rehab - part 1

I grew up in rehab. Not because I was an addict; but because my mother worked there. The words “scared straight” come to mind when I think of that time in my life. I remember going there as a young girl and seeing these zombie like people roaming the halls smoking cigarettes. They all looked very miserable and I was given specific instructions not to speak to any of them. I remember my mother trying to explain to me that it was not really a hospital, as I almost always referred to it. At a very early age I knew what “detox” meant and how horrible it was for the body to go through. I remember asking my mother what “rock bottom” meant. She was always very candid with me and I appreciated it. I heard stories about the effects of drugs and alcohol and how it can take you from the top of the world to the lowest low you could never imagine. I could never imagine why someone would do that to themselves intentionally.
The people that were there all suffered from something called “addiction”. I thought it was something I would catch if I walked too close to them. I learned that people felt powerless by their addictions and that they could not just stop. For some, it was not as easy as getting up and walking away. I learned that it calls you back. Even though you know you are done or maybe on the brink of death it keeps you wanting more. I was so scared of it. I was scared of what it does to people and how it made them appear on the outside. I thought of it as a monster that takes over people’s souls. I was scared of the building, the people and even some of the staff. It was the place on top of the hill that nobody talked about.
I remember thinking that “those” people were not like us. They were some dark group of people that came from a bad part of town. Perhaps it was the anonymity of it all that made it feel so dark. That is, until I got older. The staff became familiar or rather familial. I started to recognize some of the faces roaming the halls. They were teachers, parents, police officers, grocery clerks, and even a fellow student of mine. As I got older, I wanted to spend more time there and learn from them and listen to their stories - but I couldn’t. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized that these people, the ones that I was so scared of for so long, were the people that reached out for someone to help them. They were, in that moment in time, their own hero. They were on their way to recovery. It was then, too, that I was struck with the realization that there were many more out there that have yet to find the strength.
Today, I am still fascinated by their stories. I guess that explains why I am so drawn to shows like Intervention and even Celebrity Rehab. I don’t get to watch much TV these days but I have had both of these shows on my DVR at some point in time. I don’t particularly get a lot of enjoyment out of watching other people’s pain but in some odd way it helps me connect with my mom. It unravels some of the mystery behind what really goes on and what really happens to people with this disease. It has shown me how she had to harden her heart a little bit to do what was best for them, even though they didn't appreciate it at the time. These shows allow me to understand her world. These brave souls take you on their journey and you see how easily it can all go so very wrong.