Overdose - Chapter 22
-Alex-
I was wrong. Rehab wasn't a complete nightmare. It wasn't an all-inclusive getaway, but it was, for lack of a better word, enlightening. For six weeks, I learned how to function without drugs and alcohol in my system. I learned how to fall asleep and stay asleep which was harder than it sounds. I talked about things that I had never dared to say out loud to a stranger who in the end became a sort of human diary. She didn't oversimplify the things that I've been through, she allowed me to speak when my throat was overflowing with words and she allowed me to stay silent when fear wrapped its hands around my mouth, preventing me from telling the truth about myself.
I'm not sure if it was the pay difference that made her better than the school counselor my dad forced me to see but she was phenomenal. She understood as if she'd lived in my skin for a day and saw things through my eyes. I won't say I'll miss rehab, but I'll miss Dr. Sicard. She made it all less unbearable.
Am I "cured"? Absolutely not. There isn't a cure for me, but I am better. Less of my mind is occupied with my inability to save myself. I spend less time thinking about the past and more time imagining what my future might look like if I stay on track. In the last six weeks, I've allowed myself to dream of the future instead of having nightmares of the past.
I deserve happiness. Happiness doesn't come from a bottle, a pill, a powder, or a needle. I once declared that I am unfit for a happy life given the circumstances of my past but as of late, I've been trying to recant that statement. I was not of sane mind.
"Alex!" My dad's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I turn towards the door. The smile plastered on his face offers me a welcome as warm as a July afternoon. I smile and walk toward him. Without sparing a second, he pulls me into a hug that I can only describe as breathtaking. He smells like home. "Oh, I missed you, kiddo!" He cheers before pulling back and examining my face.
"I missed you too dad."
He pauses for a moment and stares at me with teary eyes before pulling me back into a hug. "I'm so proud of you, Alex. More than you'll ever know," He mumbles over my shoulder. I nod as warm tears find their way out of my eyes and onto my dad's coat. "Let's get you all signed out and then we can head home," he says, ruffling my hair before walking over to the front desk.
I sigh with relief and turn towards the doors. I'm not sure what awaits me outside of this building but I'm no longer afraid to face reality.
"Alex!" I hear Katie's voice call out from the double doors. Before I can turn to face her, she wraps her arms around me tightly. I chuckle and pat her arm lightly, "Were you trying to break my rib cage?" I ask turning around and giving her a proper hug. She laughs, "Sorry. I'm going to miss you! Here's my number if you ever want to hang out or something," she says before handing me a purple piece of paper which I'm sure she tore out of her journal.
At first, I found her to be very annoying and kind of intrusive. Despite my best efforts to keep her away, she wiggled her way past my barriers and became my friend. She, Marcus, and I spent many afternoons playing games in the lounge, talking about random topics, and drinking crappy hot chocolate from the vending machines.
"Thanks, I'll call whenever I get a phone," I slide the paper into my pocket as Katie gives me another hug. We say our goodbyes and I watch her walk out of the doors. "Ready to go home?" My dad comes up behind me and places his hand on my shoulder. "I've been ready to go home since you dropped me off, Dad."
He chuckles as we walk towards the doors. It has been snowing a lot for the past week, but it's just overcast. I'm sure it'll rain later but I'm glad it's not snowing. Once in the car, I slide the seatbelt across my chest and rest my head on the cold window. As always, my dad turns on the radio and lets smooth jazz play quietly. Words cannot describe how glad I am to finally be going home. At times it felt like the seconds were running like minutes and the minutes were running like hours. The clock became both my enemy and my friend.
>>>
Walking through the front door felt liberating. Nothing changed which is strangely comforting. My dad hasn't taken down the Christmas tree or any of the decorations. Usually, he takes the decorations down after my birthday, but I guess he didn't get to it yet. "I'll start on dinner," My dad says as he places his coat on the hooks next to the door. "You left the decorations up..." I state while walking over to the couch.
"Uh, I just..." He pauses before looking around. I frown, "I wasn't here." I declare knowingly and he nods. "Usually, we take them down together, so I wanted to wait for you," He explains with a slight smile. I may be the luckiest addict ever. I have, on multiple occasions, given my dad reasons to lose faith in me. I don't even think I'd have faith in myself if I were in his shoes. He continues to support me despite everything, to say I'm lucky is an understatement.
I want him to be proud of me. I don't want him to worry as much, but I know it's a long way to a full recovery. For now, I'll try my best not to fuck up. You've said that before and days later you overdosed. The difference between the last time I said that to now is the fact that I didn't just finish four lines of cocaine.
"I'm gonna shower and then we can take them down," I smile at him. His face lights up and he nods quickly. With that, I head down the hallway and open the door to my room. In my absence, my dad made my bed and cleared off the mounds of clothes that I left on my desk chair. The blinds are open allowing daylight to cast over my bed, making the sheets look heavenly. I walk in and close the door behind me. I scan the room as my mind wanders out to the times when I almost lost my battles with my mind.
As my eyes dart around the room, they land on the sleeve of my dad's old jersey. Tauntingly, it sticks out amongst my clothes as a reminder of something that should have never happened. Get rid of it. Do I give it the satisfaction of potentially being worn by someone else? It is a piece of clothing. It wasn't just a piece of clothing when it was given to me and it isn't now.
I sigh with contentment before walking to the bathroom. The thing I missed the most, second to my dad, was taking long showers with the water almost boiling.
An hour passed, and I showered and changed into pajama pants and a sweater. I then brushed through my hair which felt like manual labor, but I got it done. I don't look like a million bucks, but I look better than I did before. You look like a crumpled five-dollar bill. I guess it's an improvement that I no longer look like a Tim Burton character. Not that I cared before but seeing myself look human is rewarding.
I carry Nico's clothes to the laundry room and drop them in the washer. I'll return them soon and thank him again for letting me interrupt his procrastination. I wonder what he's been up to for the last six weeks. I thought of him more than I wanted myself to while I was in rehab. He would cross my mind every so often and I'd find myself thinking about all the things I wish I could say to him. Anyway, it's been six weeks, I doubt that he still feels the way he did about me.
"Hey," I walk past my dad and head over to the island. He's cutting yellow squash with a knife that I've never seen before. My eyes shift to the counter where a new knife set is positioned next to a cookbook. "Was that from Sabrina?" I ask, keeping my gaze on the knives. When he turns to look at them, I quickly grab a piece of squash and throw it in my mouth. "Yes. I told her she didn't have to get me anything, but she did anyway," He smiles.
"So, are you guys...serious?" I ask resting my chin in my palms. He chuckles softly while shaking his head. "Dad? Are you and Sabrina...official?!" I ask but this time using my best impression of a high school girl whose entire personality is gossiping.
"We're...learning a lot about each other and taking things slow," he says, setting the knife down and looking at everything except my eyes. I stare at him studiously, "If I asked her would she lie to me too?" I probe while absent-mindedly eating uncooked squash. "Stop that, you're going to spoil your dinner AND for your information, Sabrina and I haven't labeled...what we are," He intones after snatching the bowl of squash from the counter.
"Aww, well aren't you guys some cool kids-"
"Stop it. Did you come in here to interrogate or are you going to help with dinner?" He scolds while trying hard not to smile. "Fine, what can I help with that doesn't require using a knife or putting anything on the stove?" I ask, sliding off the stool. He shakes his head and passes me the bowl of squash, "Put them on the baking pan, AND don't eat any!" He says, pointing an accusatory finger at me.
I roll my eyes and begin pouring the squash onto the baking pan, making sure that they're evenly spread out. This is as far as cooking will ever go for me. As my dad turns around to place the knife in the sink, I throw a piece of squash in my mouth. "ALEX!"
"Okay! Sorry," I mumble with my mouth full.
>>>
"I have something for you," My dad says, getting up from the couch and walking over to the coat closet.
We finished dinner two hours ago. As always, it was delicious. Though we didn't say much, my dad did stare at me more than usual, but I ignored it. I'm sure he was just staring because I was gone for a month and two weeks. Afterward, I helped him load the dishwasher and clear the dining table. It's been a while since we had dinner that didn't end in an argument.
After we finished cleaning, I decided that I'd start taking down some of the decorations while my dad brought out the storage containers. As we listened to the pitter-patter of rain on the roof, we organized all the decorations into their respective boxes. My dad brought the boxes back to the garage where they'll remain undisturbed until the holidays. As much as I like winter, I'm excited about what spring will bring. Pollen.
"Your mom and I spent two hours on the phone arguing about what to get you for your Christmas and your birthday...eventually, we decided to get you something you actually need-"
"If it's therapy, I'll pass," I stare wide-eyed as he pulls a box out of a gift bag with snowflakes all over it. "You do need therapy but that's not what we got you," He chuckles before handing me the box. I take it from him gently and position myself upright on the couch. "Is it a puppy?" I ask sarcastically while peeling the gift wrap off the box.
"Why would we do that to a poor puppy?"
I furrow my brows at him, "Ha-ha very funny. I'd be a great owner," I retort confidently. Sure, you would, you can't even take care of yourself let alone a dog. As I finish unwrapping the box, I smile and look up at my dad, "thank you!"
"You're welcome, try not to lose it this time. Also, your mom wants you to put her number to use because she feels like you don't talk to her much," he says sternly before taking a seat next to me. I've been without a phone for so long that I stopped wanting one. It would have come in handy to call my dad but other than that, I didn't need it. Now that I have one, I can call my friends. Yes, all ONE of them.
"Did she give up yet?" I ask, referencing my mom's determination to bring a group of unknown people to justice. My dad chuckles before shaking his head no, "Nope, she called a few days ago asking if I had a yearbook of your last year," He sighs tiredly. I guess I commend her for being thorough but delusional? That, I can't respect.
"Did you send it to her?" I ask, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "I told her I got rid of your yearbook before we moved. I don't think she believed me, but I don't care. I appreciate what she's trying to do for you but in all honesty, it's like you said, she's going to get nowhere."
I scoff which is then followed by a yawn, "I'm gonna head to bed, I'll call to thank her tomorrow."
I get up from the couch, grab the phone box, and begin walking toward my room. "Alex?" My dad calls out calmly. I turn to face him, and he offers me a faint smile, "I'm happy to have you home. I love you, kid."
A comforting warmth surges through my body and I nod, "Love you too, dad. Goodnight."
>>>
I slept somewhat comfortably. Though I missed my bed, I may have gotten way too used to the mattress in Rehab. It felt like sleeping on a stack of bricks but that's what I looked forward to after the long days of sharing, therapy, and socializing.
I got up in the middle of the night and went to the kitchen. There, I poured myself a glass of water and drank it while standing in front of the window. I thought about a lot while standing there but mostly, I thought about the fifteen-year-old girl Sandra told me about. When I asked Sandra where she was now, she told me that she was doing better.
Three days after she told me, I found out that Sandra embellished that story quite a bit. The girl, Mellissa Richard, was fifteen when she died of a seizure while living at the rehab center. Her old room, now a storage room, was four doors away from mine. I remember feeling angry because Sandra gave me false hope. I remember ignoring her for a week straight and asking for a different nurse when I wanted something. Then, Marcus told me that Sandra tells everyone the same story. She gave us hope so that we'd have something to hold on to when detoxing and tried to convince us that none of the pain is worth it.
Mellissa didn't get to feel the liberation of finally falling asleep without the help of the medicine. She didn't get to experience feeling human after those hard nights because she was only there for five days before she died. I thought about her a lot. I wished that I could somehow speak to her and tell her that she was my hope when I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. I'm no one to her and she is no one to me but in a way, I did this for the both of us.
"Hey, bud. You alright?" My dad's voice pulled me out of deep thought. I turned to him, "yeah, just thirsty. Why are you up?" I asked as I walked back to the island. I placed my glass in the sink. He sighed heavily, "since the night I dropped you off, I've been waking up at four in the morning. When I wake up, I check my phone to see if there's any-" He looked at me with sad eyes. He didn't have to finish for me to understand that he'd been waking up in the middle of the night fearing that something terrible had happened to me.
"I went to your room and...for a second, I kind of panicked seeing that you weren't there," He admitted. I felt a pressing pain in my heart as I walked to him and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry, dad."
Regina said that addiction doesn't only ruin the person who has it, it stains all the people that they care about. I've stained my dad with the fear of losing me to the drugs and though I'm sober now, he'll forever be stained by finding me barely holding on to life. There are no words to explain to him how sorry I am. I can't do anything but show him that I can be better. I owe him that.
>>>
I woke up this morning to the sound of my dad cooking while playing soft jazz from his iPad. I took my time to shower and I even combed through my hair. My eyes looked less dull as I stared into the mirror, the bags have faded and my cheeks have color. I couldn't help but frown at my body. I'm pretty much skin and bone. I remember what I used to look like before the drugs took the driver's seat. I liked skating and that was my exercise. I wasn't muscular but I was lean. I ate all my meals and remembered to drink water every day. My skin wasn't as pale as it is and my hair wasn't flat. I poked at my ribs and felt the bones under my fingers, I traced them while remembering a life that I no longer have. A life I took for granted and it slipped out of my fingers before I even realized what was happening.
I put on the biggest hoodie I could find and a pair of sweatpants that I had to tie three times to get them to stay up. When I walked into the kitchen, my dad turned to me and smiled. A smile I haven't seen in a while. I still don't know how I'll ever be able to apologize to him for everything. He deserves everything he ever wanted in a son and I feel like I'm not any of those things. I'm no longer the boy who made PowerPoint presentations to ask for things he wanted. I'm no longer the boy who couldn't wait to be picked up by his dad so he could tell him everything that happened during school.
I sat at the breakfast table while my dad finished cooking. We ate in comfortable silence and I offered to wash the dishes. While I did that, my dad was busy changing out the wall plug-ins throughout the house. Home hasn't been this comfortable since we first moved in. I want so badly for things to stay this way.
Now, we're sitting in the living room. I'm laying on my dad's lap and he's running his fingers through my hair. A documentary about space is playing but I'm not paying attention. I've been thinking about how long this peace will last. I've been thinking about how I will keep myself from not ruining this. I've concluded that maybe I'll never leave the house. I'll lock myself in here and that will somehow prevent me from throwing away this comfortable atmosphere. I'll probably go insane being inside all the time but it's worth a try.
"Hey, dad?" I ask, breaking the silence between us. He stops raking his fingers through my hair and looks down. "Hi, Alex. What is it?" He smiles before continuing.
"Have you ever done something so wrong that you didn't know how to fix it?"
I watch as he thinks for a moment. He sighs, "I gave up on my marriage."
The music over the documentary starts playing loudly as if adding the perfect dramatic effect. I was too young to understand what caused my parent's marriage to end. Though the divorce happened when I could understand what it meant, the marriage itself ended way before they signed the papers.
"I knew your mom was unhappy with how things were. I worked long shifts at the hospital and I wasn't there for her. We walked around the house like strangers and I didn't know how to fix us so I slowly gave up. I stopped trying to make things better between us. I guess I was tired of asking her to care and she was tired of me pretending to understand. Ultimately, I feel like if I hadn't given up, we would still be married."
I remember the nights that the dinner table felt like a silent battlefield. There was tension on both sides but they put on a smile because they didn't want me to see what was happening. I remember her locking herself in her office until late at night. I remember hearing their muffled voices when they thought I couldn't hear them arguing. I remember feeling like it was my fault because the pictures of them before were all over the house and they looked happy.
"Was it my fault?" I ask but I don't want to know the answer. I don't know if I can handle it.
"No. She actually broke up with me before we found out she was pregnant. She said that we wanted different things out of life and that she didn't want to hold me back. I knew that's not what she meant though. She didn't want me to hold her back. All that changed when she told me she was pregnant. We swore we'd make it work. We vowed to love each other and love you with everything we had."
I feel the familiar sting of tears in my eyes and I look up at the ceiling. "When they placed you on her chest for the first time and she heard you cry, she looked at me and told me that we were going to be okay. She then promised you that she'd be the best mother she can be for you."
"Then what changed? Why did she give up on me? What did I do?"
He stays silent for a moment. "You did nothing wrong, Alex. She broke a promise she made in a moment of euphoria. A promise we both knew she wouldn't be able to keep." In a way, I'm comforted by the fact that he didn't tell me that she loves me so much or the fact that he didn't sugarcoat the truth. My mom chose herself over us and I don't know if I can ever forgive her for that. She could have found a way to have both. We could have supported her. We could have been there for her but she chose to leave.
"Do you love Sabrina?" I ask looking up at him. His eyes soften at the sound of her name.
"I would be really sad if she decides one day that I'm not good enough for her."
Perhaps the most important thing that my dad has ever taught me is that love isn't just expressed with words and just now, he told me he loves her without having to say 'I love her.
"You're more than enough, dad."
He offers me a smile. We resume what we were doing before; him watching the documentary and raking his fingers through my hair and me, staring at the ceiling and thinking about a future that I'm terrified of.