RAW

The First Time :

Where are you taking me? I don't want to be here. Who decides I'm crazy, and how did you trick me out of the house? Promises, so petty. Mother put your tears away. You're just a fucking traitor. I'm a victim. Conspiracy after conspiracy. I don't fucking belong here. No one told me that they would lock me up. No one said that I would have to stay. I would have kicked and screamed. I would have broken free. I wouldn't be in this god dam padded room choking on Depecote overdose and resentment. I would be happily met by the streets I am now screaming for. I'd be getting stoned, sleeping in the tunnel, fuck it. No one would be judging me. I wouldn't be fucking stuck here counting the days I can't breath. I want my life back. This shit doesn't matter. Nothing matters. I miss the air outside.

Fallow Up :

Four fucking days out of my week. Four god dam hours a day. Is this what it took to break free from that hellhole? I'm giving four days of my week to rehab. Is this really free? Well, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. I don't want to listen to this bitch telling us street kids that we have a problem. Have you been where we have? No! Have you ever even done a drug? No! Where do you get off talking about something you learned from a book or a classroom, to people who really know it? People who live it. People, like me, who will keep on living it despite your bullshit. Yeah, us drug kids have a ritual at this hospital. Two hours each day learning your god dam opinion about shit we know first hand. Two hours to get board. Two hours to start craving. Than an hour break, for lunch, for pot, for fun, all of us. Never miss a day. Yes I’m getting wasted at rehab. Yes, I know how wrong that sounds, and maybe that’s what makes it so fun. Besides, did I ask to be here? There is absolutely nothing wrong with my drug use, and your cheesy movies from the 70s about how cocaine will erode the cartilage in my nose is not going to change my mind. I didn’t ask for help. Yeah, I’m making friends here. I guess it’s turning out to be okay. And, now you’re telling me that there’s a loophole in your fucked up system. Just because I happened to meet my newest drug buddy here, one of us has to leave. Thank god. Of course my parents are thrilled that I use rehab to get drugs. Take me out of here. Alleluia. I’m saved! Back to freedom, back to my streets. Who said that drugs had anything to do with being crazy?

Next Time :

Okay. So I have a disease in my head. What’s really wrong with not sleeping? I don’t feel tired. So I like blood. So maybe I need it to feel, well that’s my thing okay. I never said I was the same. I’m learning to live with this shit, the shrinks and all these fucking pills. I’m not going to change my lifestyle. Okay, so I freaked out again. I was destructive, I was violent. Well, I do have this god dam decease in my head! You should have given me my space. So I guess I knew what I was in for when I went to the emergency room with you again. Now I’m stuck in another god dam jail, nut house, mental institution, whatever. Locked up. At least I get to walk around here, arts and crafts, watch TV. At least I get to choose what I eat. That’s probably the best thing about this place. But I’m getting sick of this structure. I’m tired of following commands. Why do I have to talk to a group about my habits and my scars? And this fucking piece of shit psychiatrist. You want to change my diagnoses? It’s been 2 god dam years! I know my illness by now all right. You think I see the world in black and white because I freak the fuck out in your presence. Our little sessions are just pissing me the fuck off. Why are you tampering with my meds? What’s the point? I’ll be able to get my head straight once you cut me loose. I just need a cigarette. I just need a joint. I just need a line. At least I haven’t had to see your padded room. Okay I stopped talking to you. I’m composed all right. Okay, I’m telling you that I’m fine. This isn’t torture. I just want to leave.

Fallow Up :

I don’t liken this outpatient insane asylum shit. It’s not like rehab. Less freedom and no drugs. It’s too far away. I know it’s a pain in the ass for my mother to have to take off work every day to bring me here. I don’t see the point. I think I’m the sanest person here, and what do you know, my consoler actually agrees with me. I have made a couple of friends though. There’s this one schizophrenic. People are afraid of him, but I talk to him. He’s not dangerous. He’s kind of sweet, just fucked in the head like the rest of us. It doesn’t seem fair the way you all treat him. But, you’re actually cutting me loose? I get to go home for good? I get to go back to my friends, my streets, my life, and no, it will not be a problem.

The 3rd Time :

Okay, things got fucked up again. I fucked up again. I went through the same cycle of sleeplessness followed by blood, and I recognized it. I know it was stupid of me to lay down between those two cars in the parking lot at night, but I don’t think I really wanted to die. I’m just sick of all this shit. I’m tired of this life. I’m tired. But I’m growing. I turned myself in. I guess it had to be done. Maybe it will be good for me this time. All right, I got caught. Maybe I don’t have all the control I thought I did. So you found a Valium under my pillow. I was an idiot to leave it there. So your taking me off it, but you didn’t find the 50 or some odd other ones carefully stitched into my clothes. I’m pretty fucking cleaver. But it’s getting to me this time. I am an addict. I guess I’ve started to resent the streets for the scams I have to pull to keep satisfying my cravings. So quitting is really my choice. I never thought I would bring myself to do so, but I just flushed the pills. I’m strong. This was inevitable. It was a problem. I accept that. But it hurts. Withdrawal. I wasn’t ready for the cramps and vomit, for the shakes, and this god dam cold that comes from the inside. I can’t get warm. At least I can spend a few days without food. Because I’m sick. Because there’s no turning back. At least you people realize that I’m not fucking anorexic, but you can’t shove food down my throat. This stay is longer than the others. I guess I’m getting used to your structure. Maybe the drugs did affect the meds. After the cold and the shakes settled down, I actually do feel calm. I suppose it could be a lot worse. I know that no one is trying to hurt me. I’m actually starting to depend on this structure to keep me standing. But, I can’t argue when you say how much progress you’ve seen in me. Stabilized, sober, structured, no longer a threat. I suppose I do meet all the criteria. So you give me my prescriptions, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to be cut loose. There is no fallow up this time, and the streets no longer seem like home.

My Choice :

All right, I’m back at this same hospital, the same one that I abused, same rehab ward, same consoler. I’m sorry. But I’m proud to be here. Not in the group of kids that are stuck here because of their parents or the law. I’m here on my own. I’m here voluntarily, and I’m proud. The people in this group really want change, including me. I’m admitting it. I need help. I’m driving myself here every weekend. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but it’s good to be holding onto something. But old habits die hard I guess. I’ve only been clean for one long fucking month, but it feels like I’m getting my mind back. So, I guess it’s worth it to stay clean. I owe it to myself to try. I know I’m talking about drugs a lot, but that’s a lot better than doing them. Ms. Consoler with a clean nose, can you really have a grudge against me from so long ago? Why are you trying to discourage me? Can’t you see I’ve grown? This is a fucking rehab, of course I’m talking about my experiences. How can you call me a bad influence? I’m trying to move forward. I know dam well that I’m not putting anyone in danger. You are the only one who is putting anyone in danger! How can you cut me loose? This is voluntary, and I already fucking told you that I need help. I need this to hold onto. But you want to let me fall. What can I do? I can’t just keep showing up where I’m not wanted.

After :

Okay Ms. Bitch. I’m completely utterly alone. I have nothing to hold onto. I cried for help and no one answered. But it’s been months, maybe years, and I’m still clean. I’m not sure what keeps me standing, but I have my mind back. I have the ability to think clearly, which is amazing because I never even realized I’d lost it. I understand my disease and I accept it. It’s under control. I’m trying real hard to find the good qualities in everything bad in my life, and I guess that includes my past. It’s pretty fucking hard, but it keeps me breathing. Fresh air. And I don’t really have to bleed anymore; I’ve learned how to cry. I am scared. And I’m helping myself. And I’m so utterly alone. But I’m moving forward. And I’m not sure where this next step is supposed to take me. But I’m walking down a different street.