anxious and alone |dnf|

detox

TW: drugs, addiction, being high, withdrawal, blood, throwing up, needles, aggression, detoxification of drugs, and descriptive language regarding pain/suffering (related to withdrawal/detox)

Dreams POV:

Anger, frustration, fear and hate. The tap ran as I splash my face, trying to understand what the fuck is happening. "Clay I'm sorry. I'm so sorry this is the only way." George cries from the other side of the door. Everything becomes foggy as I slowly nod off, trying to wake myself up.

The door rattles me awake as police officers yell at me, "fuck you!" I scream back. I throw the bags of powder into the toilet, flushing it the moment the door is busted down.

I make eye contact with George, then the cops, and finally the pipe filled with white powder sitting on the bathroom counter. I try to run past but one officer holds onto me as the other tries to talk to me. "Calm down, we are here to help you." She says.

I struggle and squirm trying to loose their grip, but the harder I try the harder they pull. George stared as I tried to fight my way through their hands. His sad face made me angry. How could he sit there crying, acting like he's helping, when all he's doing is fucking it all up. I scream at him, watching as he winces and jumps. He seems so scared even when I'm held down by 3 people.

Cold metal cuffs wrapped around my wrists as I was dragged to a nearby car. As I was placed into the car George followed outside. Before the door closes I manage to say a final sentence to him.

"You ruined my life." I cry.

His eyes become cold and his posture falls, shoulders droopy. His tight frown feels like it's been carved into my skull. I am hurting him. I keep hurting him.

<<<>>>

They took me to the hospital, where I was taken to a bed and hand-cuffed to it. I struggled for the first several minutes, swearing and pulling away as much as I could. But I got tired. Doctors poke needles into my arms as I lay there watching the ceiling. I'd rather be anywhere than here. Blood was drawn and saliva swabbed. Nobody made me aware of any test results but I knew what was coming next.

An officer sat beside my bed, watching as my skin turned pale. The IV inside my arm felt like it's needle went all throughout my body. I shivered as chills spurred up and down my blood. Sweat covered the entirety of my skin. Even when I felt freezing I still felt the burning sensation running inside me. I groaned and cried, screaming for someone to stop the pain. Pulling at my arms to be freed from the restraints was useless. I squirmed and tried to hide my face. The moment a tear left my eye it turned from ice to fire, gliding and burning its way down my cheeks. It felt like pins and needles were poking and ripping their way in and out of my skin, every single second. "It... it h-hurts. P-plea....please!" I yelled. The officer freed my arms. I curled up into a ball as my fever worsened. Saliva pooled from my mouth and snot bubbled. Nobody prepares you.

They flushed fluids through my system for a day or two, I couldn't keep track of time.

The thought of the feeling of any drug leaving your body is enough to continue putting it inside you.

Puke covered my mouth and shirt, nurses wiping it away and changing my clothes. I felt worthless and embarrassed.

<<<>>>

I'd been awake since 4 am, just staring at the ceiling tiles. There were tiny holes in them, I wondered how many holes there were and if it was over 100. The sun slowly peeked through the curtains. I stayed laying in the same position for the entire time I was here, my body ached. This morning a man walks into the room with a tray holding water and a pill. He hands it to me and I swallow it, half gagging.

"How are you feeling today, Clay?" he asks, checking my IV. I stay quiet and look anywhere but his direction.

"Any intrusive thoughts? Feeling of burning in your chest?"

I shrug, glancing at him for a moment and then look back down at my lap. "I understand you aren't ready to talk. As long as you can continue taking your medication without throwing it back up you'll be able to go to rehab in a few days." he pats me on the shoulder and begins to walk out of the room, stopping to speak once more.

"After some of the treatment and counselling in the rehabilitation centre you will be allowed visitors, but you need to give yourself some time to heal before seeing your loved ones." I nod, looking away again.

They brought in some food eventually. Before coming here I hadn't eaten a real meal in weeks, maybe months. That's the reason I can't keep anything down, I'm not used to having anything in my system except for drugs.

When dinner came so did my medicine. After taking it I began to feel sick, I knew the routine. I grab the garbage beside my bed and bring it close to my face, leaning into it I throw up all the food I had just consumed. After putting the bucket back I hug my knees close to my chest, hiding.

Later on a nurse comes into the room, a nice smile curled into her lips. "A man by the name of George Davidson is requesting access to your treatment and notice as to where you will transferred. Do you want him to know or not?" She asks. "No." I reply. "Is there anyone you want us to tell? Family members?"

"Just my mom."

"Okay."