Well, I’m finally free! 90 days of intensive inpatient rehab and I made it out alive. And it’s great to be back. My last week of treatment was kind of rough– those last few days simply crawled by. Stupid things annoyed me. And I was fucking sick of that food.
But in all honesty, going to treatment was probably the best worst thing that’s happened to me. As it turns out, I do have a drug problem. I’m an addict. But I never would have dreamed of admitting that if I hadn’t been pushed into rehab, I had been happily swimming in the river of denial for years and probably nothing short of true catastrophe would have broken me out of it.
I was a high functioning addict, which is a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I was able to skate through law school and pass the bar even in the throes of drug addiction. But it’s a curse because being high functioning allowed me to stay in denial about my problem. Loathe as I am to admit it, getting pushed into rehab by the Bar probably saved me from a lot. In a lot of ways, it saved me from myself.
I’m happy to be back and to be sober. A lot of things in my life have had to change but I’m looking forward to my new, healthy life.
I feel like I’m on the upswing. I’m over 60 days into rehab (finally!) and things are starting to get easier. Sort of. I spent the weekend at home on a therapeutic leave from treatment, which was absolutely divine. Once you’re about two-thirds of the way done with rehab you’re eligible for one of these leaves. Some people are crazy and don’t take one. I’m crazy but not that crazy — I was ready to get the fuck out of dodge, even for two days.
Unfortunately, I’ve now reacquired the itch to leave. During my first few weeks here I was (almost) literally itching to leave. My life outside of rehab was all I could think about and was the only place I wanted to be. After awhile, however, Stockholm Syndrome set in. Things got easier, and institutionalization started to feel normal. I got used to the fact that I was going to gain at least 15 pounds. I got used to travelling everywhere in a white 15 passenger van. I got used to spending my days cooped up in a big old house with 20 other women, crying and talking about our feelings.
But with that little taste of freedom, 48 hours at home with my family, I reacquired that itch. It’s not unbearable — I know that the end is in sight — but it’s enough to make me malcontent. I just want to fast forward through the next month of my life. I’m ready to get back out there, armed with the tools I’ve acquired in rehab. Because rehab has killed my desire to use. I’m ready to end that chapter of my life. I’m tired of feeling crazy, of numbing myself to anything painful, and of missing out on life. I’ve been living in a fog these last few years and I’m realizing that I like what sobriety feels like.
So I’m trucking along. I came in kicking and screaming but I’m finally starting to reach a place of acceptance. I’m just ready to get my freedom back and start living my life again on the outside. I’ve still got some time left here though. And even though I’m starting to get that itch, I can tell I’m on the upswing.