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Rehab: Part Two

“What a difference a day makes.”-Dinah Washington

What a difference a day makes 24 little hours

Brought the sun and the flowers

Where there used to be rain

My yesterday was blue, dear

Today I'm a part of you, dear

My lonely nights are through, dear

Since you said you were mine

What a difference a day makes

There's a rainbow before me

Skies above can't be stormy

Since that moment of bliss, that thrilling kiss

It's heaven when you find romance on your menu

What a difference a day made

And the difference is you an ’ode for 365 days of continuous sobriety

The overwhelming shame I felt, laying on the kitchen floor, in tears explaining myself with the least descriptive words possible to my parents. The façade of perfection was melting off of me

“I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want to do this anymore!”

My parent’s connected with my girlfriend and called around to several treatment centers. Because it was Saturday afternoon, most places they called were closed and some needed authorization from my super-specific insurance provider or some type of out-of-cost payment could be required. “I’ll walk into Behavioral Health on Monday.” I barely believed the words left my lips. I tried to drink water. I ate half a pizza crust. Ten days of heavy drinking will really do something to your stomach.

It was my first meal since the avocado toast and bacon three mornings before. That night, I started going through withdrawal. My heart was pounding out of my chest and ringing in my head. The back of my knees were sweating. One leg was under the sheet the other was on top of the sheet. I had chills. My stomach was bloated so I had to lay on my back. Laying on my back made my heart feel like a ten-pound weight on my chest. My hands were shaking violently. This wasn’t the first time I experienced this, but this time, I really felt like I was going to die. I was afraid to fall asleep.

The morning of February 28, 2021, I came downstairs and sat in the Papasan chair in my dining room. I told my mom,“I feel like my heart is going to explode out of my chest. I feel like I’m going to die.” My mom isn’t phased by phrases that seem dramatic. She responded in her calmest voice, “If you’re feeling like you’re going to die, I think you should go to the Emergency Room.”I spent eleven hours being monitored in the ER for alcohol withdrawal. No medication was administered and I was MAD. My resting heart rate was 138bpm. My blood pressure was at 143/89mm Hg- (Hypertension Stage 2). All I could think about was, “Are they going to give me some Librium so I can sleep or release me so I can get a drink to relieve these shakes.”

I was discharged that evening with the following instructions:

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