This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to go straight to hospital. I didn’t. I was sent to a Detox and Withdrawal “Facility.” They only have “workers.” Nobody is even a nurse. If you feel sick they tell you to go to hospital.
I’m still and seriously “recovering from my recovery” there. Traumatized. It’s taken me days to write this. I haven’t touched any form of technology unless I’ve felt it necessary–or it been. Like medical things and such. At least now that I’m home I can have all my tech gear. Not allowed in there!
I spend hours and hours sleeping under my duvet. 14hrs is my record (I think?) but that is only because the phone woke me up. However, I wake up at 0600hrs every single morning. I don’t know why but I just go back to sleep. I am useless.
You just discharge yourself. Nobody cares. Unless you break the only rule they have. During some people’s prison sentences, they can go for a half hour walk once a day. Said “rule” would be having a cigarette and definitely using any addictive anything. During that “privilege” for them, I thought something odd.
People would go out to buy coffee. You can become addicted to caffeine, yes? And nobody “was responsible” for letting you go outside–unless you were still in the middle of Detox/Withdrawal. If they ever bothered to pay attention to that.
The place was hell–in more ways than one. I suppose the only good things I got out of it was going through Detox and Alcohol Withdrawal. You get really sick. Although my process wasn’t even close to some of the really hardcore users of anything.
The second thing? My roommates. With each one, the jokes and laughter never ceased. The last one I had before I left was basically a street/shelter resident, who was a total wreck from crack and heroin. She was the funniest of all. We never stopped laughing over ourselves, over each other, over anything period. Unless we were asleep.
Actually, that’s not true. Living alone for so long, I wondered if I still talked in my sleep. This was last reported to me in my early 20s. Guess what? I still do. I suppose that means I will never stop because that was 20 years ago.
I wrote daily blog posts as I always do when I go to However, they’re all by hand. Maybe they’ll get up here some day.
They really did so much to break me down psychologically and physically. The worst physically?
I had to fast because I took one bite of something one night and it was like a Samurai Sword went right through me. It took me a while to think of this ugliness. The other inmates are involved with preparation and serving food to the other inmates.
Just think about that for a minute. If you don’t quite get it, you’ve got a lot of heavy duty substance users that need to get clean. The majority live on the street, a shelter if they can find one, or who knows where else? Even if you’ve got a home, think of cross-contamination?
They weren’t even given proper medical procedure gloves that even the damn cleaners wear! I’m not kidding! They were all floppy, hanging off their hands.
Uh, maybe some hygiene problems? Could I please have the fucking cleaner serve me my food?
Psychologically? Long post, there. Let’s just say a short version is they brought out every single diagnosis I have and put them all into overdrive. They probably squeezed out of me whatever else they desired too. How about this?
On the day I left, one of the workers said strip your bed. Fine. Well, wee PA is always freezing so six blankets? I had to use two heavy bags. This lying bitch grabbed one and told me to bring mine along to the elevator as well. Slight MAJOR(!!!) problem. With my cane, a very heavy bag over my shoulder and a door I have to pull open?
WHAM! BOOM! KATHUNK! *tries to protect head*
The other worker came running out and said, “What are you doing?!?!” I explained what I was told to do. ”She picked me up and said, “No! No! That’s what we’re here to do! We’re here to help you!”
Someone nice? I had never seen this girl before.
The other worker grabbed the stuff and took it to the elevator. I did get my bell rung a bit as I was having trouble with my discharge forms. She deliberately lied back in the office about the whole matter. She needed to so the niceworker could hear that she didn’t tell me to do it. Gotta CYA if an inmate gets injured on your shift, ya know?
I was leaving anyway. What did I have to lose?
I lit into her almost like one of my Samurai Dinners. Welcome to some of the “treatment” that was given to me.
Remembering that goddamn hell just on its own will probably keep me sober for the rest of my life.