Rehab is not an easy place. I see people come in and go back out and it. is. exhausting. I mean, I remember how I was in my addiction, how no one could tell me anything I didn't already know, how the problem was always someone or something else, never - perish the thought! - never me. And I remember all the reasons I had for continuing to use. So I feel for them - the guys who go back out. But it hurts, for two reasons.
1. I remember my own past: the people I hurt who were trying to help because they loved me, the way I didn't love anyone but me, didn't know how to or couldn't or whatever, and the way some of those people left my life altogether because I'd really, seriously injured them. Everyone close to me ended up a victim.
2. I know the pain to which they will return. I know it well. And I know what it's like to want the pain, if only as an excuse to use. And then there's the awful truth that quitting is like leaving an old friend, one who is always there, from whom you can always know exactly what to expect. When I stopped smoking pot, I mourned. I still do, as often as I remember it. When I stopped shooting heroin, I mourned. I mourned the needle, too. It was really hard. It felt, in some really twisted way, like betrayal.
So I get it. But it sucks. Not to mention it's a constant reminder that so few actually make it out of addiction, and I am terrified by this. (Not a plea for assurance. Just a statement.)
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