Yesterday, I packed a few bags with the intention of leaving the program and going back out to get high, even though I have nowhere to go.
I don’t feel like getting into it all, but I received some news about not being allowed privileges to go out for a few hours a day, which I didn’t like. Suffice it to say, I will not be allowed to go out for two hours a day, and I just got into my head about how sick I am of being here all day without the ability to go anywhere and simply eat something decent. It’s wearing on me.
So, I freaked out and said, “Fuck it, fuck this, I can’t take it anymore.” Luckily, I was talked out of it by some of my favorite staff members who have taken a liking to me during my time here. Especially Nurse Regina, who is literally my guardian angel in the building, taking me out for smokes and sandwiches when I’m stressed out.
What the hell was I thinking? I’ve come this far, 14 months, and by all accounts, I’m nearing the end. I just found out I have another supportive housing interview on Friday. I am not going to be here forever, even though it often feels like it.
I was in full relapse mode. Today, I woke up thinking, “Who the hell was that?” I was going to give up like some pissy little toddler, after all I’ve been through without giving up.
Thank God I didn’t.
