When I was at the Detox House, there was this tech J.
J is 21 and he's attractive. There, that's out of the way. He's compassionate and smart. He is also in recovery. That's J, that's what you need to know.
He will break some rules for clients if they're fun rules, like he would take me to the store when I was at Detox House, even though we weren't running errands for my recovery, technically. We went to the vape shop or to get Dr Pepper, because those things can qualify as medicine sometimes…
My first memory of J was when I was in the first few days of medical detox, he woke me up one night when they were making breakfast for dinner. I hadn't eaten in two days and I had been asleep on phenobarbital and god knows what else they gave me. I woke up scared and depressed and here was J with a plate of waffles and eggs for me. I told him I wasn't hungry.
"What can I do for you that will make this less horrible right now?" he says, squatting next to my bed.
"Can I see my phone to check my bank balance?" I whimper.
This is what I'm worried about while I'm laying in bed, un-showered for three days, drugged out of my mind in a strange place and strange people and I want to see how much money I have in the bank. I can't go anywhere, I have no need for money but I'm pathological about money, even in this state.
"If you eat some of this, I'll give you your phone."
I pathetically take a bite of each thing on my plate and look at him and start crying. He gets my phone for me.
"Don't order an Uber on me."
"I got paid," I whisper after checking my balance. I text my boyfriend and tell him I'm okay even though I'm not. I shut my phone off and hand it back to J. I thank him. I sit there feeling relieved that yes, I have some money, my check went into the bank.
“Wait a minute, people really order an Uber and try to leave?” I am about to laugh when he says that yes, people have ordered an Uber and left the treatment center against all advice.
“But why?” I am confused. It was hard for me to get this opportunity to make sense of why my brain was actively trying to kill me. Why would anyone get this far, to this point and turn around and leave? What did that mean about me, that I hadn’t considered doing that, even though I was homesick every time I was awake?
He looks at me and says something I’ll end up hearing A LOT in treatment.
“Some people are sicker than others.”