by Brannon, M.
He’s the only one who knows how to take the pain away. I hate Carter for giving me the first injection and letting me get hooked on the poison I need to survive. Yet there is a part of me that absolutely loves Carter. He can take all the pain away with a single, solitary pinch of a needle.
I wonder if he knows what happened to me. I wonder if he’s still alive. As soon as Drake finds out it was Carter who got me messed up with heroin I’m sure the Evans boys will go after him. Anyway, I can’t think of that because it will make the rest of my time here impossible.
The medicine they give you to take the edge off your detox symptoms is a joke. The urge is a living, breathing monster inside of me. And speaking of monster, yeah, I still have those haunting me every time I close my eyes. Have I mentioned this journaling thing is bullshit?
Drake
The first snow storm hits just two weeks into fall. The ground is dusted with white as snowflakes flitter from the sky. However, the early snow is the last thing on my mind.
It’s been two weeks since Presley left for rehab. Two weeks since I had to witness the worst thing I’ve ever seen growing up in Sulfur Heights, and that’s saying something. Presley is constantly on my mind. It’s hard to keep my head in the game at work wondering about her recovery and how she is doing. I see her lifeless sometimes in my dreams, the gaunt expression of her dying eyes causes me to jolt awake, dripping with sweat. I don’t have dreams or should I say nightmares like that every night, but when I do, it’s impossible to fall back asleep.
Hours at the plant have reduced dramatically because they’re going through layoffs in order to reduce expense. Fortunately, I still have a job, but I’m working half as much. The upside is I get more time to spend with Mia, but the bills are piling and I don’t know how long I can afford to live in the apartment. I’ve had to take a big chunk of my savings to pay for Presley’s treatment and the money I built up for the last couple of years is reduced to more than half. Presley is worth it, though. I would spend every last cent I had to make sure her and Mia are cared for.
Reggie still needs me to work on some weekend nights, but it’s not consistent. Besides, as much as I love to work at the bar, it’s hard being away from Mia during the night. Mrs. Field has been a Godsend. She watches Mia while I’m at work during the day and refuses to accept my money. Then she will take Mia overnight on the weekends if I’m needed at the bar. Mrs. Fields was devastated when I told her what happened to Presley and she felt somewhat guilty, thinking there was more she could have done. I don’t know what I would do without her. I explained it was just as much a shock to the rest of us and told her to keep faith that Presley is on the road to recovery.
As I sit in the crane at the steel recycling plant, I count down the days until I can see my love. It’s going to be the hardest two months of my life. Visitors are not allowed to see the patient until they’ve passed sixty days of treatment. Once two months has passed, you go to a family session with the therapist. We are Presley’s only family, but she only requested me to come.
I miss her so much. I wonder constantly how she’s doing. I can’t help thinking how closely related Presley’s situation is to my birth mother’s. From the little I remember from her, she acted the same way Presley did with the mood swings and detachment from everything around her. She didn’t show any love toward me and it sickens me to know Presley was doing the exact same thing with Mia. I was too young to understand what was happening to my mother, but I know I’ve seen it again when Presley stirred up old memories, bringing them to surface.
Plus, when Mrs. Evans took me in, she had a revolving door of junkies who were strung out, needing to get their next fix. It pisses me off even more that no one caught onto Presley’s behavior, especially me. I’m the person who saw her the most and I simply ignored it, too angry with her to really see the bigger picture.
I have no experience with the feeling of being high on drugs. After everything that went down, the bitter feelings toward my own mother and my need to keep in control of my life, I sought out advice from a professional. I need to understand what I’m getting myself into, what I can expect from Presley once she’s home.
Though my hours at the plant were reduced, my benefits are still in force. Otherwise, there would be no way I could pay for any of this. The doctor told me, currently she’s going through hell as the pain of withdrawal is coursing its way through her body, but it’s the dependence on the drug that is going to be the hardest obstacle to overcome. She will need to complete intense therapy to find a coping mechanism for the triggers of her depression. Robert is the biggest trigger of all. I hope she can talk about it, then again, I hope she can’t. No matter what happens I might lose someone I love.
The day Delilah and Presley left, Reggie sat us down and told us it’s very possible he could suffer the consequences of what he did to Robert. He said it is best for Presley to talk about what happened to her, and if she talks about her rescue, the fact that Reggie killed Robert will more than likely come to light.
Darcie was insanely angry. I know she could never survive without Reggie. Even though Robert is dead, I’ve heard her in the middle of the night; she’s still plagued with nightmares and if Reggie were to go to jail, Darcie would slowly die. He is her life line. Just like Presley is mine.
Presley
Week Three:
I surpassed three weeks in treatment and let me tell you, it been the worst three weeks of my life. When Robert held me captive, handcuffed and bruised on a bed, I thought then it was the worst pain I could even experience, but that was until I came to rehab.
Heroin is an evil witch. She has her grips wrapped so tightly around my brain I’m constantly battling with her to let me go. Heroin can be your best friend. She’ll comfort you; hold your hand while you run through the motions before injecting her into your body, allowing her to take all your troubles away.
Right now, though, she’s being an evil witch. She is making my life unbearable and is refusing to let me give her up. I compare heroin to a villain at the end of a horror movie. No matter what you do—decapitate, light them on fire, shoot them witha thousand bullets—they refuse to die. Heroin is the villain who will always get up and slowly stalk her way back into your brain. I’ve had some good days without her, but mostly they’ve been hell. Damn evil witch!
Group therapy is a joke, if I’ve ever seen one. I have yet to speak, I just don’t feel comfortable, and frankly, I’m tired of listening to people’s sob stories. They have no idea what real pain and loss consists of. How it can change your life in a single second, making everything you’ve ever known spiral out of control.
Most of the people here are trust fund babies who got involved in drugs because they were bored. I’ve lived through death, abandonment, torture and out of all these people, I’m the one who should be sobbing like a baby because my life is truly fucked up, not theirs. When they get out of here, they will go back to the mountain of Daddy’s cash, Mercedes and mansions. I hate every single one of them!
Week Four:
Last week, I had a few bad days. My mood was all over the place and I was ready to walk out, especially after group therapy. Today, my therapist, Dr. Garner, finally asked me the question I’ve been dreading to answer. He may have asked it in the previous meetings, but I was more concerned about keeping myself from screaming in his face.
Out comes that question, “What are your triggers for your depression, Presley?” It was hard, considering the vast amount of secrets living inside me, but I knew I needed to start speaking. After four weeks in this place, I couldn’t sit in his office and tell him nothing. I’m here to heal. I’m ready to go home and I’m ready to be with Drake. The only way that will happen is if I start talking.
Reluctantly, that’s what I did. I started at the beginning. Before Sulfur Heights was even in the picture, back when my life was simple. Back when I had the love of my parents.
I begin with my previous experience in therapy. I started explain
ing to Dr. Garner about my dealings with depression and anorexia. I don’t know why I have so many issues with sadness. I’ve always had the feeling of loneliness living in the back of my mind, but it’s when it got to be impossible to deal with that I found another way to take that feeling away.
When I was six, I started injuring myself—poking myself with a fork until I had little puncture holes on my wrists or holding my arm under hot water until my skin started to burn. Then, I soon realized those coping mechanisms leave marks and raise questions from my parents. So, at the age of ten I started to starve myself. Nothing was more painful to me than the feeling of an empty stomach. I welcomed the pain of hunger because it distracted me from the pain festering in my mind.
Dr. Garner said that was an unusual way of coping with depression because I didn’t have self image issues and I didn’t. I knew I wasn’t fat. I didn’t stare at myself in the mirror for hours, studying every single inch of my body. I only starved myself because I needed to feel pain. It helped suppress the invading dark thoughts and took them out of my mind. Hunger pains gave me a welcoming distraction. After three years of starving myself off and on, and with the help of Delilah, my parents caught on. My weight had diminished to less than ninety pounds and I was admitted for treatment.
I went through therapy, but I couldn’t really explain why I was so sad. I just was. That’s how I’ve always been. I was prescribed medication after my treatment, taught different ways to cope with my depression and I started to feel better. As for my depression, I think I was just born with it. An evil twin I can’t get rid of.
When I left Dr. Garner’s office today I actually felt a tiny bit better. His honest, round, blue eyes are not judgmental and I can find resemblance between him and my dad. He has a short, pear-shaped body with graying hair and a welcoming smile.
I think I will be okay, but I’m still scared to talk about the real reason I’m so screwed up now. The reason fear closing my eyes at night and why I continue to wake up in a cold sweat. Robert. How can I talk about it without other consequences haunting someone else? Reggie saved my life and Darcie’s. How could I punish him for that? But I’m not sure I can keep living with the nightmares without saying something to someone. I’ve got time, though; so I’ll cross that bridge another day.
Drake
The last of the boxes are loaded in the rental truck as I lock up my vacant apartment. When I look at this place, I hate every memory created here. Between Presley and me, nothing except bad memories has lived here and I’m glad to close my door to them. The only thing I will really miss is having Mrs. Fields right next door. She was sad to see us move, but understood why I couldn’t be here anymore.
I will bring Mia here when I go to work in the morning, and on the weekends when I have to bartend, but it won’t be as easy as walking next door. Financially, as much of a challenge as it was, I could have managed to keep the apartment, but it was the terrorizing nightmare of seeing Presley dying on the bathroom floor that has become too much for me. I needed to go home and surround myself with what I know is comfortable…happy.
My baby girl has grown so much over the last month; I know Presley will be shocked to see how much Mia has changed. She is a little chunk with a full head of brown hair and the most beautiful, honey-brown eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re Presley’s eyes. Mia is into everything as she crawls around and is always full of smiles when she does it. The most trying experience, so far as a dad, was watching Mia get her six month shots. I knew they were going to make her cry and they are necessary, however it still made me want to punch the nurse in the face. I hate seeing my little girl in pain.
Jake still insists on calling her Axl, and Mia just laughs whenever her Uncle Jake is around. I know they’ve bonded when Delilah was taking care of her this past summer, and I’m glad to see she still loves him. I have to admit Jake has seriously changed for the better since meeting Delilah. He still drinks like a fish and sleeps around with women he picks up from the bar, but his attitude is more mature. It’s hard to describe, he’s just different. I think their friendship is important to him, and for Jake, that’s saying something.
I meet my family at the truck and we all pile in our vehicles. I take one last look at the apartment complex and then sweep my eyes across the pool area. I have yet to see Carter Brown since the night he pulled a gun on me and dragged Presley’s comatose body up the stairs. When I do see him, I’m going to knock his teeth out.
Before any of that can happen, however, I need to know just how involved he was with Presley. Was it strictly a dealer, junkie relationship or was there more? I can’t imagine Carter not having any interest in her considering he took her home the day before her overdose. Dealers I’ve known could care less about the people they sell to. Did he take advantage of her when she was out of her mind and high as a kite? So help me God, I will kill him if he took advantage of her like that.
Shaking my thoughts of Carter, I jump in the truck and drive to my childhood home. The place where good memories live and Mia can grow up having the same happy memories as I did.
I can’t wait for Presley to come home. I want to hold her in my arms, feel her naked body underneath mine and press my lips across every inch of soft skin.
Jake and I have already started planning the road trip to Memphis. We have thirty days behind us and thirty more to go before I can see her again. For now, I will keep with my routine of work, Mia and reliving the best moment of my life; the day three years ago when I looked into Presley Quinn’s eyes for the first time and completely drowned.
Presley
Week Five:
The urges to use are finally starting to subside and not consuming my every thought. Although the temptation is still there, I am learning to cope with my depression in other ways. I’ve been taking my medication religiously and, as much as I hate to admit it, I think it’s helping. Unlike the last time, these meds don’t keep me awake or make me feel super sluggish. I feel completely comfortable talking to Dr. Garner and we’ve talked in depth about my childhood, death of my parents, my relationship with Drake and coping with motherhood.
Ever since I’ve had a cleared head, the piling guilt regarding my lack of mothering Mia has really been killing me. She is seven months old and I’ve done everything to shut her out of my life. I’ve turned off every growing feeling I had toward her all because I was too scared and selfish to deal with own my problems in the right way. She didn’t ask for this and neither did Drake. After talking about it with Dr. Garner, he said it is very common for women to experience depression after they have a child, especially women who’ve already struggled with depression.
It felt liberating and sickening all at the same time. I finally told Dr. Garner my dark thoughts about motherhood. I didn’t hold back when I shared my attempt to get an abortion. How I would pass her off on anyone just so I wouldn’t have to look her in the eyes, and the even more horrifying thoughts of abandoning her just so I wouldn’t have to deal with any of it. The only way I could deal with anything was to get high. Even though she is young, will Mia resent me when she’s older? Will she remember me doing everything in my power to not love her?
Currently, we’ve been talking in depth about Drake and my relationship. I explained to him how we met and it felt good to talk about the instant connection we had when we first met; the day Darcie interfered with Vanessa’s tormenting and introduced me to a group of misfit boys I’ve come to love as my family. One boy in particular became my lifeline and I miss him more than anything in this entire world. I couldn’t imagine any part of my life without him. The memories I have with him have been the best parts of my life and I will always hold them dear to me.
When Dr. Garner asked how I came to live with Drake before I graduated high school and what happened to my uncle, I clammed up. I couldn’t say anything because I was scared of what I might share and who it would hurt. Right now, he is allowing me to bypass it, but it won’t work for long.
In twenty-one more
days I will see Drake and we can talk it about then. I just have to hold off until I see Drake then I can tell him I going to talk about Robert.
Week Six:
This week has probably been the worst week since arriving almost two months ago. Dr. Garner started pressing me again to give him some inkling from my time with Robert. I wish he would just respect my wishes and know I’m not ready for that. I don’t know if I can face those demons without Drake by my side, let alone together. Too much is riding on my story.
If I tell the full story, the family dynamic will be destroyed, but if I don’t share something, I will be done. Is there a way for me to share part of the story? I doubt it. Dr. Garner is a quick one and will know if I’m keeping part of the story from him. The good doctor has so brilliantly pinpointed my experience with my uncle as my trigger for my depression and the need to use. Well, no shit, Sherlock. God, Drake, please get here. I feel like I’m slowly collapsing inside again and the evil witch has her claws sunk into me once more. I can’t fucking stand this. Please come, Drake. Please hurry!
I haven’t had the willpower to do anything lately. I missed my therapy sessions a couple of days, told Nurse Ratched to piss off and now I’m trying to think of every excuse under the sun not to sneak out the back door and find the nearest crack house. The only thing plaguing my mind is my uncle and Carter.
I miss Carter more than I probably should. Is that my withdrawal talking? I don’t know, but what I do know is, if I were to see his face, I would fall into everything all over again. Right now, it’s the only thing I want to do. Hopefully, seeing Drake’s face will take all this anxiety away from me, otherwise…all of this is pointless.
Week Seven:
Everything consumes my mind. I don’t need to write it down because I will never forget it. I close my eyes and I see everything—needles, Robert, heroin, Mia, spoons, Drake, belt and Carter. It’s been flashing in my head and I’m slowly going out of my mind. I’m ready to give up. I need Drake. I need to make it one more week. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.