It has been a little over twenty four hours since I have last had a drink or drug so I have been really going through the withdrawals. After my show last night, I was a vomiting mess so I agreed to meet Micah the next morning.
The withdrawals were so bad that I almost admitted into hospital but I was able to convince my dad that I would be ok so he spent the night at my side, making sure that I didn't choke on my puke.
If this is detoxing, I want no parts in it.
"The doctors told me that I have two years." I look up at Micah whose eyes widen in surprise. "If I don't stop with the drugs and drinking, I won't make it."
Micah places his hands over mine, "Carla."
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"I have overdosed three times and that still didn't make me change." I let out a bitter laugh. "I have really ruined my life."
"Hey, hey, hey." Micah cups my face. "You are seeking help and that is all that matters. Two years is better than one so do everything that you can to get better, I don't want to be at your funeral."
We share a brief embrace.
"Thank you for being here, Micah."
"You don't have to thank me." Micah sighs as he looks into my eyes, "Focus on getting better, that's all that I care about."
I begin to break down as I realise that he has always been nice and all I did was chat shit about him to the world.
"I'm sorry for telling everyone that you were the reason why I got hooked on drugs when I know that it's not truth." A tear slides down my face. "I hate that I made you out to be the villian."
"Denise." Micah closes his eyes for a moment. "Sorry, Carla stop apologising."
Micah rubs his face in frustration.
"I've moved on." He quietly tells me. "That part of my life is a thing of the past."
"How did you stop?" I ask him as he stares off into the distance. Micah was one of the heaviest drinkers and he was a full drug addict. The last two tours that we did were very intense and I was always surprised that he didn't overdose more than he did that one time because he was on everything that we were warned about.
In the four years that we were together, I never saw or spoken to him when he was sober. He was always off on something and the fact that the world didn't catch on is a total shock, maybe he was just that good.
"I never stopped." He shrugs his shoulders. "I just don't smoke or drink as much and when I do, it's done in moderation. Nowadays I just smoke weed a couple of times a week and I drink socially."
"How?" I look into his eyes, trying to find the answers. "What made you stop?"
He doesn't say anything for a moment as he looks past me, "My mom died."
