I stood in our bedroom, suitcase in hand, staring at my wife. Completely confused, she stood staring back. I could feel my 13 year old son's eyes burning a whole in my back. I am pretty sure in that exact moment, none of us had any idea what the hell was happening. All I know is I was high, but not high enough. All I could think about was getting higher and getting a drink. Although I smoked almost an ounce of weed in the last six days, I hadn't had a drink the whole time. One thing was obvious, I wanted a drink. No, I needed a drink so desperately I was ready to walk out on my family to get it.
As the tears streamed down my wife's face, I heard my son say, "Dad what are you doing?"
"I'm outta here." I blurted out, unable to turn to face him. I'd seen this kind of hurt in my wife's eyes every other time I had sworn off alcohol. But I had never put this kind of hurt on him before. As wasted as I was, I knew that was one thing I couldn't handle.
"What? Why?" He managed to choke out.
"I thought if you caught me smoking weed again, I had to leave." I said to both of them my eyes fixed on a spot on the carpet being I couldn't bear looking either of them in the eye. "Besides, I've been drinking again, too. And I'm not going to stop doing either. "
I can't even begin to explain how it felt stand there and almost casually tell my family I was choosing my addictions over them. But there it was. I was done with them. Actually, I was done with life and the only thing I could think of doing was to end it. My decision was final. I was going to empty the checking account, buy a couple ounces of weed, a few half gallons of cheap tequila, drive to Las Vegas and drink until I died.
Yeah, I know. "Leaving Las Vegas". Not very original. What can I say, I had a business trip there a week earlier and that's when I came up with the plan.
Quickly, I turned, walked past my son and out the bedroom door. As I passed my son, he began screaming, begging, pleading with me not to leave. Feeling him grab my shirt, I twisted away and roughly ripped my shirt from his grasping fingers. Knowing he couldn't stop me by grabbing me, he tried to get in front of me. Carelessly, I brushed him aside and continued toward the door to the garage. Halfway to the door, I heard my wife call out.
"You've never tried treatment." Her voice sounding desperate.
For some reason, the word treatment rang in my ears. "You mean rehab?" I heard myself ask almost involuntarily.
"Yes, rehab." she repeated.
Apparently, I agreed because the next thing I realized I was standing in the Emergency Room explaining my Vegas plan to a nurse.
Want to read more of this story? Let me know.
Would definitely be quite interested to see the rest of this, the healthcare (which should be focusing more on actual wellbeing) industry definitely needs a fresh perspective in terms of how it usually discards the emotional and mental source of many physical problems.
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