Page 101 of Inseparable
Rehab sucks. At least it does at first. After I was checked in, I had to undergo a full series of health checks and a thorough evaluation. Detoxing over a few weeks was determined to be the best approach rather than going cold turkey, because my body has been drip fed a continuous daily injection of alcohol for years. It’s still hell on earth, as my body struggles to survive without its usual coping mechanism.
I think I spent the best part of the first week with my head over the toilet bowl, vomiting until there was nothing left in my stomach to expel. I’ve grown used to the constant headaches, although the pain is dulled through medication. Nighttime is difficult. Between prolonged bouts of insomnia, profuse sweating, and suffocating bouts of self-loathing, I don’t get much rest. But, the anxiety is the worst, and it attacks most frequently at night when I’m lying in bed. My heart starts beating too fast, and an intense fluttery feeling builds in my chest, until it feels like there’s a ticking time bomb behind my rib cage. Every night it happens, it’s like I’m on the verge of a coronary. It’s the scariest feeling of all.
The doctor gave me anti-anxiety medication, but I had to come off it because it didn’t agree with me. It only enhanced the panic attacks and intensified my insomnia. Now I’m on plain old-fashioned sleeping pills, but even they don’t work sometimes.
With nothing to do all day but think and talk about myself, I’m having huge trouble shutting off my brain. My mood swings ricochet all over the place, and I’m not pleasant company right now.
Devin drops by every day, but I refuse to see him. Initially, it’s because I was so angry with him. Those early days were particularly difficult, dealing with sweats and shakes and the craving for a drink. Like I expected, everything I’ve worked so hard to push aside occupies front and center stage now I’m sober, and I can’t avoid thinking about things I don’t want to. I was furious with him for forcing me into this. For forcing me to confront my painful past. But I was only deflecting the anger.
It’s really me I’m mad at.
And I’m still struggling to deal with that.
I’ve been the orchestrator of my own destruction, and I always thought I was smarter than that.
“How are you feeling today, Angelina?” Dr. Bennett asks as I settle on the couch in her office. Daily psychology sessions are an essential part of my treatment along with bi-weekly group therapy sessions. Drawing the myriad of conflicting emotions to the surface chips away at my soul; it’s a slow, excruciating extraction process that prods and probes and tugs and ultimately leaves me shattered and vulnerable and exposed.
I still balk at her use of my real name, but she’s insistent I need to reclaim my identity to effectively deal with the demons from my past. “Much the same.”
“And what about our discussion yesterday. Have you given that any more thought?”
Horrific pain presses down on my chest. “It’s all I’ve thought about in the intervening period.”
“And have you reached any decisions?”
“It’s too soon. I can’t talk to him about it yet.”
“Let’s put it aside for a little while and work on your feelings of low self-worth.”
The weeks come and go, and life settles into a strangely comforting pattern. While I’m still battling insomnia and anxiety, most of my other symptoms have faded. My mood shifts, stabilizing somewhat, and the unerring vacillations of the early days sharpen in focus. I don’t have all the answers, far from it, but certain things are becoming clearer. My soul is being cleansed, a little bit at a time.
I keep to myself most of the time, but there are a couple of people I chat with on occasion. Some evenings, I watch TV with them in the communal room. My favorite pastime, though, is sitting outside on one of the wicker chairs, reading, drawing, and looking over the side of the mountain at the stunning views below.
I know now that Devin found this place. And I’m pretty sure he’s paying for it too. It’s in a secluded spot, on top of a mountain, occupying over one hundred acres. There are walking trails and bicycle paths as well as an outbuilding with a large pool. I take a swim every morning before breakfast, and I’m learning to appreciate the little things again. Like the cool mountain air on my cheeks and the smell of fresh cut grass or the delicious ache in my arms after a swim reminding me my body’s still alive. The scent of fresh baked bread as I walk past the restaurant or the zingy citrusy smell in my room after the cleaning staff have departed. I’ve still a long way to go, and I’m nowhere near ready to deal with my guilt, but I’m making progress. For the first time in a very long time, I’m starting to want things from life again. Starting to feel a smidgeon of hope.
But I’m still no clearer to understanding where I go from here, and as the weeks become months and my date of departure nears, my anxiety rises. So much of what I feel is tied to Devin and Dr. Bennett has started pushing harder these last couple of weeks. She wants Devin to attend a session, but I can’t even bring myself to risk a casual conversation with him, so how can I expose my bleeding heart to him?
He still shows up every day at the same time, without fail.
And every day I turn him away, without fail.
I don’t know what I’d say to him. I’m embarrassed and ashamed, and the longer it goes on, the harder it gets. I know I’m being unfair, but it’s all tied up with this crap in my head, and I’m so scared of opening all that up.
It’s Friday, a day I’ve been dreading for months, and I’m heading back to the compound after a long, solitary walk when I come across Devin shouting angrily as he’s being escorted off the premises. Benny, my favorite of all the security guards, is dragging him along the path. I start toward them with an extra ache in my heart.
I can’t ignore him. Not today.
I slam to a halt a few feet away when I notice Devin is crying. And he’s not putting up a fight anymore. He’s letting Benny lead him away. Slowly, I walk toward them, fighting tears myself. There’s something so emotive about seeing a man cry. Especially someone like Devin, who has never been the overly emotional type. A pang of guilt hits me. I’ve been so selfish. Turning him away because I couldn’t face my feelings. Never once stopping to think about how hard this must be for him.
Especially today.
“Devin.” I land in front of him, and the tormented look in his eyes almost kills me. He doesn’t hide his tears from me, from Benny, and my heart aches in empathy. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, wondering if they’ll write that on my tombstone. They ought to. It seems to be the mantra I live my life by now.
“Why won’t you see me?” he cries. “I can’t fucking take it anymore, Ange. This is killing me. I need you today of all days.”
“Can he come back inside?” I ask Benny, beseeching him with my eyes.
His nose wrinkles. “I don’t think so, Ms. Ward. He made quite the scene. My instructions were to let him go home and cool off. He can come back tomorrow.”
