My Thoughts

Three days in this place and I was finally scheduled to meet with my therapist.  My head ached from detox, and I panicked at every slight noise.  My fear about what would happen with my kids and my ex-husband guided every thought, every breath I took.  Even though this rehab looked like a cozy vacation spot, aesthetics could not quell the anxiety.  As I shuffled down the hall, I used an old mental trick - I replayed the ideal first date.  I imagined the well dressed man, slightly unshaven, waiting at the bar as I arrived a bit too late, me in a slinky black dress with red glossy pumps, the small handbag big enough only for a few condoms and gel and a small amount of cash.  I played out in my mind the music, the conversation, even the drinks I would order. All I knew about the therapist was the room number - 326.  I barely got through the first drink when I found the door and knocked lightly.  The sound broke my first date reverie, and I shifted quickly into damaged mode to placate