REHAB: “..I’m gonna be famous..”

What a load of bollocks this is.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, heard it all before, Rehab, Rehab, Rehab. Fine, I’ll do it”

Anything to shut this woman up.

“Jacob, that‘s marvellous! This is the best decision you can make. But remember the rules, no messing about like last time, Okay? We really want to help you and you will feel so much better. You have a bright future waiting and we will be there with you the whole step of the way. We want to help because we care”.

So after the Doc’s speech and finally managing to escape from her sympathetic hand patting, it dawned on me: I’m going to meet some fit chicks in there! Getting a shag will be a piece of cake!

“Ok, Miss. Cotton, I’ll do it, I’ll go to Rehab”!

*

Six days later, after sweating my arse off with all the running around I had to do to get enough gear to last me the 30 days of bullshit, and concocting places to hide the gear where the sun don’t shine – I was ready.

I was so stoned on the way up to Bristol that the Pussy Cat Dolls lyrics, which I had down to a T, faded in and out of my comatoseness. But as long as I felt this good, I couldn’t care less even if I ended up in Scotland. The buzz was just too damn nice and I wished it would last forever….

“…. when I grow up I wanna be famous….”

*

This building looked like a bombed mansion that forgot to be rebuilt after WW2, but who cares? Food, bed and fit birds – that was the priority.

Stoned out of my head, I checked in at reception. Then came the usual ‘New person’ protocol which consisted of a bag search, a pat down, a piss test, the welcome spiel and then shown  my room for the next 4 weeks.

Bollocks, I’m sharing.

“Hi there! I’m Pete, well done you for coming here! You’ve made a great step in your recovery! What’s your name my friend? What brought you to us?”

Shit, how I wanted to punch this guy. If he pats my hand or even dares give me a hug….

“Yeah, alright? I’m Jacob. Yeah, really happy to be here. It’s my chance to turn my life around, I hate being an addict”

Like fuck did I.

“It’s Okay Jake; may I call you Jake? We are all friends in here and here to help. You have just taken the first step in your recovery – you have accepted that you are an addict, that’s fantastic Jake! You’re already a winner! Jake, you’re in a safe place, we’ve all been where you are; come here let me give you hug!”

I’m gonna kill him.

“I’ll let you settle in. Come and find me later. You’ll do great! Well done, well done!”

How the hell I kept it together is beyond me.

So with prick-face out of the room, I could finally lie down and enjoy my buzz. Cigarette lit, earphones in – bliss!…..

“….. when I grow up I wanna be famous…..”

*

For those of you that haven’t been in Rehab, here’s how a typical day goes:

7.30 am – A wake up call usually by an overweight, butt ugly ‘Matron’ who ain’t had a shag in years and probably never will either.

8.00 am – Breakfast in the canteen consisting of eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, the works: Yum!

8.30 am – House meeting which entails of ‘bedroom problem reporting’, ie; a missing curtain hook.

8.45 am – Find, as quickly as possible, other’s like self who are here to either:

  • Get out of a jail sentence
  • Came equipped with a stash of various narcotics
  • Has “This is a load of bull-crap me being here just to get everyone off my back”, printed on forehead
  • Has the full knowledge of the easiest birds to fuck

(Rehabs are places for getting a quick lay; just in case you didn’t know that)

8.55 am – Once like-minded pals found, a quick nip round the corner for a line or two of Coke. Then we are ready to go.

9.00 am – Group Therapy time where 4-5 people shout at the new comers or the no-hopers to ‘get with the program’ berating them for how much in denial they were; which prompted me to think how great a holiday in Egypt would be nice right now. And the usual take in turns to share how crap life is on drugs.

9.55 am – Group Therapy ending by forming a circle, holding hands – bobbing up and down in motion to the Serenity Prayer – with a big “We can do it” at the end with extra ‘bobbing force’ making you feel  like your arms gonna be yanked from its socket. And then, of course (again, standard Rehab protocol), a big group hug.

10.00 am – I’m going back to bed.

11.00 am – Miss. Frigid the Matron wakes me and orders me to the office.

(This is unusual as the rest of the day comprises of ‘group activities’, sports and more food. So I’m afraid my ‘day in a Rehab’ narration has to now cease. Sorry)

“Jacob, we’ve got great news for you! Your Parents have successfully paid the fees for you to stay the whole 3 months! Isn’t that fantastic!”

Chills went down my neck, back and butt – I’ve only got 30 days worth of drugs with me.

“Nah, nah, Miss, I think 30 days is plenty for me, I’m already feeling like a star”

“Yes but Jacob, not many people that come here have the opportunity to stay the whole 12 weeks. You stand a much better chance of being clean”.

That’s what I was afraid of.

“Miss look, my Nan is coming out of hospital in 4 weeks and I’m moving in with her to help her while she gets better – she’s very ill”

“Come now Jacob, we know that your Grand Mother died 6 years ago: You’re afraid aren’t you?”

Shit. And hell yeah I was afraid!

“Anyway Jacob, you’re parents have finalized this wonderful opportunity for you. You’ll be drug free!”

I’m gonna fucking kill ‘em. See. I’m only 15 and have no control over this decision –  I’m gonna kill the pair of them.

“It’s okay Jacob, what’s 3 months out of your life when you have years and years of a happy, bright and drug free life ahead of you?! You’re future begins here, with us”

I feel sick. And in 4 weeks I literally will be sick.

* *

That night in my bed of imprisonment; I prayed.

“Dear God, Please get some more gear to me to last the 12 weeks. Or if you can’t do that, please kill my Parents so they can’t keep me here. And if you can’t do that, please then, please burn this building down tomorrow; me not in it of course”

Now, a typical day in Rehab, for me anyhow, has changed. I will do everything in my power to get kicked out. It’s easily done – just DON’T follow the rules.

Day 3 – Woo-Hoo! I got kicked out! Yes!!

Back on the Coach to London; sitting, chilling, nicely stoned, high and happy. Once again in my lovely comatose state, I listened to the Pussy Cat Doll’s – this time with the added image of the girls doing their moves all around me. I drifted into oblivion…

“… when I grow up I’m gonna be famous…”

* * *

————

Daily Post ‘Weekly Writing Challenge’: The Best Medicine

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