I’ve been thinking about rehab. Dreaming about it. Today I thought of my best friend from rehab. He sent me a text a few days ago asking me to call him and I did and he didn’t answer and he didn’t call back. You never know when someone from treatment relapsed. It’s always what I think might have happened when I don’t hear from them. It’s something I always think of with great tenderness. Never do I honor the saying “There but for the grace of God go I,” more. Because it feels like we started at the same place at the same time. Even if it was their fourth or fifth treatment, even if it was my first. We were starting again. We were trying so hard. I don’t hear from one of them, and I think “Maybe he went out.” Sometimes I get a text from someone that says “So and so went out.” And I think, “I’m so sorry, so and so. Come back if you can.” I think: it could be me.
I was thinking about treatment today because the speaker in the meeting chose the topic of the holidays and asked how people were going to manage their sobriety in light of them. As usual, the perspectives were all over the place: There was the big book heavy, one day-at-a-timer: “It’s just any other Thursday. I still need my daily maintenance. It’s still just one day.” There was the newer person, just grateful it would be better than the drowning they experienced during the last holiday. There were people who didn’t raise their hands. One woman said she had spent a Thanksgiving in jail and was reminding herself of where “this disease had taken” her. I was thinking: I was in rehab for Easter. I was thinking I will get through the winter holidays because I want a year so badly. Because I want to make it to Easter.