Ecstasy

3

"Is she okay?" I heard a distorted voice say

It felt as if the floor underneath me was moving and as I came to my senses I slowly began to realize that I wasn't on the floor because whatever surface I was laying on currently was way softer and warmer than any tile floor in my house. It was a while before I had come to realize that I wasn't on the floor at my house anymore, I began to come to my senses and I realized I was on a hospital bed. I blinked a couple of times before I fully opened my eyes.

For a moment the lights bothered my eyes, I couldn't hold them open for more than thirty seconds, but once they had gotten accustomed to such brightness I tried to take in my surroundings. There were nurses all around me, and my sister was running along the side of the hospital bed.
"Freya, don't worry, you're gonna be fine. You just stay there, these nurses are gonna help you. I love you." and just like that she stopped running alongside me and the nurses dragged me into the back of the emergency room. You'd think that at this point my sister would know better than to take me to the hospital everytime I get high, but she doesn't. After I almost OD'd she was constantly on my ass about what I could and couldn't do, and how I could call her if anything, and all of this other bullshit that I didn't feel the need to explain right now.

I was exhausted, and it was physically impossible for me to move. My body felt heavy, and although I wanted to get up and walk away from all of this I knew I couldn't, and I knew I was stuck in this hospital for the next couple of days before a facility was found for these doctors to stuff me into for a longer time and just leave me there for months before letting me out and back to what I always do, and then the cycle will repeat.

As I looked at the ceiling, I started thinking of whether or not my life was actually ever going to change. I wondered if there was any chance or any possibility of any sort of me ever getting clean, of me ever getting better. I wondered if there was ever going to be anything that I wouldn't get addicted to and this was simply because of the fact that drugs weren't the only thing I was addicted to. In fact I was addicted to multiple things, I was addicted to alcohol, addicted to sex, to my phone, but the one that affected me the most was the drugs, so I wondered and I questioned and as they checked me up I tried to imagine what my future would look like.

Sadly enough, it was blank. I saw nothing, no family, no husband, no job, no success, no life. Nothing. It was emptiness all around, it was darkness. Yet I was surprisingly okay with it, I didn't feel sad or depressed because I couldn't see anything in my future. I was at ease with not seeing anything in my future, it was as if I had come to terms with the fact that this was going to be a never ending cycle in my life, I accepted that I was never going to make it out of my addiction for anything. I learned, and comprehended that this was how it was meant to be for the rest of my life, and I wasn't going to fight it and so I sunk into the hospital bed and I let it all hit me.

They checked me from head to toe; blood pressure, pulse and everything else. They told my sister that before I could be reinstated into the rehab facility I'd have to detox. Detoxification takes at least three, five maybe even seven days, therefore meaning I'd have to go home and be kept under tight supervision. Meaning that my dad and my sister had to be with me twenty four seven.

The process of detoxification is quite annoying, stressful and extremely painful for whoever is on the receiving end. I have to fast for three days, eat fruits, drink salted water or lemon juice, and I have to take supplements. It sounds pretty simplistic, and not painful at all, but now add withdrawal to that mix and that's where all the pain originates.

Withdrawal is fucking painful as hell.

Stomach pains, headaches, cold sweats, fevers and a whole bunch of other things make up said painful process, and it was something I would have to endure for the next week before having to endure a bunch of psychological evaluations by people that don't even know me and assume that the reason I take drugs is because I'm fucked up in the head. Which is true but they should at least ask first, they pretend to know me and they really don't. They act as if they're in the exact same situations I'm in when in reality they're getting paid for sitting there and talking to me whereas as soon as the fucking 'therapy' is over I have to go back to taking medicine at certain points of the day, and I have to associate with a bunch of other addicts who've got way more problems than I do.

Shit like this really pissed me off, I really didn't want to have to do any of it, and thankfully I didn't have to, because as soon as we got home I locked myself in my room I changed, I packed a bag and I jumped out of my window not knowing where the fuck I was going I just knew I was getting as far away from these people as possible, so once I was out of my window with my car keys in my head I got in and I sped off.

In one of my rearview mirrors I saw my sister and my dad running out of the house attempting to chase after the car, not like I cared if they thought I was going to actually let them put me back into rehab and that I was going to force myself to go through a process that is absolutely fucking painful to me, they were wrong, and they were just going to have to deal with it. 

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A/N: I know this is a pretty short chapter but I'm kinda dealing with a whole lot of writer's block at the moment. Also this chapter has been in my drafts for like two weeks and I thought I had posted it. 

Enjoy!

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