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I nod. “I need help, Dad,” I cry loudly, knowing that my mom would be so disappointed in the way I’ve dealt with her death, or hell, life in general.
“Son, go take a shower. I’m going to make some calls, and we’ll see how soon we can get you into a treatment facility.”
I nod. “Please don’t give up on me.” My voice breaks.
He grabs my face. “I won’t, son. Now go.”
I head into my bedroom, strip out of my clothes, and head to the shower.
I climb out of the Uber and grab my suitcase out of the trunk. A man with a clipboard comes out, smiling widely as I approach him. “Chris Anderson?” I nod and take his hand. “Welcome to Sunrise Rehabilitation and Wellness. I’m Damian, and I’ll be handling your intake and showing you around the facility.”
This morning had been rough when Dad brought me to the airport. He’d wanted to come inside with me, but I needed to do this on my own. I had to be strong enough to get on the plane and head to California to seek treatment.
It was two and half days ago when my best friend in the whole world punched me three times and then walked out of my life. I can’t blame him. I’m not the same guy I was before everything got way out of hand. I’m the guy who fucked his baby sister and got her pregnant.
Dad wouldn’t leave me after they left. I think he was afraid I was going to kill myself, and to be honest that thought had crossed my mind. I was convinced it was better for everyone. Of course, that was when I realized if I did it, I would leave my dad all alone and I couldn’t do that.
At the drop off, Dad pulled me into a bear hug. “I’m so proud of you. You get better and when they let me, I’ll be on the first plane out there.”
“I won’t let you down, Dad,” I told him and I meant it.
He gave me another hug before letting me go.
Now I follow Damian inside the rehab center in Calabasas, California. It’s beautiful and right on the beach. Of course, I won’t see it for a while. I need to go through detox first. Then I’ll begin the program and will have a little more freedom.
After the tour they take me over to the detox unit. Damian has me hand my suitcase to a guy who looks to be around my dad’s age. “I need to search it,” he says before disappearing behind a door.
“I have cigarettes in there. Is that a problem?” I ask Damian as he leads me into an exam room.
“You can’t smoke while you’re in detox, but there’s an area outside that we allow it. Have a seat on the table. We’re just going to give you a quick exam, draw some labs, and come up with a treatment plan.”
He weighs me and I see that I’ve put twenty-five pounds on since my mom died. I knew I was looking pretty doughy. Damian has me sit on the exam table and takes my vitals.
“Your blood pressure is a little elevated. When was the last time you used?”
“Uhh…two and a half days ago.”
He writes it down. “How much have you been using?”
I scratch my head. “The past couple of weeks I was up to almost two grams of coke every day or every other day. I drink anywhere from an eighteen pack of beer or a bottle of Grey Goose a day.” Saying it out loud makes my stomach hurt.
“How often do you blackout?”
I think about Haddie. Haddie who is pregnant with my baby and I don’t remember having sex with her at all. Shame fills me and my eyes begin to burn. “Too many times to count.”
The staff doctor comes in after I finish answering questions. She looks like someone’s grandmother. It’s super embarrassing when they do a STD screening because there is nothing better than having a giant Q-tip shoved in the end of your dick, but damn, if I gave Haddie an STD I’d never forgive myself.
Damian takes me to the little kitchen area and grabs me a sandwich, then leads me back to the medical wing. “Have a seat and we’ll show you to your room shortly.”
I take one bite of the sandwich and throw it in the trash. My appetite is non-existent. As I wait for them to come get me, my knee bounces nervously. I hope this works, I want it to work. My dad doesn’t deserve a junkie son. He’s already lost the love of his life. I don’t think he’d survive losing me too.
“I’m Chris, and I’m an alcoholic and an addict. I’ve been sober for fourteen days,” I say, looking around the circle of others like me.
They all respond, “Hi Chris.”
“My dad sounded so sad when I talked to him this morning. I hate that I’m not there helping him grieve my mother, but I knew if I didn’t get help, then I could possibly leave him too.” I run a hand over my hair. “I feel clear-headed for the first time since I arrived two weeks ago. I’m determined now more than ever to do the work, follow the steps, and stay sober for me.” There is so much work I need to do on myself. I didn’t start using because of some trauma, or because my parents used, but because I just liked the way I felt.
I take my seat and listen to Nathan, whose room is next to mine. He was a child actor who was abused by his parents and used to self-medicate. The poor guy OD’d, but luckily his fifteen-year-old son found him and called 9-1-1.
