22. The Past
The Past
TJ
Dear Diary,
Dear Journal,
Maybe I don’t have to address this to anyone specific …
My therapist told me it might be helpful to write my thoughts and emotions in a journal. I told him it was a stupid idea. He told me he’s the one getting paid six figures and so I should listen to him. The dude’s funny. I like him.
Therapy isn’t what I thought it would be. Reggie suggested I talk to a shrink about my childhood. By suggested I mean he told me I had to go. He’s footing the bill, so it’s not like I’m losing anything.
Reggie’s also letting me crash on his couch. Since I can’t pay rent, or any of the other bills, I help out at his gym. I’m answering phones, cleaning toilets, whatever he needs me to do. He’s holding onto my paychecks. He said he’ll let me have the money once I complete the twelve steps. Sometimes I wonder if I can trust him. The truth is, I don’t really have a choice. The man gave me a place to live, got me sobered up, and he cooks for me every night. He’s even teaching me how to cook. Reggie has done more for me in two months than my own father did for me in thirteen years.
I still hate going to the meetings. Reggie has me going to both Alcoholic’s and Narcotic’s Anonymous. It’s crazy to hear some of the shit people do when they’re fucked up. Some people have it a lot worse than I do than I did. It doesn’t make me feel better, but it’s interesting to see that even the executive in the Armani suit and the mom from the suburbs have something in common with me. Some of the strongest people there fall off the wagon. Yet, everyone supports them and they get back up and keep trying.
I don’t know if I’ll ever relapse. I sure hope not. Withdrawal was a real bitch. Felt like I was dying. Maybe I’ll write a journal entry about what it felt like, so if I ever get the urge to use again, I can read it and remind myself how much it sucked.
I think I’ll go do that now.