Chapter 6

There were two pay phones at the bottom of the stairs. They had the closing doors just like the old school ones on a street corner. Those were the only two phones. There was a chalk board to write incoming messages on the wall. This was torture. Either there was a message and you missed the call or there was no message because no one called.

There was a box of tissue in each booth.

There was hope.

There were lies.

This is the LAST time I put you through this...

Most of all there were tears.

I would bet that the floors to these booths had been painted in tears a thousand times over. Each time you would walk by there would be heartbreak. Each time a not so gentle reminder of how much it hurts to be an addict and alcoholic. The people you put through hell.

Being in the booth felt like being on display. People walking in from the comedy courtyard see you behind the glass. Exposed.

You get real use to baring your emotions in rehab.

The first time I called my parents was the worst. My mom tried to be strong but she just couldn't hold it together.

We love you.

It's going to be alright.

I lie and say I know. To be honest I don't know anything. All I know is I am in a treatment center because I can't live like a normal person in the outside world. I just want to be happy.

Happy.

I want to feel loved and I want to feel in control of my life.

I think about calling her. I want to call her. I know that the worst thing I could do to myself is call her.

I call my sister instead.

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Night falls and tears flow.

That is just how it has been. I am getting so lonely at night and I don't know what else to do but just cry. I have a roommate now so I spend a great deal of time in the bathroom. I take showers at night so I can cry in peace.

I don't think I have ever cried so much in my life as I did the first week in rehab.

Sitting on the floor of a shower.

weeping.

My roommate is a guy named Eric and he is from Hawaii. He is also in my small group. Eric has the most eruptive and violent temper I have ever seen. When he gets mad you can see hell brewing in his eyes. Veins the size of my fingers protrude from his neck. He is an addict. He likes to smoke crack and do lots of meth. He ran with a gang that sold drugs in Hawaii and he told wonderful bedtime stories.

It's funny when you share a common pain with someone how attached you can become. Eric and I came from different upbringing but we were addicts and alcoholics. We were brothers in that shared hell.

Money, no money. Home, no home. Black white red whatever. In here we were all the same. Even if you didn't want to come to terms with that.

I started reading the Big Book of Alcoholic Anonymous. The Lushes Bible. Big Blue. I felt like it spoke to me. The "program" relies completely on the trust and faith in a "Higher Power". Without that it means nothing.

I had made a promise 4 years earlier.

A promise I had not kept.

A promise to God.

Man am I in trouble