Drugs & Candy

Chapter Eight

December 14th 2012.

I wake up alone in this place that I never wanted to be, happy fucking birthday.
I look forward to nothing, everything feels mundane and bleak.
I feel extremely melancholy. Depressed. Sad. Alone. Angry. Whatever you want to call the whirlwind of emotions in my mind.
Anything but happy.
These white walls do nothing for me, the carpeting, while nice, doesn't entice me.
The window with the perfect view of the grounds outside, with its lush green grass, multicolored plants and loose flowing willow tree doesn't excite me.
I am 25 years old today with nothing to show for it but a drug addiction and a rehab stint.

I glance at the clock and change into my day clothes, a pair of jeans and a plain t shirt, just in time for the knock on my door to come that tells me that it's time to eat breakfast.
I slide my shoes on, grab my toiletry bag and slip into the bathroom first to brush my teeth and hair, despite the fact that I'm throwing a beanie over it anyway.
Who cares if I look good? No one.
Who gives a damn about me? No one.
I mailed my letters out but haven't gotten anything in return. Maybe the mail is just slow.
I'm not expecting a single thing from Elaina, but I do have a slight hope that my parents do something, anything, with the fact that I reached out at all. I miss my mom's hugs.
I miss my dad going to football and baseball games with me.
I miss my mom's cooking, and my dad's ranting at the news each night, or him calling me when he's heard a song that I worked on playing on the radio.
I miss when they used to be proud of me.

I drop my toiletry bag back off in my room and walk myself down to the cafeteria, waving off the volunteer.
I know where it is by now.
The only thing that sounds good to me today is a train coming at me as I stand on the tracks, not a hot bowl of oatmeal or small stack of pancakes, or whatever else they're offering today.
I bypass the food line and make my way straight for the coffee servers and hot water servers.
My breakfast today will be a hot cup of green tea. 
Hiding in the farthest corner of the room, staring into my cup as the tea steeps, the water going from clear, to a tint of green, to a bit of a light yellowing grass color, and finally, it's signature yellow-green. 
"Happy birthday." I hear from the most familiar voice, the only voice that matters here.
I don't look up, nor can I speak. I don't have anything to say.
Jack slides a plate of toast with jam on it.
I slide it back.
"It's no Baskin Robbins ice cream cake, but it is something, and I really hope you'll eat something. I do have something for you though. It's not much, considering I can't really give you anything too exciting or fancy here, nor can I play favorites but with you, I sort of play favorites anyway..." He lost his train of thought, going silent for just a moment before starting back in, "Oh, right. I can give it to you in my office at your session. I also thought maybe today....You could try group therapy again? You don't even have to talk...Just, don't be alone on your birthday." He's waiting for my response and I'm going to let him down just like I let down everyone else in my life.
I just look away, finding a nice spot on the wall to focus on. Still, I do something that may make him at least a little happier with me by picking up a piece of the toast and biting it.
He did pick a really good jam, blackberry.
I hear him sigh, "Okay...Well I'll leave you to it, but group therapy is the room right down the hall, you know...It's got all the signs. I told Melanie I would try to get you to go in. It's been nearly a month Alex, I think you should talk to someone other than just me. The group could really help you, at the very least give you some company. I don't like you holed up in your room all the time." He gives me a quick one armed hug, "I have to get to my first session. I'll see you after lunch." 

I sigh when it goes silent again.
I at least do as he wished me to do and finish off the slice of toast. Maybe I will go to group. He did say that I don't have to talk. Maybe some company will be nice after all.
I won't hold my breath.
I sit there, watching as everyone files out to go do whatever it is that they're going to do.
Finishing my cup of tea, I drop it in the trash can and make my way to group, wondering what the fuck I'm even doing.
The room is sad looking and while there's nothing in particular that makes it look sad, the energy it gives off screams depression and anger. Self loathing and disappointment. Maybe this is the room for me.
I say nothing as I take a seat in the semicircle of chairs, looking down at my lap.
"Okay everyone, let's introduce ourselves." Melanie offers everyone a sweet smile, her pretty hair braided, falling over one shoulder. I barely notice things like that, but I need something to focus on as I twiddle my thumbs.
This is a new group of people since the last time I came here.
"I'm Elizabeth, I'm 21 and I'm two months sober from narcotics."
"Dylan, 19, one week sober from alcohol."
"Jessica, 18, one month sober from heroin."
The list goes on until it gets to me.
"A-Alex...25....One month sober from oxycontin..." I nearly whisper before falling back into my silence.

I listen to everyone talk about how depressed they are, and the symptoms they've been having. My withdrawal symptoms are next to nothing now. I still get headaches, and sometimes I feel sick but what's really killing me is the crippling anxiety and depression that plagues me. It's plagued me forever though, even before the drugs. I think that's why I grew so fond of the drugs. When you can bliss yourself away from the things that trigger you, or sleep the days away so you don't have to face reality...It's easy to get addicted to that. 
I feel myself being watched, I'm expected to say something.
I can't.
"I heard it's your birthday today Alex, happy birthday." Melanie says gently, and I listen as the rest of the group wishes me a happy birthday.
"There's nothing happy about today." I mumble in response, hating myself as tears trickle down my cheeks, the pressure building up in my chest and the lump rising in my throat.
"Well, is there anything positive that you have to look forward to today?" Melanie is too sweet. Her gentle, soft voice almost reminds me of Elaina's back when she and I first met.
"I want to kill myself." I mumble almost silently. It's the truth, though. There's nothing for me here or anywhere. I welcome the sweet release of death, of being nothing. No more than a memory that people would rather forget.
"Can we talk about that?" She's so gentle. I hate her.
I can't speak and I refuse to answer her, I'm choking back tears and it's not working, so I explode.
My head is in my hands as the tears flow freely, sobs coming from my gut pouring out of my mouth, heavy and hard.
I feel hands on both of my shoulders, one from Jessica, the one recovering from her heroin addiction, the other from Melanie herself.
Instinctively, I lean my head onto Melanie's shoulder and just sob against her, feeling pathetic and low.
Her arms wrap around me in a tight hug and I lose it even more.
I can't be here.
I push myself away gently and run straight up to my room, slamming the door behind me.
I lose myself as I destroy my room.

By the time a couple of volunteers get there, I've thrown everything on my little desk across the room, loose papers that I'd torn from my journal scattered around, the table lamp on the floor, pens strewn all over the room, clothes from my closet lay in piles on the floor with my pillow and blanket joining them.
The volunteers find me on the ground, curled up in the fetal position sobbing against the leather bound front of my journal, clutching my knees to my chest.
"What do we do?" One asks another quietly.
"He's with Jack..." The other answers.
It goes silent and I know who they're going to get.
Sure enough, within three minutes Jack is sitting next to me with his hand on my shoulder.
"Alex...Take a deep breath okay? It's alright." His voice is so soothing and I hate myself for actually listening to him as I suck in a deep breath. 
Jack sits there with me, rubbing my shoulder while I calm down. He's silent and I'm thankful for that. I don't think I can handle any shrink talk right now.
I don't need a shrink. I need to be euthanized. 
It's only when I've gone completely silent that the saint of a man next to me speaks, and his voice is so gentle, so velvety smooth, "What can I do?" He asks me, and I feel like I haven't been asked that question in a long, long time. In all honesty, I haven't. I've been told what to do. I've been asked why I do what I do. Why I don't get help. Why I am the way that I am. Why I refuse anyone's help. Still, no one's asked me what they can do to help me.
"Hug me." I whisper, forcing myself to sit up. 
I'm not here for the hug because Jack is Jack and I think about him in more ways as just my shrink, but I'm here for the hug because I fucking need it.
So he does what I ask, and he pulls me in for a tight hug. He's warm and smells good, he's safe and comforting. It's his job to be, but I appreciate it nonetheless as I cling onto him, desperate for any sort of human interaction that isn't directly about me being a drug addict. Some semblance of comfort from another human being.


I took a nap after Jack left, too full of thoughts to go down to lunch. I'm not hungry anyway. I can't justify eating when all that I really want to do is simply not exist. 
A volunteer knocks at my door when it's time to go to Jack's office, and again I wave them off.
I know the way.
I knock on the door, hands in my pockets, walking in quietly when he opens the door.
I sit down on the little couch and watch as he sits in the armchair next to me, my file flipped open.
"I want to kill myself." I tell him quietly.
He looks up at me, and I can see that he wasn't quite expecting that.
"I...Well," I'd taken him completely by surprise and somehow his look of surprise isn't just that of a doctor who's patient concerned him. It's more of a look of panic, "Can you explain that? Tell me why you want to do that?" He tries to sound professional, but I can hear the worry in his tone. He's not hiding it well.
I shrug, "Why not."
"That doesn't answer the question Alex..." He eggs me on, trying to get a real answer out of me but honestly, I think what I just said is the real answer. Why not. 
"I see no point in being here anymore when all I do is disappoint people. It's been twelve days since I wrote my parents and Elaina...Neither one wrote back, called, anything. I get why. I just thought maybe my parents would at least care..." Jack cut me off, holding out two envelopes.
"Your parents did write. Elaina did too." He keeps his tone even and calm as my eyes nearly bug out of my head.
"The letters came in yesterday. Mail came late and it was too late to give it all out by the time we'd sorted through what letters and packages go to who. I have a little something for you too, but these take precedent." He offers me a small smile. 

I open the first letter from Elaina.


'Alexander,