Riiiiiiing. Rinnnnng. Riiiiing.
I reluctantly lift my head from my pillow, I’m not sure if I nodded into the black abyss behind my eyes or if I’ve actually been sleeping – reality is far from reach – these days I’m just going through the motions.
The room is dark, we’ve had the curtains closed tightly all night as we did the last of our drugs. There wasn’t much, maybe a few bags, some crack and a joint- the joint we hoped would keep the sickness at bay a little longer. We had the weekend to get through then detox Monday. My dad and stepmom paid for our hotel room, anything to keep me off the streets they had just been chasing me through. (literally chasing me until we hid in some bushes and shot all our drugs with puddle water completely paranoid).
I reach for the phone, who the fuck could be calling right now. It’s early Saturday morning, maybe 8am. The screen on my phone says Retreat. Fuck.
I know when I answer the phone, they’re going to tell me they have a bed early. I ignore the call. Maybe they’ll leave me alone. But then my dad texts me telling me to answer. Motherfuckers. I thought I had a few more days to get high. I’m not actually ready to quit but Jay* and I have run out of options. We are a few days homeless, and I am not made for the streets. So rehab it is.
I leave Jay* that afternoon, Javier tosses me a couple bags as a treat for going to rehab, Jay* stays in the motel until Monday when he can go to a county funded place. Back at the Retreat my focus is solely on returning to Jay*, as I’ve pushed everyone else away, FOR LOVE. I literally sound like the biggest asshole the entire time I’m there, I won’t let anyone help me and my treatment plan, I insist involve Jay*. I will hear no such talk of doing this recovery thing alone. He’s my rock. 🤣😭
Yada yada yada I spend two weeks in treatment playing spades, writing poems, and being a pain in the ass client. When its time to go, my treatment plan leads me to a coed sorta recovery house, it’s kinda weird cause there’s some addicts, a couple moms, some people from jail and a pedophile. Yea an actual pedophile. My dad has tears in his eyes as he leaves me at this house in Lancaster, it’s much more of a shit hole than Choices. They call this one the Glass House. I smile at him, It’s okay dad, I’m going to be okay.
I step into my room, it’s mid September and the breeze dances through the windows, curtains rustle. I take a deep breathe – there’s something nostalgic in the fall air, like change is on the horizon. I feel good. It’s going to be okay.
Jay* arrives a few days later- and oh how I’ve missed him. I dont know how I’ve lived without him for two weeks – the tragedy! Now that we are married our plans include trying to have a child. Yep a child. Cause that will surely keep us clean. Well we don’t get pregnant but we do get high within like 48 hours, and I’m being generous here. The problem is money is tight and we have run out of credit card scams to pull so we start boosting. Jay* teaches me how to cut sensors, every kind, what tools to bring, how to walk out of a store with thousands of merchandise you sure as shit didn’t pay for and then flip it into money and drugs. I’ve never “gone shopping” like this before but I learn quickly and I’m good at it, like really fucking good to the point that I make some really ballsy steals. It catches up to us eventually at a Kohl’s – we should have stopped going there the day we walked right past police officers, they were coming in not knowing it was us they were looking for, but this time we were on their radar and we got caught. Correction: my slow ass got caught – Jay* got out a different exit and headed toward the woods and my little bitch ass cannot run for shit and I dimed him out after being interrogated for a few hours. Sorry babe – I was sick as fuck and also not a jail stayin sort of girl.
I go to rehab again a few days later, mostly because I know that’s what my lawyer will suggest. Again it’s spades and being an asshole but this time I’m also actively avoiding my new therapist who instead of asking me what’s wrong, asks things like what my favorite sex position is. I’m sure since he wasn’t fired for being a total creepo there MUST have been a Therapeutic reason for those sort of questions and behavior 🙄 but whatever I digress. Anyway, this time they want a bunch of us to go down to Florida. And I’m like no the fuck I’m not, I’m not going ya can’t make me. How will my husband and I be together if I’m in Florida and he’s up here?? Nope not happening.
They put me on the phone with what I envision to be a small black man named Naz, I have zero interest in talking to him but my discharge planner insists. Naz tells me how his program has a pool and to look at the website photos – nope don’t care, I have one question and that is: can I leave immediately after 30 days – I Need to get back to my husband and also home for Christmas. PRIORITIES.
He agrees with my absolute nonsense.
Satisfied, I pack my bags for Florida and say goodbye to my family at rehab before I’m dropped at the airport. Fort Lauderdale, here I come.
My first day at the treatment center, this porn star lookin Italian man walks into the big group room with a red solo cup in his hand, “all right all the new people pull a chair in the middle.”
(Also please take note that My hair at this point is bleach fucking blonde. I probably look like a hooker – not a backpage hooker, more of a seeking arrangement type but still. Hooker).
Anyway, we all pull our chairs in the middle. There’s maybe five of us – Kaylin a girl I know from Retreat sits next to me – she’s first in line. I have no idea what he says but girlfriend is in tears, where am I?. He moves to me.
“So who ya fuckin here?”
My jaw drops.
I am SOOoooOooOo offended –
I’m married, I say, all indignant.
He literally laughs in my face- “oh right, you’re married and you’re staying 30 days?? We’ll see.”
I don’t recall what else was said but I’m heated. One girl comes up to me on break and tells me not to worry, to just keep quiet about my husband. She says she hears the same crap from this guy but that she and her boyfriend are gonna get married and send this place the wedding invite like in your face 🤣 I take her advice.
The days go by quickly, I make friends with people, I start to open up in groups, I don’t mind being there. I feel hope budding within but there’s a barrier in the form of a weight I carry called guilt that stands between me and the help I so desperately need. I can’t leave Jay* I promised him we would do this together, I promised him forever.
A few days before I’m supposed to leave the owner offers me money to stay, “come on what do you want ? $200? $300?” I stare at him from the couch, I want to stay but I can’t, the weight presses down, reminding me it’s there, “I don’t want your money.”
He asks what I want then? What will make me stay? – my answer : Jay*
“Fine,” He says. “I’ll fly him down and pay for his treatment but you have to stay. Deal?”
I agree. The weight lifts. He awkward side hugs me on the couch in our group room. He reminds me of my dad. I know he cares, that this offer is sincere and in it I find relief, excitement even. This is what Jay* has been saying he wanted, he was always so pissed because I had a PPO and went to nice facilities while he made his way through county funded ones. I know he’s going to fucking love this place. I can’t wait to tell him.
I call Jay* back at the residence, it’s the day before Christmas eve, I sit in the tech office and offer him what I think is the chance of a lifetime. The call doesn’t go as planned, He says very bluntly, “you can stay lex, but then I’ll send ya divorce papers.”
I freeze, my head doesn’t comprehend what he’s saying. I cry, try to negotiate with him but in the end, I can’t bring myself to stay. My therapist calls me and begs me to stay, says he’s emotionally blackmailing me. And He is. I know he is. But like the drugs I can’t stop myself. I have to go. I’m sorry, I say, I have to go.
stay tuned for
Part 3 : return to killadelphia
Love and light
Lexie PS 💙☀️