Everything I Used to be is Coming Back to Torture Me
Maggie
“Ah, hell,” Clover grumbled, launching off of her bed and hurrying into the bathroom. She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, swept back her hair, and released any contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. Hating this situation she had gotten herself into, Clover flushed the toilet and shoved herself to her feet, side-stepping to the sink to brush her teeth.
Withdrawal symptoms had struck with merciless force. Clover’s counselor had told her that symptoms would include irritability, insomnia, nausea, vomiting, headaches, restlessness, and that was only the physical aspects of it. This stage of withdrawal, known as acute withdrawal, would last up to three weeks. After those three weeks, her brain would begin to adjust to not having the stimulation of drugs and alcohol, and she would go into post-acute withdrawal, which would bring with it psychological symptoms such as mood swings, altered sleeping patterns, reduced enthusiasm, trouble concentrating, and even depression. Every case was different, however, so Clover never knew exactly how she’d feel from one minute to the next.
Everyone in the therapy sessions held three times a week told Clover at the last meeting that the first three days of withdrawal were always the hardest. Once you got over that bump, things got much, much easier. You felt like a whole new person, really, because you realized that you didn’t need those drugs. Hell, you’d just survived three days of near torture and came out of it strong with your head up, and you’d done it without cocaine or marijuana or your friend Jack Daniels. Clover remained optimistic, however. She’d known what getting off the drugs would take, and she was willing to fight through it to the end.
That didn’t mean she had to like it. Actually, Clover had stayed in her room since the symptoms started. She felt like shit run through a blender several times and felt worse at just the thought of leaving the room. Many of the people in her therapy circle came by at least once a day to check on her, so she wasn’t lonely. Even better, she wasn’t alone in this struggle, and everyone made sure that she knew that.
Clover stepped out of her little bathroom right as a light knock tapped a gentle rhythm on the door. Clover took the two steps to her little apartment door and pulled it open.
“Hi!” A woman fluttered—Clover couldn’t think of any other way to describe the way the woman moved—past Clover into her apartment bearing a tray upon which sat a tea kettle and two cups. Bemused, Clover closed the door and followed the woman deeper into the little apartment. The woman placed the tray on Clover’s nightstand and quickly poured some tea into each of the cups. Clover sank down onto the bed and the woman followed suit without invitation, shoving one of the cups into Clover’s hands.
“I’m not much of a tea drinker,” Clover said, still not entirely sure of what to make of this woman sitting on her bed as though she’d sat there a million times before.
“That’s what everyone says, and I’m here to tell you to not bother with whether you prefer coffee over tea or whatever you want, just drink the damned tea, lassie, because hot tea helps with your symptoms,” the woman retorted in a thick Irish accent, busying herself with her own cup. She turned to Clover, taking a long sip, and when Clover didn’t do the same, she gave her a stern look. Deciding it best not to argue, Clover took a small sip of the liquid. The woman seemed satisfied. However, Clover didn’t need further prodding. The tea was surprisingly good and it did seem to quiet down her nauseous stomach.
“Uh, who are you, exactly?” Clover asked after a few moments of silence.
“The name’s Maggie O’Malley, O’Malley just like the alley cat in The Aristocats. I’m the resident optimist,” Maggie answered with a large, winning smile. “You know, I used to be addicted to whiskey, but I’m getting sober now. It was running my life for me, and I couldn’t have that, so I came here. Now the only brown liquid I drink is tea. What about you?”
“I started out as an alcoholic, I suppose, addicted to hard liquor, scotch, whiskey, vodka, whatever I could get my underage hands on, and when that stopped taking me to paradise, I moved on to drugs. I started with marijuana because it was easy to get but advanced rapidly to cocaine,” Clover answered.
“And how old are you?”
“Nineteen,” Clover said.
“That’s a lot of experience under a nineteen-year-old belt, you know.”
“Oh, I’ve got more too,” Clover said cryptically, taking a drink of her tea.
“It’s a big step going from addiction to sobriety,” Maggie continued. “You seem like a sweet girl. I’m glad you have the balls to take that step into sobriety.”
Clover laughed, almost spitting her tea out onto the floor. Maggie laughed with her.
“But hey, if ever you need an ear to listen to, I’m in room 16 just down the hall,” Maggie said after their laughing fit stopped. “I know you’re new here and this is all overwhelming I’m sure. But I’m here for you if you need me. Got it?”
“Yes, thank you,” Clover answered, handing over the empty cup. “And thanks for the tea, I feel much better now.”
“No problem, lass,” Maggie said, rising to her feet and grabbing the tray. “See you around, right?”
“Yeah,” Clover agreed, opening the door for her. Maggie stepped out and Clover shut the door behind her, feeling that she’d probably just made her first true friend here in this place.
Withdrawal symptoms had struck with merciless force. Clover’s counselor had told her that symptoms would include irritability, insomnia, nausea, vomiting, headaches, restlessness, and that was only the physical aspects of it. This stage of withdrawal, known as acute withdrawal, would last up to three weeks. After those three weeks, her brain would begin to adjust to not having the stimulation of drugs and alcohol, and she would go into post-acute withdrawal, which would bring with it psychological symptoms such as mood swings, altered sleeping patterns, reduced enthusiasm, trouble concentrating, and even depression. Every case was different, however, so Clover never knew exactly how she’d feel from one minute to the next.
Everyone in the therapy sessions held three times a week told Clover at the last meeting that the first three days of withdrawal were always the hardest. Once you got over that bump, things got much, much easier. You felt like a whole new person, really, because you realized that you didn’t need those drugs. Hell, you’d just survived three days of near torture and came out of it strong with your head up, and you’d done it without cocaine or marijuana or your friend Jack Daniels. Clover remained optimistic, however. She’d known what getting off the drugs would take, and she was willing to fight through it to the end.
That didn’t mean she had to like it. Actually, Clover had stayed in her room since the symptoms started. She felt like shit run through a blender several times and felt worse at just the thought of leaving the room. Many of the people in her therapy circle came by at least once a day to check on her, so she wasn’t lonely. Even better, she wasn’t alone in this struggle, and everyone made sure that she knew that.
Clover stepped out of her little bathroom right as a light knock tapped a gentle rhythm on the door. Clover took the two steps to her little apartment door and pulled it open.
“Hi!” A woman fluttered—Clover couldn’t think of any other way to describe the way the woman moved—past Clover into her apartment bearing a tray upon which sat a tea kettle and two cups. Bemused, Clover closed the door and followed the woman deeper into the little apartment. The woman placed the tray on Clover’s nightstand and quickly poured some tea into each of the cups. Clover sank down onto the bed and the woman followed suit without invitation, shoving one of the cups into Clover’s hands.
“I’m not much of a tea drinker,” Clover said, still not entirely sure of what to make of this woman sitting on her bed as though she’d sat there a million times before.
“That’s what everyone says, and I’m here to tell you to not bother with whether you prefer coffee over tea or whatever you want, just drink the damned tea, lassie, because hot tea helps with your symptoms,” the woman retorted in a thick Irish accent, busying herself with her own cup. She turned to Clover, taking a long sip, and when Clover didn’t do the same, she gave her a stern look. Deciding it best not to argue, Clover took a small sip of the liquid. The woman seemed satisfied. However, Clover didn’t need further prodding. The tea was surprisingly good and it did seem to quiet down her nauseous stomach.
“Uh, who are you, exactly?” Clover asked after a few moments of silence.
“The name’s Maggie O’Malley, O’Malley just like the alley cat in The Aristocats. I’m the resident optimist,” Maggie answered with a large, winning smile. “You know, I used to be addicted to whiskey, but I’m getting sober now. It was running my life for me, and I couldn’t have that, so I came here. Now the only brown liquid I drink is tea. What about you?”
“I started out as an alcoholic, I suppose, addicted to hard liquor, scotch, whiskey, vodka, whatever I could get my underage hands on, and when that stopped taking me to paradise, I moved on to drugs. I started with marijuana because it was easy to get but advanced rapidly to cocaine,” Clover answered.
“And how old are you?”
“Nineteen,” Clover said.
“That’s a lot of experience under a nineteen-year-old belt, you know.”
“Oh, I’ve got more too,” Clover said cryptically, taking a drink of her tea.
“It’s a big step going from addiction to sobriety,” Maggie continued. “You seem like a sweet girl. I’m glad you have the balls to take that step into sobriety.”
Clover laughed, almost spitting her tea out onto the floor. Maggie laughed with her.
“But hey, if ever you need an ear to listen to, I’m in room 16 just down the hall,” Maggie said after their laughing fit stopped. “I know you’re new here and this is all overwhelming I’m sure. But I’m here for you if you need me. Got it?”
“Yes, thank you,” Clover answered, handing over the empty cup. “And thanks for the tea, I feel much better now.”
“No problem, lass,” Maggie said, rising to her feet and grabbing the tray. “See you around, right?”
“Yeah,” Clover agreed, opening the door for her. Maggie stepped out and Clover shut the door behind her, feeling that she’d probably just made her first true friend here in this place.
♠ ♠ ♠
I promise it'll start getting more interesting right soon!