by Claire Adams
“Whatever works for Cassidy is fine, Bob,” my mother said.
“Honey, you know I just worry about you. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”
“I know, Daddy. But I’m taking care of myself now. Nothing will happen to me.”
My father worried about me like crazy, but I couldn’t fault him for that. I couldn’t fault my mother for being over protective, either. I had caused them to worry so much in my adult years. Even though I had gotten my life back together in the last two years, the old wounds were still very fresh for them.
Alcohol was a difficult substance for families to deal with. It was a legal substance that both my parents partook in on occasional events. It wasn’t something that seemed dangerous to have around the house. But I soon showed them. An addict can flip a family upside down and only truly strong families make it to the other side of the mess.
“Are you going to your meeting tonight?” Dad asked.
“Oh, crap. Is it eight o’clock already?”
I jumped up and dashed to my car so I could make it to my AA meeting at the local church. Alcoholics Anonymous was one of the key ways I had stayed sober for the last two years. The people at my meetings were all going through the same things as I had, and we supported each other along our journeys.
Alcoholics Anonymous wasn’t something I had ever thought I would do. Even while I was going through treatment, I had refused to attend the meetings we had at our facility. But as soon as I got home, I realized I needed more help than my family was able to provide. They loved me. They unconditionally loved me, but that didn’t mean they understood what it was like to be an alcoholic. I had to find people to talk to, and eventually, that landed me at AA meetings.
“Nice of you to join us, Cassidy,” Krysta, the head of our local AA meeting, said as I burst through the door about ten minutes late.
“Better late than never,” I said with a smile.
“Very true. We are glad you made it.”
My Monday night meeting was by far my favorite. It seemed to have a lot more people in it and we all had gone through so much together. Many of the people there had been sober for years longer than I had. But there were new people there, as well. Monday was a poplar meeting for people who only came to one meeting a week. They could come, get their plan for the week, and focus on their sobriety.
I preferred to go to two or three meetings a week, but I was fairly new at the sobriety thing and really wanted to make sure I was on the right path. I couldn’t afford to fall off the wagon. I had a great job, my family was supportive, and I was applying to colleges. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I wanted to go to college and get my degree.
When it was my turn to talk, I was about to pass, but then decided I wanted some feedback from the group. I didn’t always speak up in my meetings. People weren’t my favorite, especially people outside of my small group of friends and family. But over the previous months, I had become more comfortable in my AA group and I had made more and more of an effort to connect with the members in there. I was searching for more sober friends.
Kaitlin was a great person and she never drank around me. But she still liked to drink and didn’t have an addiction like I did. We struggled to find things to do because she always wanted to go out dancing at a bar, and I couldn’t stand the idea of entering a bar. We were working on it, though. She would come with me to do boring things, like read books at the local bookstore, and I would go with her to horrible hot yoga.
“Hi. I’m Cassidy, and I’m an alcoholic,” I said as I stood up.
“Hi, Cassidy,” the group replied.
“I’ve applied to a couple colleges, and I’m deadly afraid that I’ll get accepted. How on earth am I going to stay sober on a college campus? They are filled with parties all the time.”
“You’ll find your support network,” one younger man said. “When I started at the University of Colorado, the very first thing I did was find all the local AA meetings. I also got myself an individual counselor at the school. It was free of charge.”
“I also went to a counselor while I was in college,” another woman said.
“I’ve never been fond of the whole talking about your problems thing,” I said.
“Well, you need to get over that. If you’re serious about your sobriety, you’ll suck it up and do whatever it takes.”
“Thanks, guys,” I said as I sat back down.
That was exactly why I loved coming to my AA meetings. They were becoming friends who always had the best advice for staying on the right path. Kaitlin couldn’t give me the advice I needed sometimes because she hadn’t struggled with addiction like I had. She meant well and I know she tried, but someone who hadn’t truly struggled with an addiction had a hard time understanding how totally consuming it could be.
After my meeting, I always felt even more committed to my sobriety and energized for the next few days. I was so glad I had the support I did in my life. It was one of the things that helped me be so compassionate towards the people at Paradise Peak. Having a good support system was one of the most important things for anyone to stay sober. I firmly believed that.
Just as I had made it to my car and was about to head home, my cell phone rang. I contemplated not answering it when I saw that it was work. Tomorrow was supposed to be my day off, but the only reason work would be calling me was because someone had called in sick.
It was amazing to me how many sick days some of my coworkers took. What was more amazing was that they still had jobs, but then again, there weren’t all that many regulars that lived in Aspen and weren’t working on the ski slopes or in the stores during the winter; Mr. March probably couldn’t fire people because he needed the staff so much.
“Hello,” I said as I winced in anticipation of what Mr. March was going to say.
“Can you work tomorrow?” Mr. March asked without any preamble to his request.
“Nope, I’m relaxing tomorrow. I’ve worked the last seven days. Remember?”
“Cassidy, there’s no one else.”
“Why can’t Adam work?”
“His grandmother died.”
“His grandmother died six months ago. He’s using that excuse again?” I exclaimed.
I was just giving Mr. March a hard time. I was going to work. Overtime pay was time and a half and it was almost Christmas, so I liked to get a little extra cash for buying my friends and family presents.
Buying things had become my new addiction. There was always something that replaced the old one. Some people got into working out all the time. Some people started hobbies. Others had affairs or got wrapped up in whole sex thing. I figured my little shopping addiction was pretty safe.
“I don’t know. Maybe this is another grandmother.”
“It’s fine, I’ll work. Is Kaitlin on my unit tomorrow?”
“No, she’s needed on the secure unit.”
Ugh. I hated working with the other nurses, but I knew Kaitlin had to work the secure unit more than mine. The secure unit was where patients who were suicidal normally stayed. Although we had suicidal precautions throughout the facility, the secure unit had patients who had so many mental health issues that they couldn’t be trusted to keep themselves safe as they went through detox and treatment.
We contracted with the state for patients on that unit and sometimes took patients who had insurance, as well. It was almost always full and most of our seasoned staff worked over there. I personally didn’t work over there much because I didn’t have a license as a therapist or a nurse, so only when we had a lot of patients did they have room for me.
“Fine, but I’m not coming in before eight.”
“That’s perfect. Thanks, Cassidy.”
I groaned as I hung up the phone. My plans for sleeping in and relaxing had totally been ruined. But at least I’d get to earn some extra cash. I liked my work, and I mostly liked the people I worked with. My co-workers were my friends and the
only people besides Kaitlin and my parents that I usually spent time with.
Well, and the patients at Paradise Peak. Some of them had become my friends, too. It was unusual for a doctor, therapist, or nurse to become friends with patients. And they probably had a lot of rules around their relationships, but I was assigned to talk to the patients. My job was to spend time with them and let them talk to me and work through their issues. I had to play board games, help them with their daily tasks – I was their friend in the facility and often kept in touch with them after they left.
It was kind of cool to have people I knew that were celebrities or singers, and wealthy. Most of our friendships died off over the months after they left, but there were still a few people who I kept in touch with over social media.
Then I remembered that the new guy would be there. The utter embarrassment I had when he overheard my conversation with Kaitlin wasn’t anything I wanted to relive. He was a cocky jerk who seemed a little too full of himself and not at all humbled by being admitted to our facility. It wasn’t my ideal patient, but I could make it work out.
But then again, he probably wouldn’t last long and I would only have to deal with him for a few days. Guys like him tended to give up when things got hard. And getting sober was harder than I had ever imagined it would be. They came to our facility thinking that it would be easy to give up all their drugs and alcohol. But nothing in life is easy.
If you are used to drinking or using when your emotions flare up, then when you take those substances away, your emotions have to be dealt with. This was where the true treatment started. Learning how to deal with all your feelings when you didn’t have a substance to dull them was the hardest part about being sober.
Certainly, I could put up with the guy for a few days until he decided to give up and go back to his old life. I remembered the first few days of my treatment. I had actually tried to leave the hospital on several occasions, but luckily, a sweet nurse had talked me into staying.
Of course, I didn’t want the poor guy to fail. I was just speaking from experience and the dozens who had come before him and given up the second they had to actually do some work.
When my family came to visit me that first weekend, I had even tried to get them to let me come home. But luckily my parents were tough and told me I wouldn’t be able to stay with them if I left treatment. I didn’t appreciate their tough love at all in that moment, but by the time I finished the treatment program, I was able to see just how much I was loved. If I hadn’t been loved so darn much by them, it was highly likely I wouldn’t even be alive.
My drinking and partying had taken over my life. I was depressed and didn’t give a crap about anything that was going on with myself or my family. My own father had had a heart attack and I didn’t even go see him in the hospital.
When I looked back at how badly I behaved, it made me sick to my stomach. That girl wasn’t who I wanted to be. That wild girl who hated everyone wasn’t at all the way I wanted to live my life. I was so grateful that my family had stuck by me through my horrible attitude and behavior.
That was probably another reason I tried to be so understanding with the patients in our facility. If they didn’t have family or other people to support them, there was no way they would ever be successful. I knew from firsthand experience that while going through treatment, an addict was going to push away anyone who showed any sort of caring toward them.
Love, caring, and support were scary to an addict. We feel like there’s an expectation that comes with those sorts of feelings and we don’t want to be part of it. But I knew better now.
I knew that there didn’t have to be an expectation when you cared for someone or when you let someone else care for you. You could just accept their kindness. It had taken me thirty days of treatment and countless AA meetings to finally get the hang of accepting help; I couldn’t expect new patients to understand when they first arrived at the facility.
When I finally made it back home, I showered quickly and headed to my bedroom to crash. I was always exhausted, but the excitement of having a new patient at work made me want to ensure I was going to be in a good mood at work the next day.
I had already been embarrassed in front of the guy, I couldn’t go into the next day without a full level of self-control and compassion. Erik was going to get to be a much bigger jerk before he calmed down – if he ever calmed down. It was likely that the other techs weren’t going to agree to work with him if he was rude to them, or they would work with him and not be as supportive as I could be. But I was going to need some sleep if I was going to be able to put up with his attitude the next day.
Sleep had always been such a healing property for me, and I encouraged patients to sleep, as well. Unfortunately, sometimes my encouragement meant they thought it was all right to sleep all the time and not participate at all. But that wasn’t what I meant; I just wanted them to sleep when they could. While I had been in treatment, sleeping had revitalized me and given me the focus I needed to pay attention in groups and participate.
Participating in the group meetings was a huge key to learning more about myself and understanding my addiction. It was also an essential element to the patients getting a room with a door, too. The rich who attended Paradise Peak weren’t use to having rules in their lives and living in a room without a door irritated them; being forced to participate in order to get a better room often irritated them even more.
As I closed my eyes, I kept seeing Erik and that damn smile of his as he had asked me where my piercing was. It was unnerving how clear that memory still was in my head. I certainly didn’t like the guy; he was a jerk and didn’t seem to at all care who he was rude to. I tried desperately to get him off of my mind as I finally fell asleep.
Chapter Four
Erik
“Mr. Levy, it’s time for morning group,” the technician called as I tried to open my eyes.
“Morning what? It’s still dark outside.”
“It’s winter in the mountains; the sun doesn’t come up until after eight.”
“I don’t get up until after eight, either. Now leave me the hell alone.”
The technician did leave me and went on her way gathering up the other suckers around the unit and getting them to whatever the hell morning group was. I couldn’t imagine that it was a very enjoyable situation since it was only seven o’clock. Certainly, they would have better luck if they waited until the sun actually came up.
I closed my eyes and tried my best to get back to sleep, but the commotion going on in the day room area was too much for me. It seemed that they had convinced everyone else on the unit to get up and they were all talking and joking like it was a normal occurrence to climb out of bed even before the sun managed to climb out of its own nightly hibernation.
All I wanted to do was shut a door and block out the noise so I could get some rest. Was it really that important that I had a room without any privacy? It seemed like I was paying an awful lot of money each day for a program that couldn’t even provide me with a door.
Slowly, I climbed out of bed and used the restroom. I decided to take a warm shower in the hopes that I would be able to relax a little and get back to sleep. After sleeping only three hours, I was exhausted. My body wasn’t use to having to fall asleep without a substance to induce relaxation, so I had spent most of the evening staring up at the ceiling and hoping my body would eventually get tired enough.
I turned the water on and let it run until it got warm. It certainly wasn’t hot, but at least it was warm and I could appreciate that for a short time period. After throwing my clothes onto the ground, I climbed into the shower and reached for the curtain to pull it across.
“Bloody hell!” I screamed as I realized there wasn’t even a curtain in the bathroom. “I can’t even have a tiny bit of privacy to shower?” I grumbled.
This place was quickly getting on my last nerve. I was paying more for this treatment facility than a five-star hotel. How on earth
did they think no shower curtain and no door was a good idea? Sure, with the wall to the bathroom no one could technically see me, but all they had to do was take a few steps into my room and they would have a sausage show.
“Is everything all right in there, Mr. Levy?” I heard the technician ask from outside of the doorway.
There really was only about two feet of wall separating my naked body from her eyes. It seemed like a pretty bad idea to have a co-ed unit with no doors and no shower curtains. Anyone could just step into my room and get a peek at my Johnson. I couldn’t believe I was at this place, and my agitation was growing by the minute.
“I’m fine. Just suffering through the realization that I don’t have even a tiny bid of privacy.”
“Okay, I’ll be leaving soon, but I’ll have the day shift come check on you in a bit. Come out to the tables for breakfast at eight o’clock or you won’t get any.”
“Thanks, that’s nice.”
The sarcasm in my voice must not have been apparent because her chipper voice responded with, “You’re welcome.”
So, not only was I paying an exorbitant amount of money, but I had to wake up before the sun rose and would be refused food if I didn’t get up on time? This sounded more like a prison than a plush treatment facility.
For about five minutes, the water seemed warm. I washed my hair and body and then stood under the beating water as I tried to relax. But as my body became used to the water, it felt colder and colder and I had no choice but to climb out and try and get back to sleep. Not even my own shower would cooperate with me that morning.
There was one, small towel in my bathroom, and I assumed the size of the thing was also because they were trying to keep us all safe. It was soaked with water by the time I finished drying off. I certainly wasn’t dry enough to climb into my jeans and t-shirt yet, so I just stood there for a bit to air dry. There was no way to get to my dresser without fully exposing my ass to anyone who might be walking by, so I was lucky they were all engrossed in their morning meeting as I walked out of my bathroom and to my dresser.