Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
"Care to elaborate on that?"
"Sure. But not just yet. You feeling a little better?" he asked, his breath warm on the side of my hair.
I was. I didn't feel great- far from. But I wasn't shaking and the hot water was easing some of the muscle ache, just enough to make it more tolerable.
"I think I will just live in the bathtub from now on," I said.
"How long have you been using?" he asked, making my body jump instinctively.
I didn't talk about using.
I didn't have friends who were addicts.
I didn't have family who gave a shit about my addiction.
I functioned.
I went to work; I paid my bills; I did all the things I was supposed to do to keep up appearances of being normal and healthy.
So no one ever asked.
And it made it so that I never had to speak of it outside of my own inner monologue.
It made it worse, I found, to have to confront it in such a way. My belly twisted enough to make me seriously wonder if I was going to throw up as my heart picked up speed again.
But I had to talk about it, right?
That was part of the recovery process.
Step one, admitting you had a problem.
"Six months."
"Oh, psh," he said and I could feel him shrug beneath me. "This won't be that bad then," he announced, making me wonder how the hell it could be any worse. "These first couple of days will suck regardless, but you shouldn't have the weeks and months or the emotional shit to handle."
"The emotional shit," I repeated.
"The mood swings- hopelessness and rage mostly. Then the feeling of nothing feeling right or being completely detached. Then there are panic attacks and muscle stiffness and issues with concentration and sleep. You might still have some of those, but likely not to a huge degree and it won't last the months that it usually does for long-term users." He paused then, giving my hand another squeeze which seemed to cause the same sensation to happen to my heart, a reassurance, a pleasant feeling for a change. "Is it just the pills? Or is there street drugs or booze mixed in?"
I took a deep breath and held it for a minute. "Just the pills. I barely ever drink and only did last night because I was, I don't know. I felt like crap and I just... went to the bar. I've never touched any street drugs," I added, knowing that wasn't some badge of honor, knowing I would have eventually gone to them.
"That was your name on the bottle," he observed.
I snorted at that, shaking my head. "I pinched a nerve in my back a couple months back," I supplied.
"That's usually how it fucking starts," he agreed.
"I can't do this for two more days," I said, hating how whiny my voice sounded, but knowing there was nothing I could do to change it.
"Yeah, you can."
"You make it sound easy," I snapped, yanking my hand from his. I didn't want his empty platitudes. I didn't want "you can do its!"
"It's not easy. It sucks. You're going to be writhing in pain and emotional misery every minute of every day for the next two days. It is going to be the absolute worst fucking thing you have ever had to endure and you will seriously give thought to killing yourself at least half a dozen times over the course of it. But you won't and you'll get through it and you will be able to get back on track once it's over."
"I guess," I admitted, finally relaxing fully back into him, my muscles not able to hold me stiff any longer.
Feeling it, the arm that wasn't across my belly went across the upper part of my chest, just above my ribs, completely wrapping me up. It should have been scary from a man who was holding me against my will, who locked the door from the outside, who nailed the windows shut, who thought my name and his name was some sort of sign.
But all I could feel in the embrace was genuineness- a want to help, a desire to ease some of my burden, a way to make me feel not so incredibly alone in the world.
At that thought, I felt the tears well up- unwelcome but equally unstoppable. I knew a part of it was due to the withdrawal, the way it made your emotions jump from one extreme to the other, completely on their own and not usually an appropriate reaction to whatever had caused them. At the same time, though, there was also the fact that it had been over a year since someone just... hugged me. It was amazing how long a person could go without human contact, without a touch that meant to bring comfort. I hadn't even realized how much I truly needed it until I had it again.