I made the call, because of the last face I recognized in my mind's eye, before the pills & the alcohol began their work of erasing everything else other than only face that mattered. fuck! she was so clear!
Everything after that was a blur of hands and questions and streaking lights. (I guess I left the front door open & the TV on.)
later, in the day-room, I would hear someone saying that you should never tell them that you were trying to kill yourself.
I spent most of my time trying to sleep, or watching movies in the day-room, because I wanted nothing to do with those around me. I even tried to read, but the library was less than adequate. mostly a myriad of versions of the Bible, which I have no use for.
one day, I spent 10 hours watching old movies & a fucking cholo, who'd been trying to talk to me my entire stay, came over to my place on one of the couches & expounded upon the fact that I'd been there for hours & how he couldn't do that & I kept my mouth shut.
mostly because I was passing time, but also because these people treated their situation like a weekly version of the fucking BREAKFAST CLUB, only with alcoholics & junkies.
what I wanted to say was: "I am not one of you fucking degenerate losers! I'm a drunk with a serious lack of coping skills, combined with an undiagnosed form of severe depression, exacerbated by the fact that I just lost my family & was forced to move back to a place I despise! Now I'm doing my best to be a good father to my little girl, but I can't get a job & when my daughter goes back to her mother, I'd rather be drunk than deal with her absence. And, even further, sometimes the only thing that makes sense, regarding her betterment, is my absolute absence. So, go fuck yourselves with your bullshit damage. Your little 'rules of detox'!"
I kept my mouth shut, and, in the end I went home.
