It was selfish, but a part of me wanted her to stay. I knew I had gone through the same withdrawal symptoms as she had. I had lost all the weight, I had the insomnia, I also went through depression, fatigue, anxiety and tremors. In the first week after I had completely given up the alcohol, I stayed in bed for days without getting out at all. I wanted to curl up and die.
I knew I looked better too. I had put back on all of the weight that I had lost, so I now looked like a normal sized young woman again rather than the almost-anorexic look I had before, my brain was no longer foggy, I sometimes experienced a good night’s sleep, although nightmares frequently interrupted that, and my anxiety and tremors were gone completely. From a physical point of view, I was healed. But the reason why I stayed, the reason why I had to stay, was that mentally I wasn’t even close to being able to face the real world. I didn’t know if I would relapse if I had to go back out there. It was easy to think that I would be fine, that I would go to AA meetings and live my life, but I also knew my problems were deeper than the alcohol, and those deeper problems were nowhere near being resolved. That was mostly my fault though, I didn’t want to resolve them.
I had actually come to accept my reality. I was probably going to stay here forever, or at least until my parents got tired of paying for it. I knew they’d never stop though, I knew they would spend every last dime they had if it meant the possibility of their only daughter being ‘fixed’, as they put it.
Unfortunately I knew that I would never heal. Nothing could change what I had done, nothing would ever change it. That night in June, just over a year ago now, changed my life completely. I should have died, and quite frankly I wish I did. My life was pointless now, an empty shell waiting for enough ticks of the clock to pass before my body gave away at last and let me die.
Sometimes I wished I had the courage to take my own life. It would be so much easier, just to slip away from this earth and leave all of the feelings of guilt behind. But I could never bring myself to do it. Something always stopped me. No matter how depressed I got, no matter how much I wished I had died that night, no matter how much I convinced myself that my life was pointless, I could never bring myself to end it. I had to live with this pain, this guilt, this punishment and advancing my death was taking the easy way out.
I went back to my room and lay down on my bed. My room was basically the only part of this building that I actually liked. It wasn’t white and steril, it was homely and it was mine. The walls were painted a pale blue, the Queen size bed in the middle of the room with its brown wooden headboard had a lovely navy blue comforter. The antique style cabinet in the corner which held my clothes also held a few photos that were dear to me. Against the far wall was a small desk with my laptop and a few books. It’s funny, when I was in pre-med and then medical school I was always surrounded by books, most of them so heavy to lug around that it was easier to do my workouts at home rather than in the gym. Yet now I only had a single copy of Gray’s Anatomy and a couple Agatha Christie novels on my shelf. A round rug in the center of the floor finished the room, which was simple but elegant. Just the way I liked it.
I stared at the ceiling as I thought about my reaction to Daniel. Was this another withdrawal symptom, one that I hadn’t experienced? It had been a long time since I had any alcohol, a bit over three months I suppose. Doctor Emma told me that most of the physical symptoms would be gone by now, though everybody was different and there was a possibility that I would be susceptible to more physical symptoms in the future.
What if it wasn’t a withdrawal symptom? What if it was just my body dealing with the physical attraction to another human being of the opposite sex? God, even thinking those words reminded me of medical school. That was such a clinical way of putting the fact that I was ridiculously turned on by Daniel. What was strange about it was I didn’t understand why. I have never reacted like that any man before, and I had serious boyfriends in my life. There weren’t many, of course, but I had fantasized about marrying two of them one day, which was my own personal litmus test as to whether or not I considered a relationship serious.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by knock the door. I rolled my eyes as I got out of bed, figuring it must be Doctor Emma. I hope she’s not coming in here to congratulate me on talking in today’s therapy session. I opened the door and found myself looking at Amanda.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked. Amanda was nice and all, but we never really spoke and she certainly had never come to my room before.
“I was in the lounge and found Fiona and Sam playing Monopoly, and Fiona mentioned that you wanted to know about Daniel’s history. You know, the new guy.”
“Oh yeah, I did,” I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“Kevin told me who he was. You know how Kevin loves hockey? Well, turns out Daniel is actually Daniel Ross, the captain of the Seattle Sea Lions hockey team.”
“Shit, really?”