The Guidebook To Sobriety

Chapter 6

I woke up sweating like I'd been giving the sun a hug and a pat on the back. I hadn't even fallen asleep with the sheets over me yet it felt like my skin itself was melting.

I rolled onto my side with a groan, glancing at the bedside clock I'd brought which read 7:50 am. Out of complete force of habit and admittedly junkie-like longing, I reached under my bed, failing to realize this miniature room wasn't my normal bedroom, nor was there a beer bottle waiting patiently for me.

I did what any self-respecting citizen does when they can't find their tea or coffee that prepares them for the day ahead. 

I panicked.

An overbearing tidal wave of dread attacked my stomach, quickly spreading to my whole body until it felt like I was having a panic attack. The beginnings of the headache hadn't been slept off, rather it was in full bloom, patiently awaiting my awakening in place of my beloved beer bottle. I groaned weakly, rolling over until I fell off of the bed and onto the wood floor. It probably should've hurt a lot more than it did but it only added on to the party.

I laid there, looking up at the unfamiliar roof as my body tried to rip itself apart. The unfamiliar roof helped me to remember my plight. This wasn't my house back in LA and I was supposed to stay sober, it was the whole point of this torture chamber in the middle of nowhere.

I had been sure I would be mentally tough enough to take on the withdrawal and not break a sweat, but here I was, on pretty much the first morning, breaking a number of sweats and potentially bones. I rolled around restlessly and aimlessly on the floor, drowning in anguish, until a black figure caught my eye.

The suitcase.

It was once again closed, with my clothes and essentials tucked inside, but of course, only one essential was on my mind.

The packet of white pills haunted me as I looked at the suitcase, beckoning to me. Valium; the downer that shushed negative thoughts and helped me to endure every punch life threw at me.

Dad gone again? I ate that punch. 

Mom gone again? I ate that punch too. 

Coming home to an empty house? I didn't even feel that jab. 

But without them, my mind would be susceptible to the emotions that weaken and indoctrinate humanity, leaving me vulnerable and as it turns out, it also hurts like hell. Almost teasingly, the pain started to ease the longer I stared at the suitcase, longing for the contents that would numb me.

A bead of sweat formed on my brow as I continued to stare, silently willing myself not to give in. It would be remarkably pitiful if I didn't even last 24 hours. I tried to focus on why I wanted to not give in. Not because of some external factor like someone else's feelings or wishes but because I wanted to prove to myself that I was in control of my own mind and actions, and not the other way around. However, my brain certainly wasn't making that a walk in the park. I envisioned the sound of the packet as I picked it up, tearing it open to reveal my bounteous friends. Then I'd experience the smooth welcoming sensation of the tablets sliding down my throat and the feeling of tranquility that was certain to follow after.

"Ding, Ding, Ding!"

A shrill bell chimed, interrupting the palpable tension enveloping the room and my mental craving battle. I hissed at the sudden sound, quite literally hopping back like I had been shot.  It was only then that I realized I had not only stood up within the last five minutes but I had been standing right over my suitcase, likely about to reach into it and do the deed in an almost trance-like state.