When asked “what was Rehab like?”, most if not all people tend to say something like: “I didn’t know what to expect”. I suppose the same goes for me because I honestly didn’t. But like everyone else I could only think of the stigma that comes with something like a 30-day residential program. I, admittedly, had my own prejudices about the types of folks who needed it. I was incredulous, yes, but mostly in denial; denial that I would ever need treatment. I felt the same about the fellowship of A.A. as well. To me, Alcoholics Anonymous was a cult of broken and pathetic zealots, bottom of the barrel, the dregs of humanity. This could not be further from the truth. My time in the Sharp McDonald center has drastically changed my perspective in the most ironic, yet profound way.
Before I came here, I was stuck. Stuck in a swirling vortex of shame, embarrassment, misery, and loneliness, fueled by whiskey, cocaine, and a general lack of self-esteem. Even when I considered that I might have needed help, it was quickly dismissed by delusions of intellectual superiority. Afterall, I knew what my fears were. I knew what made me sad or angry, and I was definitely carrying baggage from my childhood. Most importantly, I knew I had the ability to simply stop drinking and using. So what more could Rehabilitation offer me? What could they possibly know that I didn’t? My apprehension mostly came from the vocabulary the fellowship used. Phrases like “I’m powerless over alcohol”. Words like “higher power” and “serenity”. It all seemed so fake and disingenuous. I wanted to stop drinking, sure, but not altogether. I would run through plans and scenarios in my mind where I could go out with the boys on a Saturday night and still rise, bright as a ray of sunshine in the morning. Why not? Everyone else seemed to be able to do it. I fancied myself much smarter and much more capable than my peers. But after every reckless night and embarrassing morning, I would be proven wrong every time.
The final choice seemed to come to me very suddenly though. Between laying in the bed at the detox center to pacing its halls, I would weigh the pros and cons of rehab. 30 days is a long time. Would I get my job back once I got out? How would I pay my rent? What would my friends think? How was I to pay for it? Would the program even work or would I come out just to relapse again? Then I remembered that I had previously enrolled in a Sharp healthcare plan through my job (which isn’t cheap btw), and I was informed that termination of my employment would be illegal If I had to excuse myself for medical reasons. I finally decided I would give it the old college try. I called those most dear to me and others who needed to know, signed the dotted line and made the phone call. But somewhere between the giddiness and anxiety, I felt deep down in my heart that I was making the right decision, even If I didn’t know what to expect.
So, what did I learn in treatment? How did my way of thinking change since coming here? From my first day walking into McDonald center, I could immediately see I was wrong about the type of people I believed needed treatment. I looked around and saw a successful blogger and family man, a lawyer who specialized in real estate, a DJ with a seemingly endless supply of stories ranging from hilarious to deplorable. I saw students and scholars, mothers and fathers, from all corners of San Diego. These people didn’t look like addicts. I guess I was expecting to see was something like baggy-eyed, messy-haired, strung-out fiends trying to climb the walls to freedom at any given opportunity. Instead, I saw… people just regular, polite, interesting, funny, charming people. And I remember feeling a sudden strange sense of belonging. I learned personal details about these perfect strangers almost Immediately. Where they came from, the values and beliefs they held, their rocky past and their plans for a brighter future. I was so used to being ignored. Having my actions or emotions ridiculed, but here were people that were warm and welcoming from the get-go. I felt I was in a place where I could finally let my guard down and show the world who I really was without fear of judgment. I learned that all these human souls had something in common: that, like me, have hit rock bottom. Left with no answers in a chaotic world. I learned that every time I looked into someone’s eyes, I saw part of my own reflection. these people were total strangers and I already had more in common with them than some of my closest friends.
Then came time for my first meetings. Further reinforcing my unanticipated comfort with the group, I started to share some of the things that I was going through. What I was holding down in the past all of the sudden came pouring out like water from a busted pipe. I never knew that something as simple as sharing your feelings could be so easy and rewarding, almost to the point of intoxication. Hearing how other related to my shares made me feel like I was finally being listened to and understood. An experience that was previously denied me, even by my own family. I started hearing those words come up again. “Serenity”, “vulnerability”, “courage”, “experience” and they started taking on new meanings for me. I learned why I kept failing at sobriety. But most important of all I finally accepted the truth. That I cannot do this by myself. That nobody can. And I found a new found faith in humanity. I started to see people with vastly different political affiliations, religious persuasions, and lifestyles, come together to support one another because they understand. They understand exactly what I’ve been through and have felt exactly as I felt.
At first the task of constantly maintaining my sobriety seemed to daunting. The thought of having to attend meetings and therapy for the rest of my life made my stomach turn. How am I supposed to do this for the rest of my life? I keep thinking back to the time before coming into treatment. Feeling depressed every night and regretful every morning. Always being in a haze or in the throes of withdrawal. I’ve decided I never want to go back to that life and if I have to work every day at it then so be it. I feel remorseful and nostalgic about my past but Sharp and its patients have taught me to keep looking ahead. To take it one day at a time. That if I fail it’s alright so long as I’m willing to try again. and now armed with new tools and a new perspective, I’m ready to give life another try. I’m scared. If I’m telling the truth I really am scared, but I know that this time I don’t have to face the world alone
I have traversed the wilderness and come back to my village a changed man.
-James Apra, Alcoholic.
The Squirrel Boy Experience 