My hands are shaking. I noticed that while I was trying to light my Black & Mild earlier, what is that they call it, the shakes? Well fuck, I got em'. I took a five hour flight to get here, landed in beautiful balmy mid seventy degree weather only to be whisked away to this pale fortress. The long drive up to the main house sporting a maze of walkways covered with a slated green roof, all of them, covered as if exposure to that sun would burn every addict that walked beneath. Then again, with the popularity of drones it might just be there for a little anonymity, I swear I saw Lindsay Lohan riding on a horse off yonder.

To be frank, I was not too excited to be here, sure i'm self admitted but that doesn't mean I'm keen on it. The very meaning of rehab is a joke, it is an expensive but life-saving haven where rock-bottom addicts can finally sleep in a bed and eat something other than corn chips. Five percent of these regain their freedom, health, families, homes, jobs, and drivers licence by learning to change. The remaining ninety-five percent of these are just resting-up before their next binge.

Five percent. Those are not good odds.

The minute I got into my room they had two orderly's, a couple of blond beefy beach bod fella's empty my bags and strip search me. They packaged all my clothes up and sent them off to the laundry, something about a safe keeping measure to prevent bed bugs, personally I just think they wanted to see what I was packing...or if I was packing, they made me bend over and cough too. I watched as they rummaged through all my shit, took my phone and my hand sanitizer, what the hell? Apparently some addicts have been known to get poisoned by the shit by drinking it due to it's high alcohol content...the fuck? So I was left in some really scratchy papery scrubs, a notebook and a pen. My therapist encourages vomiting feelings on paper...

So here it is, my vomit. AS I sit here and look at these four yellow walls I reflect on exactly why i'm here, what was the straw that broke the camel toe? *erases* Camel's back...god the no sex part is going to suck. Anyway I digress, speaking of sex, I almost lost mine the night before. I was out of my mind you see, I could go into detail and I probably will eventually but for right now I just want to focus on 'what' I did or nearly did. Well I am just going to lay it out there, my cock..it's gotten me into a few pickle's and nearly broke my world. It still feels broken so in my drug induced state I decided to cut off the root of all my fucking problems. Hind sight, I really shouldn't have popped all those pills, drank beer on top of my prescription and oh just a dash of weed and coke mixed in there.

The good news, apparently i'm just as attached to my cock as it is to me. Okay, it didn't hurt that I have someone that still loves me, no matter how much of an intolerable asshole I can be. She knows this. So it's simple, that's it...that was my bottom.

They let me have one phone call, like jail although I don't have much experience in jail. There was that one time when I was introduced to a certain rookies finger up my ass, actually it was two but I can be honest here since it's just me and you. I wouldn't be surprised if he smelled his fingers for the rest of his shift, I would but i'm a fucking pervert like that. Anyway, I called Danya. She has this cute way about her, she takes a very fucked up and serious situation and tries to turn it into something fun, like she thinks I'm away at camp and wants me to make her a macaroni necklace. I didn't have the heart to tell her they don't let us have glue here, let alone string, one of us might hang ourselves.

I haven't met anyone else, i'm under 'quarantine'. The only thing I'm allowed to do is write in my journal and sleep until the worst of the detox process is over. I would jerk off but lotion wasn't an option either, although with a shaky hand it might work out. To be honest, I don't feel well enough, I feel sick and restless, i've had a headache for two days and I can't even focus enough on one paragraph before i'm off to another. I keep thinking about 'him'. I'm avoiding. What lead me to get stupid on pills and slam all the alcohol and drink? Another day, I can't focus. *throws the journal against the wall*