I have written previous posts about my struggle with alcoholism.  Please see the left-hand column under My Links if you are interested. I am writing a series of what it was like in rehab, and my early days in sobriety. By the way, my first year in sobriety was the toughest year of my life emotionally.  My purpose in writing is to get the story out of my head (it’s time), and hopefully to help others who may be struggling with alcoholism/addiction issues.  I am the beneficiary of grace. I am truly grateful to be alive today. This is Part III of several posts on my recovery experience. Most of it is in present tense because it’s directly from my journal notes.

 Previous Rehab Posts:

First, Court for the DUI (Again): Then Rehab (Again) 

Moments of Clarity in an Alcohol Treatment Center: Rehab II 

  REHAB (Part III) 

I have been here about 21 days now and picked up my “30 Day” chip today.  Feeling somewhat alive and grateful today and this is a new feeling. The residency manager-counselor popped into our apartment and told me that I would be moving the next day and would have new roommates.  I was immediately angry and hurt, and sat silently through the next group session.  That evening I paged Jim, the residency manager-counselor, and informed him that I “was in fact NOT moving.”  He didn’t say anything except that we would talk the next day.

The next day I am granted an audience with the clinical team (therapist, residency counselor, program administrator, medical director, and recreation therapist) to discuss my refusal to move.  They listen to me discuss my thoughts and feelings and anger and whatever else they saw in me.  When I finish talking they tell me to move to the new apartment. I was upset and at the same time I felt okay with moving, so I do.  That evening in group the others told me that: “I needed to create a crisis in order to be heard, that I was covering up my feelings, and that I appeared to them as being used to giving in and then later resenting it.”  I responded that I was feeling the weight of realizing that I was not wanted at home and they basically said “Bullshit, you’re just afraid to make people mad.” I might have mumbled “Fuck you” but can’t honestly remember. The next morning in the whole community meeting I was able to tell the group that I had moved, and that the issue about it was “my stuff.”  That surprised me. 

We went on a ropes course activity for the afternoon. I was scared to death, but admitted that to nobody. We started off with a ”trust fall” exercise – yeah right, like I trust that some group of relative strangers are actually going to catch me before I fall - like I trust anybody at all.  They do and I am surprised. I participated in a “2 x 4 team walk”, a “V-walk” on a 40 foot high suspended cable with the woman who I first thought was a bitchy Dallas housewife and later became my best friend, scaled a 12 foot high wall with the team, and walked 40 foot high wires and ropes and beams and ended with a 600 yard zip line ride through the woods.  My notes say “fun, proud, happy, tired, satisfied.”

I call home that evening all proud.  My wife sounds anxious and tired. This is a common theme. She makes it clear that she does not want me to come home. I recall wishing that it was different, and at the same time realizing that this is my reality right now, that this is where my alcoholism has taken me.  I go to my evening men’s group and it is very chaotic and I am agitated and anxious and irritable.  Afterwards I sought out a senior member of the community that I respected and we talked about this and he said he would help us straighten it out in the morning.

The morning community meeting is chaotic and noisy. Edward and Sarah both left last night and got drunk and Sarah is suicidal and “they” are attempting to locate her. Everybody is mad at each other and the staff for the “piss-poor” way we are being treated.  “That’s why Edward and Sarah relapsed and it was going to be the staff’s fault if anything bad happened to them.” What?

The days pass with group sessions, individual sessions, group outings in the community, and nightly walks to Target with a couple of the guys.  Weekends are usually selected family sessions, and pretty emotional for whomever has family in attendance.  My ankle continues to throb, I am learning to speak up and express myself, Sarah has been found alive and I say a prayer for her.  I am acutely aware of missing my children (ages 9 and 14).  The next morning in group I have a major “come apart” and cry for most of two hours. Whoa! Group was very supportive and I feel good in a very tired way.

I meet with the psychologist and he interprets a battery of psych tests that I took previously.  “Middle range of mild depression, slightly elevated on pessimism scale, on introversion scale, and on guilt scale.”  He suggests that meds might help but urges me to talk more and express anger more freely and see how things go.  He also told me that I have an ability to “see where other people are going with their own feelings before they do”  and that he’s noticed that I seem to get irritated with them when they “don’t get it”, and that I attribute motive (e.g., “they’re just not trying hard enough”) when they can’t see the “obvious.”  He suggested that I might want to examine this in terms of being irritated and judgmental with others. What? 

The moon is full tonight and I am aware of feeling pretty damn good. I am also feeling sad and lonely and am aware of how much I will miss three guys who were discharged today. I’ve never really cared about anyone leaving my life before – because that’s what people do. The next evening I go to Richmond with some of the guys to watch a college soccer game.  Rick’s daughter is playing and as they are warming up another player starts shouting my name and waving at me and runs over excitedly to say hello.  She is a former high school student of mine and this is a random event.  I am stunned, as is she.

Today I am so aware that I’m not at a Club Med.  Some resident is in my face shouting “You may not believe in God but you sure are going to have to deal with him.”  Yeah, right. I go visit some of the guys in their apartments.  Another call home and another angry outburst by both of us. I want her to bring the kids to visit and she won’t and they are going to the beach instead.  Even my nine year old son says “I want to see you Dad but I want to go to the beach too.”  What, they’re all too busy to come see me?

My 77 year old father and his third wife are coming to visit this weekend. They are the ones that got me to rehab.  I am excited and happy to see them, and comfortable with the rehab center.  In fact, I am feeling much as I did when I was in college and my parents would come to visit. Weird. Comfortable being in a drug/alcohol rehab center at age 50.  Dad obviously wants to know how I’m doing, but he seems unable to ask, and I seem unable to tell him.  We do our usual “dance.” I think about his age and if I live that long I have 26 years of life left. Still a lot of time left, and yet I have wasted so many years with my alcoholic life.

During our weekend I learn that I am afraid that if I get angry at Dad that he will leave me, and he was the only adult in my childhood that was stable.  I am a mess.  He took care of us (me and my two brothers) and also allowed my mother to torment and abuse us.  This “I love you I am mad at you I hate you” is getting pretty fucked up, and I’m 50 years old for God’s sake and don’t need this childhood issues bullshit.  Except that I do.  I am suddenly aware of spending so much time and energy on looking good while I am feeling bad. I love him.  I heard him say he loves me, and he is wondering if this weekend is treatment for me or for him. I cut to the chase and it gets real teary and emotional.  At the end I am saying “Will you hug me?” Goddammit!! I have to ask for a fucking hug from my dad. He hugs me as if one of us might break. We separate and I look over at my three group friends and they all have tears in their eyes.  I am stunned and then just start sobbing, and we all get pretty wet for the next five minutes.

In a morning group one of the guys is talking about how he didn’t attend to any of the details of his wedding – he just wasn’t really connected to it.  Uh oh, alarms are going off in me.  I was never connected either, in fact, I just went along with “whatever.”  What the hell is that about? Wedding DETAILS?  Are you kidding?  It’s just a fucking wedding to please the fiancée and family.  If I had my way we would just get married, and then go to work on Monday.  But I am all about pleasing others and this is a good way to do it.Met the spouses of two women in my group.  Each describes me as “nice, friendly and reasonable.”  This is just so fucked up. I am an alcoholic, I’ve got two DUI convictions, I have had my car impounded and sold by the state, I have lost my driver’s license for at least four years, I have been fired from a six figure job, my family doesn’t want me to come home, and I am “nice, friendly and reasonable.”  Hmmmmm G……..maybe you have some “issues” you people-pleasing bastard!!

I have been here for two months now and the family is finally coming to visit for “Family Weekend.” Touching my son feels so good. We go to miniature golf and the Go-cart track, and then dinner outside at an Italian restaurant. My wife is tentative and angry but says she is good with being here with the kids. She is glad to hear that I am not just focused on getting home, and she isn’t sure she wants me home… "especially if things aren’t really any different.”  Kyle tells me that he didn’t carve a pumpkin this year because I wasn’t there and that’s something we did together.  My 14 year old daughter draws a picture of the family and it’s my wife and the two kids and the dog in a group, and me on the other side of the page.  Great!!! This is going well. Our conjoint family session is rough.  This is going to be a long haul. I am told clearly to not come home after treatment ends.  Big hurt…I want to wave that magic wand…everything seems dark and bleak…and I am resigned to it.  Maybe someday this will all just be a bad memory. The next day I start researching Oxford Houses for a place to live.  Only four weeks left here.

Note:  There are several more installments in my early recovery and treatment posts.  Next one covers my first home visit and the long, long train ride home, my application rejection to an Oxford House, kidney stone attack on discharge day, re-entry into addictions group at home, admission into an Oxford House (I hated it), getting thrown out of my own home (again), trying to find a job, getting into a relationship on my one year sobriety anniversary, and through it all staying sober.