Last Rehab Ever (Part 1)

New group, same old script. I expected nothing less, so at least I’m not disappointed. Trevor goes on and on about how he started using drugs because his brother molested him. At least Troll Therapist is competent enough to call him out on his deluded thinking

Unfortunately, Troll Therapist is not smart enough to know that no rehab facility is a ‘safe’ environment. Apparently, a couple of people got kicked out yesterday for using Suboxone, and the staff is mad at the clients for not ‘stepping up and turning them in’. That sounds suspiciously like them asking us to do their job for them. I don’t say this though because I don’t want to draw any attention to myself.

As for this being a safe place, well it’s a long-term rehab, so once again I’m surrounded by common criminals and homeless junkies. Sadly, I’ve gotten used to being in said environment, and I would never use the word ‘safe’ to describe it. I can think of a lot of other words I’d use, but most are not synonymous with safe. A couple of people say that they would have said something if they’d known, which is a lie, and a waste of breath because brown-nosing won’t get you anywhere with these people.

Trevor expresses concern over one of the guys who got kicked out and even calls him a ‘brother’. Troll Therapist either doesn’t realize how disturbing this is (did that guy molest him too?), or not even he wants to touch that Freudian pit of despair.

Troll Therapist does catch me rolling my eyes though and says “you wouldn’t care if this kid died Nick, and you knew he’d being using?”. I don’t even have to think about that one.

“No why would I?…he’s a stranger”

This is totally fucking reasonable but because I’m surrounded by 12-steppers everyone acts shocked and offended. I mean if it were a friend, or God forbid a family member, yes of course I’d be distraught, I’m not a monster. But I didn’t even know this kid’s last name. Why would I be upset if he wasn’t alive anymore?

And here we get to the crux of why I can’t get on board with group therapy, 12-steps, or any other variation of mass empathy. I don’t care about the wellbeing of someone I just met, and really, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’m not going to stab you or have you deported, but if you want to kill yourself with drugs/alcohol who am I to stop you? This is America, let’s respect the rights of the people.

Troll Therapist asked me yesterday why I would want to hangout in a bar where everyone ‘pretends to care about you’. I didn’t answer him and went back to reading something worthwhile. But I wanted to say ‘It just feels more honest to me than sitting in a church basement letting strangers express concern over my wellbeing’. At least I know the people at the bar.

I was actually talking to my friend Scotty about this recently.

“I just don’t appreciate these people trying to make me feel guilty for not caring about strangers…it’s creepy…and probably a form of psychological violence”

“I know!…and it makes me feel weird when they care about me – we just met”

The question that usually occupies my head in these meetings is do these people actually care? I think some of them are just pretending, and others have just forgotten they were pretending. Act a certain way for long enough and eventually it becomes who you are. Sadly, I think most of these people are deluded enough to believe that they actually do care about every fellow addict who wonders into a meeting.

I’d like to see what happens if the North Koreans ever do start a nuclear war. I picture myself standing outside one of their bomb shelters, full of family members, pounding on the locked door as they ignore me.

“But we met at that meeting…remember?”

 

*** The picture above is the houses I would draw when I was supposed to be ‘writing about my disease’. Exposing it’s lies to the light of truth! Fucking kill me.

2 Comments

    1. I have a lot of good drawings of THE house on the hill in rehab notebooks…I had a lot of free time on my hands in those places….happy you are still reading 🙂

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