful absence of chemicals in my bloodstream. My mind was working against me as it always did. I wanted to quiet it down, but I didn’t want to go back to square one. This was the next best step.

I found out quickly that the place had an open bar for anyone with cash. I felt something twist in my chest—relief or dread, I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. I knew I was tempting myself. I knew I probably shouldn’t approach.

But I went in anyway.

The music inside was so loud I nearly wanted to cover my ears. How did I ever manage being in places like this before? I felt like the blaring sound was going to implode my ear drums. I made my way to the bar area, hoping the volume would be slightly lower once I reached it.