I rub my forehead and then fling the sweat from my fingers when it hits me.
“Fuck. Am I really fucking detoxing?” I mumble to myself.
But as my entire body trembles, I already have my answer.
Detoxing:
Day One: It’s not pretty.
Day Two: Definitely not fucking pretty.
Day Three: Still bad, but nowhere as bad as yesterday.
Day Four: Almost there, but my anxiety levels are through the fucking roof.
Day Five: A New Leaf
I stare at myself in the mirror and wonder at what point in my life I decided to give so much power to some little goddamn pills. It makes me wonder if I had known that I would end up needing help to get off them a couple years ago, back when I started taking benzo medications, would I have ever taken them to begin with? I wish I could honestly say that I wouldn’t have touched them with a ten-foot fucking pole, but I don’t know if that would be the case.
Without them now, things are clearer. I can definitely see the demise of the band happening. The leading cause at this point is me, but I know now that it wasn’t just the drug haze. I haven’t simply imagined that Black Falcon has started going in different directions, because that shit is fucking true, and the guys need to accept their roles in the band falling apart, too.
The hard table is cold against my skin as I sit on it while Dr. Shepherd examines me. He takes his time, taking my blood pressure and then pulse, before he flashes a small light into my eyes.
“Go ahead and follow the light with your eyes, Mr. Douglas.”
I do as he asks, and he clicks the light off before placing the instrument back in its holder on the wall. “Everything looks good. How do you feel?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m grateful that I don’t feel like ass today.”
Dr. Shepherd chuckles. “Well, I suppose that’s a start. I know that the last few days have been difficult for you—”
“That’s the fucking understatement of the century,” I mutter, cutting him off.
He continues like he didn’t even hear my smartass remark. “But think of it as crossing the first big hurdle in your recovery. During what you’ve just been through, most people give up and quit—unable to take the sickness that goes along with ridding the drugs from their system. Now that you’re clean, the rest is up to you and your willpower. You have to fight to stay that way.”
I nod, knowing that if I start fucking up again, it’s no one else’s fault but mine. I make the decision. I make the call.
Dr. Shepherd tucks my chart under his arm. “Today I want you to join in group therapy.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Group? How is talking to a bunch of complete strangers going to help?”
“Most clients find it beneficial to listen to the stories of others. A lot of the time, it helps them to realize that they’re not alone—that addiction knows no gender, color, or age. It can happen to anyone, so there’s no reason to feel isolated.”
I want to argue that I’ve never felt alone, but the truth is that loneliness is all I’ve felt over the past couple of years. Not to sound like a whiny bitch, but it’s hard to watch everyone around you move the focus of their life to something else while you’re still trapped in the same routine. It’s not that I’m jealous that the rest of the guys in the band have done that, I just feel left out—like the band, and me, don’t matter to them anymore. And that scares me more than anything.
It’s been easier than I thought to admit that to myself in the last twenty-four hours, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to talk to a group of complete fucking strangers about it.
I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to speak in group unless you want to,” he assures me. “It’s okay to just go and listen, and when you’re ready, jump in.”
As much as I want to avoid the situation, I also want to prove to everyone that the new, clearer thinking me is not always a difficult person. “Okay.”
“Great.” Dr. Shepherd smiles encouragingly. “I’ll make sure Dr. Mead saves you a seat.”
My ears prick up at the sound of her name. I haven’t seen Frannie since the day I overstepped the boundary and kissed her, the image of her blue eyes, focused on me when she had tears in them, burned into my brain. It was the one picture that kept flashing in my mind as I went through the pure hell of detoxing. I know she’s here to help me, but I just can’t shake the feeling that, for some reason, I can support her in return.
I nod, suddenly excited about this group thing. “Great.”
Dr. Shepherd grins. “That’s the right attitude, Mr. Douglas. It’s good to see you positive and on the road to recovery.”
I hop off the table, and a thought comes to mind. “Do you think it’d be okay if I took my guitar and found a quiet place out in the garden to work on some songs?”
“That’s perfectly fine. It’s good to focus on something else besides being here. I’ll see you at dinner.”
A little while later, I make my way back to my room and grab my baby from the corner, slinging the soft case around my shoulder and heading outside. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Riff was right when he said I didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on with the new album, and that bothers me. It tells me that I allowed the drugs to come between me and my music, and that’s one thing that I never thought possible. But it happened. Drugs became the most important thing in my life. But not anymore. I’m getting myself back on the right track.