30 Days In Rehab

Chapter One

Day one:

To whoever may be reading this, my name is Nick Watson and this is my story. I am drug addicted fuck that sees the world as an enemy rather than as a friend. Right now I am starting a program that is designed to help me get cleaned and stay clean for 30 days, as if it will really make a difference. About a week ago, my parents came to discover my unconscious body floating on a piece of driftwood down some river in Philadelphia. Sadly, I was still alive. They rushed me to the hospital where men and women--in long white jackets--announce the "shocking" discovery that I have overdosed. I remember barley waking up to a bright light flashing before my eyes. Doctors swarmed me, pressing on my chest trying to bring to state of consciousness so I can at least see what is going on, but I kept fading in and out. Something, one of my inner demons, was keeping me locked away in my own body, trapped like a prisoner. Fighting them back, I tried to release myself from their grasp, but they kept pulling me back into the darkness, wrapping me in their cold and dark arms.

When I finally came through, I heard my mother yelling, "He's awake! My baby! He's awake!" I tried to find her, but I was hooked up to so many machines, I couldn't move my head. Doctors came rushing in, sending their coats flying upward in a cape like way. I began to choke on the tube that was shoved down my throat, keeping me alive. Some kind of injection has been placed in my veins, calming my body enough for them to remove the tube. My voice has become raspy and harsh, so words are not something I can mutter out.

When I was released from the hospital, my parents were driving to what I thought was home. Instead we pulled up to a big white building with barred windows. As we rode up the driveway, we passed a sign that read, "New Beginnings Rehabilitation Center."

What the fuck? They took me to a fucking rehab? Are you fucking serious? I screamed and hollered. "No! I don't belong here!" But, I did. I knew I did. I need help. Especially when my parents told me they would, pretty much, disown me if I don't wise the fuck up.

We walked into the side the building. It fucking stunk. It was an unbelievably horrid combination of mothballs and vomit. At the desk, I had to sign a shit ton of papers. What the fuck was I doing? Signing my life away? Probably.

After signing the papers, I had to strip down bare in a separate room. They took my clothes and left me a white outfit. It was literally made out of paper. They took everything. They took my shoe laces, my belt, my underwear, pants, shirt, hoodie, watch, and my phone. I'm a drug addict. I'm not suicidal.

I was nervous when they were going through my things, though. I had a bag of heroin in the back pocket of my pants. I'm hoping they don't notice.

They noticed.

They showed it to my parents. My mother, an innocent woman who has clearly been hurt a thousand times, looked at me with tears in her eyes. Make that a thousand and one.

They asked me why. They asked me how. There wasn't much I could say. My boy, Pat, brought it to me. He thought I needed it. He thought it would take away my pain. I was supposed to call him when I got home so we can shoot up. Go figure, they took my phone.

I told the lady the truth. I told her I was going home to shoot up. Everyone, including myself, was so disappointed in me.

My mother, who has never laid a hand on me before, reached over and smacked the fucking shit out of me. I mean, she hit me like a grown fucking man. That shit hurt! I fell out of the chair I was sitting on and knocked over the table behind me. That's how hard it was. My father had to pull her out of the room.

My mother, Linda, is such a small woman. I mean, she weighs a good 126, soaking wet. So, for her to be pulled by my father, Hank, a big ass dude, was incredible. When Hank came back in the room, he looked me dead in the eyes and got up in my face.