Slipping Away From This World

Chapter 16 (The Final Frontier/Chapter)

It took three years to finally feel normal again. I saw countless therapists and doctors, I went to a multitude of rehabs and hospitals, I swallowed hundreds of pills. When I first arrived in the hospital, I was legally dead for about twelve seconds. After those few seconds, I feel like I was completely reborn. Or rather, ready to be born. Unlike those fabricated stories about people overcoming their addictions in a matter of weeks, it took a year to get over most of it, and two years to forget about the tranquilizers. When I first woke up, I was told it was a miracle. At that time, I believed in miracles, but I never believed in miracles for myself. For a lengthy while, I didn't accept recovering as a blessing, but rather, a punishment. While I went through withdrawal, I began to hate myself even more, every time I felt pain, I let the blame rest on me. It was strange, not seeing the women criticizing me. I could no longer pretend that it wasn't me loathing myself. Perhaps there was still a part of me that didn't want to blame myself for the pain I was feeling, but when the facade disappeared, I began to feel more responsibility for my actions. I accused myself of everything that I originally thought the women did to me.

It took the third year to realize that what I was feeling wasn't my fault. When I finally came to the realization and breathed in the truth, a strange feeling overwhelmed me. The world didn't suddenly become perfect, and neither did my life, but there was tranquility in me. It was like my mind reset, refreshing completely. I began to open up to my therapist at the time. I finally returned all those unanswered calls from friends that I let drift away while I was recovering. The first time I studied my reflection and realized that I could be beautiful, I cried. I became healthier. I let my formerly greasy and choppy hair grow out, then cut it into a neat style. My thighs grew plumper, and you could no longer see my ribs and spine. My skin had a healthy glow to it, and became considerably darker as I began to enjoy the outdoors more. I began to be complimented on my "gorgeous smile" and people started to regard me as kind, helpful, and even cheerful. While not everything was easy, I fought through it. There were plenty of times I cried myself to sleep, many times where I had anxiety attacks and small-scale breakdowns. However, I became happy, something I hadn't been since as far back as my childhood.

I was unemployed for a time, living with my parents both so they could monitor my condition, and to just have a place to sleep until I got a job. I was later employed as a front desk worker at an art museum, and then hopped around for a while. I eventually landed a job at one of the minor newspaper companies in the area as a newspaper columnist. I moved out of my parents' home, but they came to check on me a few times a week until they thought I was solid.

Of course, there were still some rough patches. A few weeks after I was admitted into the hospital, Rae and Wane had to leave for a roadie job. Rae had been hesitant to leave, but I knew she couldn't bare to see me in such a terrible condition. After that, I didn't see much of Rae. I know she dated other people through Wane, who came by as often as possible and called me periodically. To be frank, I'm glad we separated at that time. I know she was much happier with other men and women, even if she missed me as much as Wane claimed. For a few months, I was having trouble keeping a grip on reality, living in a hallucinogen-induced world for much too long. I didn't want Rae to see me struggle to differentiate the fake from the real, even questioning her existence. I was glad she was out doing what she liked. Rae eventually quit her job, leaving Wane alone on the road. Wane and I still kept in touch for the three years I was recovering, and for all the time up until now. He had fun on the road, even if he was just a roadie, he was still excited to drive around in his van and see new places.

Almost four years after I tried to kill myself, Rae showed up at my door.

She had certainly changed, but she was undoubtedly Rae. She had dyed her white hair a pale blonde. It wasn't a major change, but definitely noticeable. She still wore rather flowly clothing, much like she had worn when we were traveling. She greeted me with a soft smile and hesitantly moved forward to hug me. I graciously accepted it, giving her a quick, tight squeeze and smiling as the scent of her perfume wafted up to my nose. She released me, and we both stood in the doorway for a moment. I moved aside and gestured towards the inside of my apartment. "Come on in," I flashed her a grin. She returned the smile, seeming slightly surprised. She shuffled in. I shut the door with a quiet click and moved towards the kitchen. I offered her a drink, and she accepted it. We talked for a while. Rae couldn't help but commenting on how different I was, but she quickly scrambled around for something that would make the statement less offensive. I laughed it off, assuring her that she didn't offend me. She again seemed surprised at my reaction, but I waved it off. We spoke for a few hours, laughing together and telling stories as if we were old friends. When Rae went to leave, she slipped me her new phone number with a grin and practically skipped out of my door.