The Journey Ch. 07

"Fuck me. And I thought the no-closed-doors-during-the-day rule was bullshit."

"Well, I sort of agree with that one, after Friday."

"What happened Friday?"

"A girl committed suicide. Hung herself in her room. She managed to do it when the P.A. was busy with other patients."

"What? You're shitting me!"

"Nope. Three doors down," she said, hooking her thumb in the direction of the end of the hall.

"What the fuck? Why would you come to a place like this then just check out?"

"There's a lot of people here who want to get clean, but there's a lot of demons too. I tried to kill myself, when I relapsed after my first stay in rehab. Didn't cut the right way, though. Fortunately, I guess." She pulled up her sleeve, showing me an ugly scar going across her wrist. "The scary part is that now I know to cut the long way. Hopefully I never get to that low again now that I know that."

I stared at her, speechless, until the public address system crackled to life, announcing lights-out in five minutes and wishing all patients a good night.

"You good now?" It was all I could think to say.

"I guess. Time will tell."

I laid in bed for hours that first night, trying to fall asleep. Rhonda's tossing, turning and snoring was partly to blame for keeping me up, but mostly my brain was busy arguing with itself, like it had been on a nightly basis for the last two weeks.

Man, sleeping in this fucking cast is impossible. Been a side-sleeper my whole life, and now I can't so much as roll over, I thought. I miss having Jane curled up--

I stirred in bed, annoyed at myself, and pain shot through my shoulder.

You don't get to miss her, Esparza. You drove her away.

Because she's too nice to cut loose a disaster case like me. She can do better. She'll be happier in the long run.

You think you did what's best for her? Or what's easiest for you?

Like giving up Jane was easy. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. I wanted to be in love with Addison. I was in love with Jane. I love her. Loved her.

So you kick the woman you love to the curb to avoid having to explain your fuck up to her and own up to it? So you don't have to face the music for drinking and driving? So you can go back to pretending to Abuela you aren't who you are?

Fuck me, that's not what I did. That's not what I want to do. And I'm done pretending to Abuela, even if she won't ever talk to me. I'm not going to pretend to be anything other than I am, ever again.

And yet you still haven't talked to Mamá since the wreck. When you gonna come out to her?

I sighed loudly. Rhonda rolled over, snuffling in her sleep and I held my breath, not wanting her to wake up and have her want to talk or some shit. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to will myself to sleep. My shoulder was killing me. I had to turn in all my pain meds when they'd admitted me and I had to get them from the dispensary. I'd had my evening dose after dinner and I knew they wouldn't give me more until morning.

I'm never going to get to sleep at this rate. This place is weird, the mattress sucks, my shoulder is killing me. I could really use a slug of tequila--

I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling.

Just because I want a drink to make it easier to get to sleep doesn't make me an alcoholic! I just... have a lot on my mind.

Have you had a lot on your mind almost every night you've slept alone for the last three years?

I sighed again.

This is going to be the longest twenty-eight days of my life.

~~ Day Four ~~

"Why have you never gone to visit your mother in Mexico?"

I ground my teeth. I was not really enjoying my one-on-one sessions with Charlie so far.

"Because I haven't been able to afford it. Also, I'm afraid of getting hassled by immigration when I come back. I've heard enough stories from second generation immigrants going to visit Mexico and having CBP detain them at customs for hours, even when they were born here. I don't trust myself not to punch out some agent if they tried to pull that shit on me. After which, I'd end up in a federal jail cell."

"Have you always been so self-aware of your anger issues?"

"I don't have anger issues," I snapped reflexively. After Charlie simply smiled at me in return I realized I just proved his point for him. "So, I have a temper. Can't say that life hasn't given me reasons for it, though."

He made a quick note on his pad. After our first meeting, he'd started each session with a yellow legal pad on his lap to write down... whatever bullshit he got out of me that he was writing on it.

"How often do you think your choices have given you reasons to get angry as opposed to life giving you reasons?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You told me in our first session that the officer who wanted to arrest you, but couldn't, so he called your supervisor. And that made you really angry."

"Yeah, it did. Asshole went way out of his way to fuck me over."

"But if you hadn't made the choice to go to the bar and drink, the choice to drive that day, that officer would never have been in the position to do that to you."

"Look..." I cast about, thinking of some... defense. But there wasn't one. I knew that much. "Fine. That one's on me."

"Are you ready to talk about your breakup yet? You mentioned yesterday that you and your girlfriend broke up when you were in the hospital."

I heaved a sigh and rolled my eyes, looking out the window again. "No, I don't want to talk about Jane."

"Okay," he said, then we sat in silence for a few minutes.

Sometimes I could feel Charlie trying to wait me out, not saying anything when I didn't want to talk about a topic, seeing if I'd give in and start running my mouth. I turned back and stared into his eyes, unblinking. I wasn't going to let this guy manipulate me like that. Unfortunately, my head was pounding. I'd been nursing a headache most of the day, and I looked away first, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose.

"You okay?"

"Just a headache," I muttered.

"Mm-hmm. How are you sleeping?"

"Not great. This cast makes it impossible to sleep on my side."

"How do you like the food? Did you enjoy lunch today?"

"I didn't eat anything."

"Stomach bothering you? A little nausea?"

"You trying to show off your astounding observational skills, Charlie?"

"Are you feeling anxious? In addition to your irritability, that is?"

I dropped my hand from my face. "What the fuck is this? What are we doing?"

"I'm not trying to upset you, Vivian. I'm going down the list of symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. You seem to be having most of them at the moment."

"What?"

"This is about the timeframe we'd expect for you to start showing symptoms of withdrawal. I'm going to guess that you tied one on the night before you came here? You're going to be cooped up here for twenty-eight days, might as well have a last hurrah before having to slog through this pointless exercise, right?"

"No..." I said, thinking about how I'd killed the last quarter of the bottle of Cuervo I kept on top of the fridge the night before Diego had picked me up. I mean, no sense in leaving it there for Manny to drink, right? Since I probably wasn't ever going back to that apartment again.

"So, no party. Did you drink to get to sleep the night before?"

"Man, I told you, I'm not an alcoholic!"

"Yes or no, Vivian, did you drink the night before you came here?"

I sat mutely, not willing to answer the question.

"How about the night before that? Or the one before that. You came here exactly two weeks after your accident. How many of those days did you not drink?

"I had maybe, maybe, a drink the night before I came here. Maybe two, if that. I can't remember. I didn't drink every night between the hospital and here." Only because for the first week you were high on hydrocodone for your shoulder, my brain told me, which I promptly told to fuck off. "I'm not going through withdrawal! I just have a fucking headache. I get those when I have to talk about myself when I don't want to."

"Vivian--"

"I told you, I don't drink at work, I don't drink and drive, except the one time I was a dumb fuck. I don't drink every day!"

He sat quietly while I tried to wind myself down.

"I'm not an alcoholic," I said quietly after a minute.

"Have you ever heard the term functioning alcoholic?" he asked me, as he set his pad aside and folded his hands in his lap.

"No."

"Well, that's what you are, Vivian. You don't drink every day, but you do most days. You don't drink on the job, but after work you come home and drink. Whether it's to relax, or to have fun, you get drunk more often than not when you do drink. You drink to help you get to sleep some nights, if not most nights. Your drinking doesn't really mess up your life in significant ways, at least it hadn't until your accident. But it impacts your mental health, your feelings of self-worth, and I'm sure it impacts your relationships."

"What are you, some kind of fucking psychic? Going to pull out a crystal ball next? Maybe a deck of tarot cards?"

His smile looked slightly less patient than it had been up until now. "Vivian, I diagnosed you the second day we met. I know you don't want to admit it, either to me or yourself, but you're a functioning alcoholic."

I smiled mirthlessly. "Yeah, so you say. And you figured that out after less than two hours of talking to me."

"Yes, I did. Because I've been doing this for a long time. Because I've treated hundreds of patients here over the last decade. And because I'm one too."

"What?"

"I'm in recovery. Sixteen years next month."

"I... what?"

"Before I went to school to be a counselor, I was a manager for a retail chain. I hated my job, and I drank a lot. Every night when I came home. With dinner, watching TV, before I went to bed. I'd drink beer all day, every weekend. I went to work hungover more times than I could count, but I never went to work drunk. Never drove drunk. But I'm an alcoholic. I am addicted to alcohol. I am an addict."

"Huh," I grunted thoughtfully. "What happened?"

"I got demoted. Even though I was never drunk at work I was late pretty often. Then I got divorced. Then I finally got help. A lot of people tried to get me to get help before I reached that point. But most people have to hit bottom before they're ready to admit they need help." He picked up the pad again.

"And now you're a counselor here."

He nodded. "After I went through the program and got clean, I felt I needed a purpose in life, and I was pretty good at listening to people. It seemed a good fit."

"That's great man, I'm happy that worked out for you," I said.

He arched his eyebrow at me. "Let's hear the 'but' that is so obviously coming after that sentence."

"I'm not an alcoholic. All due respect to your expertise, but I just drink for fun. I'm not an addict."

"Okay," he said, with a small smile.

"I've hit bottom, man. I almost lost my job. Will lose my job if I don't get through this place. I lost my relationship with my grandmother, with my girlfriend. I lost my apartment too. My roommate can't let me stay there rent free for two months while I'm suspended, anyway his daughter wants to move back to D.C. and get a job so it's the perfect time for him to kick me out after I fucked up anyway, so all my shit is in a storage space. I hit bottom."

"But?"

The campus clock tower chimed, the bell sounding three times.

I smiled at him for the first time that day. "Our time is up," I said, standing up. "See you tomorrow, Charlie." I stopped at the door. "And, I'm not an alcoholic."

~~ Day Five ~~

"Hey Vivian, hold up a second," Dwayne called out to me as the group session broke up.

I stopped as the rest of the group filtered out of the room. I was getting a little tired of all the crying I was having to sit through in these sessions. I wish people would save their sobbing for when they got back to their rooms. I liked Dwayne, the counselor in charge of my group therapy sessions, though. He seemed like a solid dude. He was younger, a little cooler, less up in my business than Charlie.

"S'up man?"

"You know the point of these group sessions is to actually talk about yourself, right?"

"Um... yes?"

"You've been here almost a week and you're the only one in the group I know nothing about, except what's on your intake forms."

"Sorry. Not my fault. Doug and Jillian are such chatterboxes."

"It's not, huh? Don't think I don't see how good you are at steering the conversation back to them the minute I try to get you to talk about yourself and your journey that led you here."

"Sorry," I said again. "I just don't have much to say."

"Oh, I doubt that. There's a difference between not having anything to say and not wanting to say anything."

I looked at him, irritated. "You know, having you guys always acting like you can see through me gets pretty old."

He laughed. "It's part of the job description, Vivian."

"Uh huh. Anyway, great session today, thanks."

"Next week we're going to start doing practice AA meetings, and you'll be expected to stand up and speak to the group you know."

My stomach clenched up. "Yeah, I know. I read the syllabus."

"You're not going to get much out of these sessions if you just sit like a lump on a log and listen. You should try sharing more."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind."

"What do you have next?"

"Health and wellness period," I said.

"Hitting the gym?"

I patted my cast with my free hand. "Sure, gonna lift some iron, get swole."

He laughed again. "Alright. Just so you know, I want you to start off the group tomorrow."

"I thought we didn't have group tomorrow because of Thanksgiving," I said flatly.

"I meant the next session. Friday."

"Fine."

"Have a good holiday, and I'll see you the day after."

"You too."

I left Adams Hall, the biggest building on the campus that wasn't a dormitory and trudged across the quad, turning the collar of my coat up against the icy wind. Every day I had to check in at the health center, where they took all my vitals, asked how I was doing, which mainly consisted of asking me about withdrawal symptoms. I was suffering from most of what they asked me about every day, but I always said I was fine. I could deal with most of them, except the headaches. I'd developed a tremor in my left hand too, but I chalked that up to it being in a cast for almost three weeks.

After checking in with the nurse, I walked over to the gym. Every patient was supposed to get at least an hour of exercise a day. There were trainers on staff, and they held weightlifting classes (which I'd be into except for my shoulder), yoga sessions (which reminded me of Jane, so fuck that), even tai chi (which just looked goddamn stupid.) Most patients checked in then went for a walk, some of the bigger messes just shuffling around the quad, some of the more adventurous ones hitting the walking path that went around the border of the sixty-acre grounds.

I checked in with the trainer, then headed out into the cold, putting in my Air Pods as I headed towards the walking path. I selected one of my playlists and shoved my free hand in my coat pocket. Walking was about all I could do with my arm, except maybe the stationary bikes in the gym. I tried those the second day, and people kept stopping to fucking talk to me. On the trail, I'd pass other patients, walking alone or in groups of two or three, but with my headphones in I could get away with just a head nod.

Walking was my time of the day to wallow. The rest of the day I had to put up my shell, so the other patients and counselors wouldn't see my cracks and pick at them. I made the mistake of letting myself think about Jane at bedtime on the second night. I'd teared up and Rhonda had badgered me for a half hour after lights out to talk about what was bothering me. I finally told her she wasn't my counselor and to get off my back. Like I needed that shit.

Out here, in the cold, walking alone, I could let myself think about what my fuck-ups had cost me, what I'd lost.

What I'd thrown away.

I'd wasted three years being messed up after I drove Addison off, and I knew driving Jane off was going to hurt way worse, probably for longer.

When I reached the back part of the property that butted up to the shore of the Chesapeake Bay, NF's Let You Down came on in my ears and my mood went from bad to fucking awful.

All these voices in my head get loud, I wish that I could shut them out.

I'm sorry that I let you down, let you down.

I let Jane down, just because of the person I was. Who wants to be with someone stupid enough to get drunk and roll their Abuela's car? Someone who had to go to fucking rehab. Someone whose grandmother thought that Jane was a whore who was turning me away from the path of God. It was the right thing to do, letting her go to find someone who was less of a train wreck.

Feels like we're on the edge right now. I wish that I could say I'm proud.

I'm sorry that I let you down, Oh, I let you down.

I stopped on the path, staring across the water, letting the icy wind whip my face. The song ended and I pulled out my iPod, and played it again, then set it to repeat.

Goddamn it, I thought, I'm not an alcoholic, but I could really use a fucking drink right now.

~~ Day Nine ~~

"Dwayne tells me you've been having trouble in group therapy," Charlie said, starting off my therapy session.

"I don't know what you mean."

It had been a shit week for me, especially in group. We'd been learning how to participate in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and I really hadn't been into the mood for it. Thanksgiving had sucked. It was the first time I'd ever not been with Diego and Abuela for the holiday. Not that Abuela would have had me this year. To add insult to injury, the cafeteria had provided us all with a nice, traditional Thanksgiving dinner.

Traditional unless your family happened to be Mexican, that is. There was no rice, no tamales, no corn pudding with poblanos, and none of Abuela's pumpkin tres leches cake. It made being away from my family and with a bunch of strangers even more alien to me. I felt lost.

Then, instead of getting a holiday weekend, I had day after monotonous day of therapy, group sessions, seminars and bullshit.

I knew that's what Charlie was referring to. Yesterday afternoon, I'd finally been unable to dodge taking a turn speaking to the group.

"So... my story... What led to me coming here... I had a really bad day."

I'd looked around. Most of my group was staring at me. A couple were staring off into space, like I usually did. I felt wildly uncomfortable, but I'd been dodging this moment since I got here. No more hiding I guess.

"A really bad day," I said, and my voice cracked. I cleared my throat and continued, my voice steadier. "I... I came out to my grandmother. I'd been putting it off for... well, my entire life. But I finally had a girlfriend that made me finally want to do it. And it went about as well as I'd always imagined it would." I reflexively tried to cross my arms over my chest and a flash of pain went through my shoulder. I grimaced, and stuck my free hand in my pocket instead.

"A-a-a-nd, she flipped out on me. Like I knew she would. I told her-- Well... I don't want to rehash the whole conversation. It was pretty short. She basically told me to stop being a lesbian. Called my girlfriend a whore." I stared at the back wall of the room. "I think it hurt more when she kept calling my girlfriend a whore than if she'd said it to me. I kinda wished she had called me that, instead of Jane. But anyway, I handled that about as well as I handled most stupid shit in my life. Got drunk. Which, I guess wouldn't have been the dumbest thing I ever did, except it was raining, so when I stormed out of my grandmother's house I took her car. Then instead of leaving her car at the bar and taking a cab home, I tried to drive it home. And crashed." I tried to hold up my cast, but ended up wincing in pain again.