In high care situations, not long after breakfast, the patients sit numbly next to sunny windows like freshly-pressed zombies and the attendant uses the vacuum cleaner. The matte whistle of the vacuum doesn’t arouse any interest – except when the vacuum broom head goes near a person’s feet and she might lift her heels off the floor so he can vacuum under her. Other times there is no effort to move and that two foot space of linoleum goes un-vacuumed. But it doesn’t really matter – sure enough it will be done next shift.
*
We had to sign in and show our FREE tickets at a little table where a fat tech guy and a slim sales chick smiled as we surrendered our email address and agreed to turn off our mobile phones. Then we were ushered along a corridor and some heavy fire doors opened for us and we were absorbed amoeba-like into a cavernous arena filled with blackness and what seemed like hundreds of backs of heads making that murmur audiences make.
*
In high care situations, the patient’s diagnosis takes on a life of its’ own, to be documented and discussed and decided on, whilst the patient herself sits there, in the same room, being talked about. She has little input beyond her physical presence, and after a cursory glance the next phase of the treatment is approved and another regimen of drugs or whatever is followed. She shuffles out of the room and obligingly seats herself in the area that has already been vacuumed, more by accident than anything else.
*
First was a homely, domesticated looking guy with a goatee, balding and tucked in polo shirt and jeans. He suggested we pay attention and listen carefully to the presentation and that he had been exactly like us, sitting out there in the audience like hundreds of others. Except he had given himself the chance to engage with the presenters and that now he worked for them. And his wife, three children and he now travelled the world on the presentation circuit, making a fortune.
“But today’s not about my story, wait until you hear what Paul has to say about the program and our offer and see what it can do for you – here he is, Paul...
*
We had to sign in and show our FREE tickets at a little table where a fat tech guy and a slim sales chick smiled as we surrendered our email address and agreed to turn off our mobile phones. Then we were ushered along a corridor and some heavy fire doors opened for us and we were absorbed amoeba-like into a cavernous arena filled with blackness and what seemed like hundreds of backs of heads making that murmur audiences make.
*
In high care situations, the patient’s diagnosis takes on a life of its’ own, to be documented and discussed and decided on, whilst the patient herself sits there, in the same room, being talked about. She has little input beyond her physical presence, and after a cursory glance the next phase of the treatment is approved and another regimen of drugs or whatever is followed. She shuffles out of the room and obligingly seats herself in the area that has already been vacuumed, more by accident than anything else.
*
First was a homely, domesticated looking guy with a goatee, balding and tucked in polo shirt and jeans. He suggested we pay attention and listen carefully to the presentation and that he had been exactly like us, sitting out there in the audience like hundreds of others. Except he had given himself the chance to engage with the presenters and that now he worked for them. And his wife, three children and he now travelled the world on the presentation circuit, making a fortune.
“But today’s not about my story, wait until you hear what Paul has to say about the program and our offer and see what it can do for you – here he is, Paul...
I really don't understand this post, but I am hoping this means that you're back, and you've been in treatment. Is that right? How are things?
ReplyDeleteGlorious read! Wow! I enjoyed this immensely!!!
ReplyDeleteWell dear,
ReplyDeleteHmmmph! Are you trying to reveal to us the bleakness of the situation you are in right now, the powerlessness, the hopelessness? Are you murmuring in your head a constant, "This is not me, this is not me, THIS IS NOT ME!!!!" You're right you know, it's not you.
Someone made a statement to me tonight that I think was supposed to be a compliment, they said, "You are so much fun to be around now, before you were just a drunk." It pissed me off. I was never just a drunk. All those years I was screaming in my head, "THIS ISN'T ME!!!"
I've found me, and you, my dear, are going to find you. You just gotta stop getting in your way. No more excuses. No more brilliantly executed failures.
Pleease stop and let the brilliant person that is inside screaming his heart out live his beautiful life with his beautiful family.
I know you're trying, it sounds like you're trying your damndest and only those of us that have been there know that something so fucking simple as quitting is the hardest thing you'll ever do. But it is still as simple as just saying no more, because, in the end, that's the only way to do it.
And I am grasping for the right words and not finding any of them, just know I'm hurting and praying for you.
Hang in there.
I'm pulling for you Bwendo. Your blog helped me save my life. Someday I hope to tell my kids how this guy on the other side of the world gave them their Dad back. Peace.
ReplyDeleteCryptic indeed but lovely to hear from you as always Bwendo and WHAT KARY SAID!!!! Isn't she a wise wonderful woman. Sending love, hope you are ok. New baby there yet? Just remember, all the cool people are sober xxxx
ReplyDeleteThinking about you this morning and I was thinking that if you are where it sounds like you are, how incredibly strong you must be. Me? I would have just curled up and died in some corner, probably in a stinking puddle of my own piss and vomit, before reaching out for that kind of help. But I'd still have my pride, right?
ReplyDeleteFuck that!
If it was someone else that got you where you are, well, thank God for them.
I'm new to this blog, but it definitely resinated.It's difficult, but you will get through it. Rehab is a long, yet necessary process.
ReplyDeleteI guess, going out successfully from a rehab is more likely as great as graduating from an academy. Living away from alcohol is one of the best things that could happen to a kid.
ReplyDeleteAll the best for your journey.
ReplyDeleteAA did for me what I could not do for myself.
It is NOT religious, my GOD is "Group Of Drunks" in AA.
http://aa4recov.blogspot.com.au/
My story may have a happy ending...
Trust yours will too :-)
It's never a good sign when you haven't written for long periods of time...
ReplyDeleteI am new to this blog but it is so brilliantly written! My fear is that the blogger went to rehab and things are either so great that he doesn't need this blog anymore or that...you know.
ReplyDeleteSo Bwendo (is that for real???) if you are still out there throw me a bone. Tell me you are sober.
Nice post.
ReplyDeleteHere a valuable information.
Thanks for sharing with us.
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I'm going to make a guess that Anonymous of the last comment is you, Bwendo. If so, you sound like you are in so much pain. Though it won't be the cure-all, I hope you will continue to come to this group of people that you have brought together here, at the site of your powerful blog, and keep sharing - helping yourself and all of us who are drawn to this place. We can relate, we can empathize and just by coming out of silence, perhaps we can help each other.
ReplyDeleteBwendo, I haven't given up on you. If that is you two posts above, I've been there buddy. I started drinking at 2 am most days and went full course through the day, a barely walking, talking nightmare with a constant murmur of "I wish I were dead, I hate my life," stuck on repeat in my head.
ReplyDeleteYou can start living again.
email me if you need to karymayhickey@gmail.com
Preventing alcohol-related harm.
ReplyDeleteIn Newcastle, NSW Australia
Sorry I am a bastard too...
ReplyDelete