𝗡𝗶𝗸𝗸𝗶 𝗦𝗶𝘅𝘅 ~ 𝗢𝗻𝗲-𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘁 𝗖𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 🤍

• 𝗥𝗲𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗥𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 🩷

Disclaimer: Mentions of past self harm.

•❤️•

Nikki's POV, April 1988

It took a lot for me to admit I had a problem and even more to actually finally call Doc and get me and the other guys into rehab but I did it and they did it because it was that or die. We were off the rails and it had to stop.

I'd been neck deep in heroin for a few years and it was destroying my life and my bank account. It was also destroying the band and all of our addictions were ruining our friendships too.

We'd all been pulled apart from each other, hardly wanting to be around each other outside of work hours the last few months of '87, it got bad and it couldn't carry on. Mötley Crüe weren't going to go down like that.

I'm just glad Tommy, Vince and Mick agreed to rehab but deep down I think they knew what we were doing was dangerous and after I died and came back to life a second time that was hammered home for them and me that this lifestyle would kill us and soon if we didn't make a change to ourselves.

I could get my life together off heroin, I could be me and not live as a slave to it, needing it every few hours to simply function and think straight. I didn't want to be addicted for the rest of my life and I certainly didn't want to die, I wanted a normal life and have the best shot at a relationship, a proper one not one motivated by selfishness or driven by drugs.

The first few days in rehab were hell on earth, for all of us but me, it seriously kicked my fucking ass- I'd done detox before, but usually quit and relapse pretty quick but neither were an option here. I had to stick this out and it was agony, though after the first week I felt normal and it was a nice feeling, I felt accomplished however as soon as withdrawals ended I was thrown into therapy, and it has been that way for a week.

Therapy every day with the other guys and four other people, but I wasn't one for group sharing and found it hard to open up but I tried though it wasn't going to be effective with the way things are right now in those sessions. I hated the way everyone looked at me, hated the pity I'm not sure from who I hated it from more, the people I didn't know or the people I did.

The staff must have picked up on my lack of communication skills when it comes to my problems and revealing my vulnerabilities because my doctor, a man by the name of Dr Richard Macintosh, who was talking to me right now about best ways to help me and poses an idea to me, an idea that could very likely work.

"If it's something you're interested in you've got a new therapy buddy. Group sessions aren't working for either of you so we've matched you up together and you'll be doing therapy with her, you've got er-... similar issues. she's already agreed to this but I need your consent too obviously, if you say yes, sessions with her will begin tomorrow, if you want to meet her before hand, she's three doors down from you in 219."

Hmm... this didn't sound too bad I suppose. I could always say no if I didn't like her, I appreciated the doctors actually noticing that I didn't work well in a group and that they wanted to help me. If this doesn't work then I'll just have to make do with how things are but I had to try everything I could to help myself.

"I'll talk to her... but can't I talk to her before I decide whether I actually want sessions with her?"

"Sure, make up your mind while you talk, just get back to me by this evening."