They gave out chips in rehab. I thought it was really stupid when, after I had been there for a day, they handed me a chip that said "24 Hours" on it, smiling at me as if that was some kind of accomplishment.
Congrats, Josh. You've not been a total piece of shit for a whole 24 hours! Here's your medal for your brave contribution to society and commitment to your sobriety.
Dumb as hell. I thought a better prize would've been giving me my phone so that I could call Connor, but no luck there. Fucking assholes.
This was what a typical day in rehab looked like:
6:30 AM was wake-up time, whether you were ready or not. Breakfast was mandatory whether you were hungry or not. Apparently, establishing a routine was not only helpful to recovery, but was also mandatory.
7:30 AM we had morning meditation. It was exactly what you'd expect: some lady with a soft voice would guide us through a very long, very quiet meditation aimed at "centering" us. For me, it just gave me alone time with my thoughts, which wasn't ideal.
9:00 AM was group therapy. If meditation sounded bad, group therapy was worse. I'd listen to a couple of older people talk about their divorces like a broken record. People would share accomplishments, which mostly just involved staying sober, as if this place even had alcohol available. I always stayed quiet, much to the group leader's disappointment.
10:30 AM was when I usually had individual therapy. In my opinion, that was too much therapy for one day, but what did I know? I'd never been to therapy. They'd ask me how I was coping, urge me to talk about Charlotte. I'd pretend I was fine, lie, do whatever it took to get them to just leave me alone. Then, I'd get a not-so-subtle reminder that the road to recovery was hard, but talking about things would help.
12:00 PM was lunchtime. I would eat at a table alone, just like I did at breakfast. I didn't mind mealtimes, though; I could be by myself.
1:00 PM consisted of educational workshops that started to blur together. Every topic had something to do with addiction. Strange how none of them truly applied to my unique situation or experiences, but that was rehab.
2:30 PM was, of course, art therapy. Art therapy was another form of therapy, but it didn't involve much talking. Mostly just painting and drawing and coloring like we were mental patients. Well, I guess we sort of were. I didn't mind the art therapy instructor lady. I would draw a bunch of random shapes and squiggles, all in shades of black and deep reds, and she'd look at it like it was a Van Gogh original.
4:00 PM belonged to us. "Recreational time" was what they called it. You could go out to the courtyard, sit on a bench or play basketball. There were also board games and books in the rec room. I started reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest because it seemed fitting.
5:30 PM was dinnertime.
6:30 PM involved more group therapy. Like I said, too much therapy for one day. We would talk about how our day was, but everyday was pretty much the same, so it quickly became monotonous.
Finally, 8:00 PM was "personal reflection time." Meaning, I could go to my room and be alone until the walls started closing in. So I'd take out my book and read and wonder what Connor was doing. How Connor was doing.
Lights out was at 9:30 PM whether you were tired or not.
All in all, rehab sucked. But it could've been worse.
After I'd been there 30 days, they presented me with another chip. I didn't feel anything when they handed it to me. The place, with its routines and endless monotony, had essentially beaten the defiance out of me.
But I still wasn't opening up. I knew that, once I started talking and thinking about what had all happened, everything would come crashing down at once like an avalanche. The grief and the anger would sweep me away, and I didn't have an anchor to hold onto because he was hundreds of miles away in Clareview.
My individual therapist, an older man named Dr. Andrews, was not pleased with me, as he reminded me pretty much everyday at 10:30 AM.
Not long after getting that second stupid chip, Dr. Andrews sat me down in his little office. "Tell me, Josh. Do you want to die?"
I looked at him like he was crazy for asking a question like that. "No. No one wants to die."
He looked happy to hear me say that. "Would you say Charlotte wanted to die?"
I got angry, then. I knew I had trouble controlling my anger, and I'd been trying my best to keep it in check, but Charlotte was always my trigger. "No! Of course she didn't want to die. She just couldn't take it anymore and didn't see a way out. Dying was her way out!"
As I looked at Dr. Andrews after my outburst, I realized he'd gotten out of me exactly what he'd wanted. I grew quiet and glared at him.
I figured he'd try to unpack that, but he changed gears. "What was your favorite thing about Charlotte?"
I was still annoyed with him, but I forced myself to answer. "I don't know. She just...she always saw the good in everyone, even if they didn't deserve it. She had endless patience for people. It was...annoying yet admirable."
"Do you see that quality in anyone else in your life?" he asked.
"No," I answered, then paused. "Well, yeah. I guess in my...in Connor." Dr. Andrews (along with everyone else in rehab, I supposed) knew that I was gay. It was strange. I still wasn't used to being open about it.
"How so?"
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Fuck you, meditation. "He only ever saw the good in me. Even when I pushed him away, when I hurt him. He was always there, ready to help me and...love me. Like I deserved it."
"Do you not think you deserved it?" Dr. Andrews asked.
I shrugged. "I guess...with him, I felt like I could be. Like, one day I'd be...deserving."
"Well, like it or not, Josh," Dr. Andrews told me, "we're all deserving of love, of good things. And we don't need to go far to discover that part of ourselves. It's in here." He smiled at me and pointed to his chest.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him.
As much as I hated that therapy session, things started changing afterwards. I actually pitched in at group meetings, though not a whole lot, and I started writing in the dumb journal I'd been given my first week there. It was mostly just random thoughts I had, about Connor or Charlotte or my parents or how the chicken they served there tasted like cardboard.
When I received my 60 Days chip, I was rewarded with "computer time." There were two ancient computers in the rec room, which required a password to login. I was given my password on a slip of paper: RecoveryRox219!
Typical. The password was only good until the end of the day, but I'd bet my life that the next password would be RecoveryRox220!
I was actually really excited to finally have access to the internet, to Connor. I figured I'd probably have a ton of emails from him, all of them him worrying about me and updating me on his life.
But I only had one. And he told me he kissed that Miles guy, whoever the fuck that even was.
At first, I was angry. Then, jealous, obviously. Those were easy emotions. They came to me naturally. Feeling angry was something I'd become accustomed to, and to be fair, I had a lot to be angry about. Not at Connor, but just at life in general.
I closed out of my email and logged out of the computer, not bothering to reply. What could I even say? Fuck you? I leave and you're already kissing other people? Or I forgive you, let's just move on?
This happened during rec time. So, when dinnertime rolled around, I was still stewing about it, contemplating how I'd respond, or if I even would.
That was when a girl approached me. I'd seen her around the past couple of weeks, but hadn't really spoken to her. I knew her name was Alice and she was about my age. She was also tall, almost as tall as me, and had streaks of purple in her hair.
She sat down next to me, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. "Hey. You okay?"
I barely glanced up from my dinner. "I'm gay."
Alice let out a laugh. "So am I, shithead. You think you're special?"
That finally got my attention. I looked over at her, my eyes widened. "Um, sorry."
She had an amused look on her face, but her eyes were narrowed slightly. "Let me guess. You were really popular in high school and that gave you the unearned confidence to assume that every girl that talks to you is hitting on you?"
My face got red because she was right. I couldn't defend myself. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm having a shitty day."
Alice leaned forward and said quietly, "It's rehab, dude. We're all having a shitty day."
I frowned at her and stared back down at my food, picking at it but not eating.
"Seriously, you look like someone pissed in your Cheerios. What's wrong?"
"I really don't want to talk about it," I told her. "And I'd kind of rather be alone."
"But Josh, the road to recovery involves talking about your pain."
I couldn't help but smile at her sarcasm. "Fuck you."
Alice grinned. "Fuck you, too."
***
"So, he admits he kissed someone else," Alice commented, staring at Connor's email.
She had somehow convinced me to tell her what was bothering me, and, after group therapy, I logged back into the computer to show her what Connor had sent me, explaining our history and everything. To be honest, it felt good to tell someone. Maybe Dr. Andrews was onto something, not that I'd ever tell him that. The smug bastard.
"He could've just not told you," Alice said. "So I mean, he obviously loves you enough to not want to keep a secret."
"Yet he doesn't love me enough to not cheat on me?" I questioned her sarcastically.
Alice rolled her eyes at me. "Okay, so you're angry at him, obviously. Then what?"
"What do you mean?" I stared at her blankly.
"What happens next, Josh? Do you want to break up with him?"
"Of course not," I answered quickly. "No, I..."
"Love him?"
I didn't say anything in response, which basically answered her question.
"Then forgive him," she said. "It's actually really simple. You either forgive him or you don't. But trust meâcarrying around anger for someone is only going to make things harder for you."
I shook my head. "I can't respond to this right now. I like, can't even think of a normal, rational response. But I'm not gonna be able to login after today, and..."
Alice put a hand on my arm. "Sleep on it. See how you feel tomorrow. Just ask to use the computer again. If you participate in group and everything, they're much more inclined to give out favors."
"I'm about to become a model rehab patient, aren't I?"
"Fuck yeah you are." Alice let out a laugh, and at that moment, I realized she reminded me of Charlotte.
***
I couldn't sleep that night. Thoughts of Connor and his message kept rolling around in my head like thunder. I wanted to forgive him, to move on. I mean, it was just a stupid kiss. Was it really worth getting this worked up over?
The next morning, during group therapy, I discovered that I wasn't just angry or jealous.
When I had gotten to group, I sat next to Alice. "You look like shit," she greeted me with a smile on her face.
"Thanks."
The group leader started off the session with a quote: "Human greatness does not lie in wealth or power, but in character and goodness. People are just people, and all people have faults and shortcomings, but all of us are born with a basic goodness."
"How does this quote make you feel?" she asked us, slowly turning to look at everyone. "What does it mean to you?"
Alice raised her hand, and the group leader called on her. "I think it feels a little gratuitous to compare addicts to Anne Frank, who was literally in the Holocaust. Surely we can't all be such egotistical narcissists to think that there's any level of comparison here."
This shut the group leader right down. Pivoting, the group leader sighed and said, "Anyone have anything they'd like to share? Josh?" She looked directly at me.
I cleared my throat and said, "Well, Anne Frank was surprisingly optimistic, consideringâ"
"Not about Anne Frank," the group leader interrupted me, exasperated, clearly irritated that this meeting had gotten derailed so quickly. "About you, Josh."
I glanced at Alice, who looked amused. "Um, I don't know. My...my boyfriend emailed me. With a message I wasn't expecting, and now I'm pissed off."
"What other emotions can you identify? Because identifying these emotions will help you learn to understand them and, eventually, control them before they control you."
"Just angry," I replied, wishing everyone would stop staring at me. But then I paused, and I let out a sigh of frustration. "I guess, jealous. Um...sad. I definitely feel sad. Scared, too. I don't know."
Embarrassingly, while I had been talking, I realized how truly sad I felt, and my eyes welled up with tears. I wiped at them as the group leader smiled at me like I'd just had some sort of breakthrough.
I was sad because I realized what I needed to do. Even if it hurt like hell, even if I would regret it. I needed to cut the invisible string that tied me to Clareview, the string that forced me to keep one foot in the past and one in the future.
I needed to do what I should've done with Charlotte before it was too late. Protect him over myself. Spare him from a future that would be hard for both of us, not just because we're two guys in love, but because I can't keep dragging people down to the abyss with me.
I needed to do one unselfish thing to set things right, whatever that meant.
~*~*~*~
I never originally intended on writing anything from Josh's point of view, but I just love him as a character because he's so complicated lol. Ngl this was one of my favorites to write!