šŸƒAmanda22Janeā¤

Ghost Writer
2020-09-15 20:13:36 (UTC)

A Society Within Society.

My name is Amanda~Jane and I am an alcoholic~addict. An alcoholic~addict of the Hopeless variety. It took 4 stints in rehabilitation centres within New Zealand for me to get the message that I couldn't drink alcohol in a sane and sociably friendly manner.
When I drink, I cannot guarantee my actions or behaviour in any way, shape or form.
Social drinkers don't end up in rehabilitation centers. Not at all. Alcoholism ruins a person's life. Completely.

I just wanted to write in a general way, (then not~so~general way), concerning my first rehab experience.
The one that I didn't pack my bags and run away from. That would be the second time. I couldn't run away because I was court ordered by the judge (who happened to belong to my church) to "BLOODY WELL STAY IN REHAB OR I'LL SEND YOU TO JAIL!" I'm very practiced at running away you see.

Just an aside here : If anyone would like to plan an escape? I'm your go-to girlšŸ‘!

A lot of time has passed since that court judge threatened me and I would NOW like to express a little therapeutic response as only this little addict can. Here you go judge, this one's for you: šŸ–•šŸ!!

Rehab #2.

I returned with more resentment and shame than I thought possible for a person to carry in one body. And I was angry. I couldn't leave. So I did the next best thing. I made the most of the circumstances that I found myself in without doing any further damage to myself or those who were incarcerated with me. I copped a little flak, but shit happens.
For the most part, we were there to finally have some time out from society at large, and do some work on ourselves. I was working for the first time in my life on my addiction to the bottle and other drugs.

The rehabilitation center is called The Salvation Army Bridge Programme and is located on a fairly quiet avenue in a busy metropolitan hub. The largest city in New Zealand called Auckland.
It's called The Bridge because we are there to learn to bridge build our way into a sober lifestyle and sober support community. I ended up loving it by the time I left, and I have a great love for The Salvation Army and the beautiful work they do with alcoholics in my country. They are the oldest organization in New Zealand who have worked with alcoholics the longest. The majority of those Salvation Army church members who work in rehabs have their hearts and hands set to the work in a right Christian manner. They don't care that we're alcoholics. They just love us. And it is love ~that we, as polyaddicted persons~ had the least of in life. I thrived on the love of those who had it to give, and that doesn't exclude my fellow addicts by any means.
There is a powerful camaraderie that exists among addictive shipwreck survivors and it is that camaraderie that keeps me returning to The Rooms.

Rehab is a busy life. They ran a tight ship at The Bridge. It was a fusion of boot camp and health camp. The pace is hard to hack at first, but as we got well, we were better able to manage the routine. It's gruelling doing rehab if you want to work at it. What I remember and love the most was seeing the visible, tangible results of hard work paying off ; both in others and of course myself. There's only so much one can do in rehab, because it is a cotton wool, bubble~like environment.

Yes, there were the odd escapees, who were chased down, brought back only to be told : You don't need to climb out the window and run away. Hold your head up and walk out the front door. There will always be a place for you when you're ready to come back. Yes, there were those who got drunk or high and they were told to leave, and left with the same message. That was the one cardinal rule in this rehab branch that I lived at for three months: Absolutely no using, or you'll be asked to leave. This rule keeps it safe for everyone. Everyone.

When it was my time to go after I finished my 3 month programme, I went shopping for ingredients. Ingredients to build a very large cream cake castle as a farewell gesture to all my newfound friends in rehab. I bought four sponge cakes, a mountain of Twinkies (yes, the real, imported American Twinkies), bottles of fresh cream to whip, strawberry jam. I was quite satisfied with my efforts after constructing this enormous fantasy fairy castle cake.
After we'd had the Farewell Ceremony for those of us who were leaving (properly, not out the window or fire escape), we all congregated upstairs in the lounge of one of the women's flats and I brought out the cake from our kitchen.

There were about 16 of us.
"Wow! What a beautiful cake!" Someone remarked with big surprised blue eyes. (Peter K.)
"It sure is," murmured others. We were gathered around the couches and coffee table where I had placed my creation.
"You have the first slice, Amanda~Jane."
"Okay," I replied and reached my hand forward to the cream cake.
"Just a minute," Trish interrupted, "where's the knife? There's no knife, I'll just go and get one."
This is where it was game on. I looked at everyone present, and I could see mischief brewing.

That there cake was huge and it was heavy. It contained a great deal of whipped cream, sponge cake, an entire jar of strawberry jam and many many Twinkies. I like to go out with STYLE.šŸ˜‰šŸ‘šŸ’›

Trish brought the knife back and gasped. I was sitting on the couch throne beside Pia, my other graduate queen and in my hand I clutched a great big handful of cream cake that I had dug out of the side of The Fairy Castle.

"Here you go Pia," I said, "let's eat our cake."
I proffered the delicious handful under her nose, and she opened her mouth to take what she thought was going to be a bite. I shoved her "bite" in her face! (I'm sorry Pia!)
Instant group reaction. Within seconds the cake fight of the century was ON!!!
There was screaming, yelling, yahooing, pushing, shoving, cake flying everywhere!!!
What an amazing adventure!! And we were sober.

That's all I've got to say...




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