Posted November 15, 2017, from my old journal:
“Obviously, something is happening with me that I have no control over….drinking. I’ll be honest about it because that is who I have become. It is something that I have debated and struggled with for over seven or more years now. But now that I’m the Department of Social Services program, I’m finally going to get treatment. Today was a rescheduled appointment for DSS for a Drug and Alcohol Evaluation. Honestly, I thought it was just a piss test and blood work. When I walked in the office, there was a sign, “Do not go behind this door without a therapist!” Oh boy! I was extremely nervous the whole time in the waiting room. Thankfully it was just myself. As open and honest as I am with anyone, I was the same with the therapist. I had to give my whole life story. We talked about treatment programs. I told her the only way that my life would change is an inpatient program because AA meetings and outpatient programs don’t work with me. After taking extensive notes, she immediately called my social worker and asked for a referral to an inpatient program. You know what, its long overdue! I should have received treatment years ago and stuck to it. I would not be in the position I am now. Hopefully, I will be put on a straight road and my life will change because I see no alternative.”
Wow! As I read the entry I can remember exactly every detail of the whole hour. I knew then an inpatient program was my only option to survive. I didn’t go in with the intention of laying all my cards on the table but I’m glad I did. While I add more details here to the entry, please do not judge my poor decisions. Today, I can say I’m grateful to be alive.
First, my two friends, who were drunk, drove me there. They were waiting in the parking lot thinking I would be a couple of minutes. We were actually on our way to Waverly, PA to buy more beer. We always drove on back roads where ever we went to avoid any ugly encounters. “Stupid as a box of rocks” doesn’t even come close.
Second, I was suffering from a bad hangover and bad hygiene. My head was spinning and pounding. The therapist said my face was red “as a tomato” in addition to my bloodshot eyes. I had really bad tremors already which added to all to my anxiety. The therapist asked, “When was the last time you did laundry?”. She explained the long drinking can cause the alcohol to eventually come out of your sweat glands and is very distinguishable from the smell of cigarette smoke coming off clothes. She then asked, “When did you eat last?” I answered, “I don’t remember.” We hadn’t even gotten to my drinking history yet.
Lastly, when it was all over, I had to face my friends. After a yelling match with them, I said, “She wanted to send me to rehab right now. But I told her, ‘no'” Obviously, I had to lie. From that moment on until I went to bed, they were grilling me, “What did you say? You aren’t going, are you? Did you say anything about us? . . .”
Honestly, I had no idea how my future would unfold.