The Road Narrows (Requiem 10)

So at 24 years old, one more time I was back in the hospital. It was the 6th different hospital I'd been admitted into in a year and a half. It was the 2nd time that year I'd been at this particular hospital. They put me in a different ward this time. It was geared more towards psychological problems. I fit in far too well. Each morning they brought breakfast to the communal room we had. I'd eat and then go get my medicine.

As far as medicine went, I was on quite a few. One drug was Thorazine. It's an older drug. It acted like a tranquilizer in me. It would hit me like a freight train and I'd sleep for hours. After a few days, they always took me off of it. They also had me on Librium, which is a drug in the class of Valium. It is given to help offset the effects of detox. They slowly lowered my dose on this drug until I was off of it completely. They also had me on an antidepressant. I don't remember which one I was on by this point, but I bounced from one to another for a good couple of years there. They also had me on vitamins. Alcoholics are notorious for being malnourished. They tried various antipsychotic medicines (Depakote, Geodone). Antianxiety medicines (Seroquel). Sleeping pills (Trazedone). The general goal of this hospital was to find the chemical cocktail that would allow me to function normally. It's a wonder I could walk or talk with all the meds I was on.

A frequently used line in meetings is that alcoholics cease growing emotionally when they start using. For example, I started drinking around 11. When I sobered up, emotionally I was 11 years old. I believe it. Once I discovered alcohol and drugs, I used it as a tool for living. When things were tough, I used. When I wanted to celebrate, I drank. Alcoholics are fundamentally sensitive people. We never really learned to deal with life. We have extremely low tolerance for pain (mainly emotional, but physical too). We knew that if we were in pain, we could take something. Why, then, would we ever bother to learn how to feel our way through loss or heartbreak? Yet when we sober up, we are now forced to deal with the day to day ups and downs that most people our age have long since learned to deal with.

After medicine, the day would drag slowly by. There were groups where we discussed daily goals. There were groups to draw or paint or play music. There were meetings with counselors, and psychiatrists. And down time. Lots of down time. Time passes slowly in the hospital. It's how I imagine time would pass in prison. After 1 week I wanted to go home badly. I had crossed the line, though. Leaving was no longer my option. I spent a couple of days in open hostility at them for keeping me there. I was so angry that I couldn't leave. I would say horrible things to the staff. They just listened. The longer I was going to act like that, the longer they were going to keep me. And keep me they did. A couple of days of this, and I realized I was showing them that they were making the right decision by keeping me. Once I made the connection between being a jerk and staying in the hospital for a really long time, I instantly turned calm again. I spent a total of 3 weeks in the hospital that time. And they only released me when I got into an intensive outpatient (IOP) treatment center.

IOP treatment is when you go to a place for several hours a day, several days a week. I was going Monday through Thursday from 6-9. My life was like hell week from boot camp for recovery. I got up at 7:30, got ready and went to my 8:30 job. From 8:30 to 5:00, I worked. At 5, I was off work to head over to IOP. I had just enough time to do ...nothing. Rush hour traffic meant I got there about 5:30, so I'd grab some tacos at a nearby taco stand and eat them while I waited for everybody to show. From 6-9 I was in groups listening and occasionally giving feedback. (note: I have since spoken with one of the girls I was in IOP with. She remembers me giving pointed feedback that was accurate, but quite harsh. She says I told her she was going to go back to doing drugs. Ouch!). At 9, I left to head back to the house in time to do ...nothing. We had our 10 o'clock closing meetings, so I was pretty much booked all day. By this point, the closing meetings were coming up on 2 hours. Between the hours of 8:30 a.m. to 12:00 a.m. I was booked for 13.5 of the 15.5 hours. And with those two hours, I had to get from one place to another. To say I had minimal time to myself would be an understatement. I had no time to drink or use. And so the months passed...