"So, the first time I was sober was probably one of the worst days of my life."
I fold my hands on the table and clear my throat.
That was extremely awkward,
I think to myself before making eye contact with Ms. Parker.
It's a risky move, because I've kind of developed a small crush on my therapist, and apparently I am not very good at hiding it.
She smiles sweetly and asks me to continue.
"I guess my body was used to being fueled with booze and pills, and when I stopped...using, it stopped working.
You know, like when you don't put gas in your car."
I itch my back even though it doesn't itch. I was having a hard time explaining this. I clear my throat again.
"Annnd when a car doesn't have gas you gotta get out and push it, right?
So that's what it felt like without my fuel.
I guess."
Ms. Parker nods her head like she understands.
"True. I get what you mean. But, I think we need to get you back on the road soon. With a different kind of fuel."
She says, matter of fact.
"Okay. What kind of fuel then?"
She smiles and enterlocks her fingers, resting her chin on top.
"Motivation." She tells me.
I sigh and lean back in my chair. I was afraid of this. I was hoping for some kind of physical therapy or maybe some diet that involved iguanas and guinea pigs. But of course, it had to be the good old M word.
This is the kind of thing you can expect when you are a teenage drug addict.
Well, eighteen now, and its not like I havent been taking care of myself, but booze was my best friend until I found ms. Parker. Though I don't think she feels the same way about me, and its pretty pathetic that I think shes a total babe and all she does is look through my file of drug abuse.
"I see that look on your face, Mattie. We can get through this, you know. I made an appointment with your doctor for Friday."
She perks up and her smile gets all playful. My heart does a little roll down to my stomach.
"Drug test on Friday too! I know you can pass it."
She's right. I can pass it, and the next one after that too. I dont have anywhere to go if I fail this either. Either I get better or I get out.
But the thing is, Sober Mattie doesn't really have a personality like Baked or Shit-Faced Mattie does.
Drunk version of me may be a little bitter, but he knew what he was doing. He was good at a lot of things, and very clever. Same thing goes for the high version of me. Except a little more light hearted and funny.
But sober Mattie? Just an empty shell. Doesn't know a thing about what to do with girls, or how to talk to anyone. No social skills, no skills at all.
Im just a little lost boy, back to where I started when I ran away from home all those years ago.
After my appointment I get up and swing my Vans backpack over one shoulder and walk out the door.
Two flights of stairs.
Left.
Right.
Then I'm at my room, a small little place with two beds and a dresser. One light bulb on the high ceiling. Some of the rooms have bared windows, but I must of seemed pretty harmless, because I have a window all to myself that opens and closes.
I open it up and smell outside.
Trees and freshly mowed grass.
The first rehab I went to was out in the city, built more like a hospital than an institute. Though I guess most institutes are a lot like hospitals.
