In Which Sam Is in Rehab (1)
Sam had read the letter three days after Dean had given it to him. But he couldn't show weakness in the "joint", so he shoved the letter and the pain deep down so no one would see it. He read it again in minimum security, sitting on his bed now that the worse of the withdrawal was over, and he could think clearer. Still, the words didn't stop hurting, but this time he was safe in his room to let himself cry as he read it.
He almost lost it in transition from jail to rehab. He had been smart enough to keep it hidden in his sock after he almost left it in his pants that he had to give back as he changed into the suit for court. And when he got to rehab at Southwood Interventions, he smiled a bit at the clothes Dean had brought over for him. Jeans, tee-shirts and a few of his hoodies. Things that were comfortable and familiar. He changed out of the suit, hiding the letter in his clothing drawer, and then walked away to explore.
His room was in the long term wing, and it wasn't nearly as bad as Sam had thought it would be. He had to wear an ankle bracelet to be able to track where he was, but otherwise he was just like anyone else there looking for help.
The first few days flew by, and the doctor called on Sam finally in one of the "share" sessions.
So, Sam. What is it that triggers you to use?
Sam licked his lips. He knew that simple questions turned difficult fast, and he was still learning to talk about his problems. "Well, I only started because my dad died. And I went back after almost a year of sobriety because I thought my fiancee was dead."
Loss is a strong trigger, but something had to keep you using. What was it?
He looked out the window a moment, trying to find the right words. "I don't like hurting. The drugs dull the pain where it doesn't hurt anymore. When things start getting hard, it's just easier to fade away."
The doctor nodded. Good, Sam. If you know what your triggers are, it's going to help you kick this habit. Now does anyone else find that pain in their lives leads them to using? Half the group slowly raised their hands, and Sam looked at them all. See, Sam. You're not alone. Now is there anything that is still causing pain that might make you want to use?
Nodding, he reached up to rub his eyes. "Yeah. My fiancee... she didn't die. But she's hurt real bad and I'm not there for her. And she told me that I...because of this I can't go back to her."
And you feel pain not having her in your life now. But Sam, if she had died, would she have wanted you to turn to drugs?
"No."
Then why did you? Besides the pain?
"Because I didn't want to go on without her..." he said as he felt himself tear up. Instantly, the two people on his side leaned into him, hugging him. It was their rule in this group - support each other when weakness showed and the group will stay strong. "I thought she was dead and I just wanted to be with her."
The doctor got up and knelt in front of Sam, his hand taking Sam's hand holding it tight. It's ok, Sam. And that's a completely logical thought process. It might not be right, but it's not unbelievable.
"I just wanted to be with her, and instead I lost everything!"
Sam, you didn't lose everything. It's all still right there waiting for you when you're ready to go back to it.
"Not her. She doesn't want me anymore. She told me... in her letter."
Well, just because she's not in your life, I seriously doubt she would want you to feel pain and keep using because of that. If she loved you how you do her, she would want you to get better, right?
Sam nodded, curling a bit on his side into one of the other patients who hugged him a bit. The woman was in her forties and she just rubbed his back as the doctor tried to keep Sam looking at him.
Then that's what you need to do. For yourself. To prove that you are more than this. You're better than this addiction, and if you believe in that, you will come out stronger in the end. Stick with us, Sam, and we'll help you get there, ok? You trust me on that?
"I'll try."
You got to do a bit more than that, Sam. Like Yoda says, 'Do or Do Not, there is no Try'. I know you've had a hard time in the system and been removed from rehab once before not by choice, but this time we're going to do it right. But you need to work with me and not shut me or the rest of us out. Can you do that?
Sam bit his lip, then nodded. "Yes."
The doctor smiled. Good. And I promise I won't let you go until we're both sure you're ready for it. Alright?
"Ok."
Nodding, the doctor stood up and massaged Sam's shoulder a bit. Why don't we all go down to the cafeteria and get some tea and cookies before we continue? That good for everyone?
The group nodded and stood, and Sam reluctantly pulled away from the two people as he worked to compose himself. The doctor stood next to him, then smiled. You're going to do alright here, Sam. Just believe in yourself and figure out who you are, and who you want to be. I'll get you on that path.
"Thank you."
That night, Sam sat in his room holding the letter from Jo in his hands. He reread it, working past the pain to actually read the words. He could see how much it had hurt Jo to write it from her handwriting alone, and knew that she was doing what she felt she had to. He knew she was mad, but she didn't want to hurt him. Or if she did, not in a way to destroy him like he had felt the first time he read it.
He grabbed the journal Dean had left (part of the rehab school supply list) and started to go through it and pick out the things in it Jo mentioned and stayed up into the wee hours of the morning starting to work on his game plan for what he needed to work on, and directions he needed to go.
This was going to be his chance to discover who he was and where he was going to stand in this world. If it took six months, a year, or five years - he was going to get this figured out. And maybe when that was done, maybe then Sam could try to get Jo back. It was his ultimate goal, but it was the furthest on the list from where he was now.
"I can do this," he said softly to himself as he folder up the letter and wedged it into the journal. He would get some tape to put it in a bit more firmly so he wouldn't lose it, but he needed to keep it close to be able to refer back to it later on. He put the journal under his pillow, then stretched out to look at the stars through his window bars. "I'm going to do this, Jo. I'm going to become that man you and every one else think I can be. I just hope you're still around town to see it one day."
He almost lost it in transition from jail to rehab. He had been smart enough to keep it hidden in his sock after he almost left it in his pants that he had to give back as he changed into the suit for court. And when he got to rehab at Southwood Interventions, he smiled a bit at the clothes Dean had brought over for him. Jeans, tee-shirts and a few of his hoodies. Things that were comfortable and familiar. He changed out of the suit, hiding the letter in his clothing drawer, and then walked away to explore.
His room was in the long term wing, and it wasn't nearly as bad as Sam had thought it would be. He had to wear an ankle bracelet to be able to track where he was, but otherwise he was just like anyone else there looking for help.
The first few days flew by, and the doctor called on Sam finally in one of the "share" sessions.
So, Sam. What is it that triggers you to use?
Sam licked his lips. He knew that simple questions turned difficult fast, and he was still learning to talk about his problems. "Well, I only started because my dad died. And I went back after almost a year of sobriety because I thought my fiancee was dead."
Loss is a strong trigger, but something had to keep you using. What was it?
He looked out the window a moment, trying to find the right words. "I don't like hurting. The drugs dull the pain where it doesn't hurt anymore. When things start getting hard, it's just easier to fade away."
The doctor nodded. Good, Sam. If you know what your triggers are, it's going to help you kick this habit. Now does anyone else find that pain in their lives leads them to using? Half the group slowly raised their hands, and Sam looked at them all. See, Sam. You're not alone. Now is there anything that is still causing pain that might make you want to use?
Nodding, he reached up to rub his eyes. "Yeah. My fiancee... she didn't die. But she's hurt real bad and I'm not there for her. And she told me that I...because of this I can't go back to her."
And you feel pain not having her in your life now. But Sam, if she had died, would she have wanted you to turn to drugs?
"No."
Then why did you? Besides the pain?
"Because I didn't want to go on without her..." he said as he felt himself tear up. Instantly, the two people on his side leaned into him, hugging him. It was their rule in this group - support each other when weakness showed and the group will stay strong. "I thought she was dead and I just wanted to be with her."
The doctor got up and knelt in front of Sam, his hand taking Sam's hand holding it tight. It's ok, Sam. And that's a completely logical thought process. It might not be right, but it's not unbelievable.
"I just wanted to be with her, and instead I lost everything!"
Sam, you didn't lose everything. It's all still right there waiting for you when you're ready to go back to it.
"Not her. She doesn't want me anymore. She told me... in her letter."
Well, just because she's not in your life, I seriously doubt she would want you to feel pain and keep using because of that. If she loved you how you do her, she would want you to get better, right?
Sam nodded, curling a bit on his side into one of the other patients who hugged him a bit. The woman was in her forties and she just rubbed his back as the doctor tried to keep Sam looking at him.
Then that's what you need to do. For yourself. To prove that you are more than this. You're better than this addiction, and if you believe in that, you will come out stronger in the end. Stick with us, Sam, and we'll help you get there, ok? You trust me on that?
"I'll try."
You got to do a bit more than that, Sam. Like Yoda says, 'Do or Do Not, there is no Try'. I know you've had a hard time in the system and been removed from rehab once before not by choice, but this time we're going to do it right. But you need to work with me and not shut me or the rest of us out. Can you do that?
Sam bit his lip, then nodded. "Yes."
The doctor smiled. Good. And I promise I won't let you go until we're both sure you're ready for it. Alright?
"Ok."
Nodding, the doctor stood up and massaged Sam's shoulder a bit. Why don't we all go down to the cafeteria and get some tea and cookies before we continue? That good for everyone?
The group nodded and stood, and Sam reluctantly pulled away from the two people as he worked to compose himself. The doctor stood next to him, then smiled. You're going to do alright here, Sam. Just believe in yourself and figure out who you are, and who you want to be. I'll get you on that path.
"Thank you."
That night, Sam sat in his room holding the letter from Jo in his hands. He reread it, working past the pain to actually read the words. He could see how much it had hurt Jo to write it from her handwriting alone, and knew that she was doing what she felt she had to. He knew she was mad, but she didn't want to hurt him. Or if she did, not in a way to destroy him like he had felt the first time he read it.
He grabbed the journal Dean had left (part of the rehab school supply list) and started to go through it and pick out the things in it Jo mentioned and stayed up into the wee hours of the morning starting to work on his game plan for what he needed to work on, and directions he needed to go.
This was going to be his chance to discover who he was and where he was going to stand in this world. If it took six months, a year, or five years - he was going to get this figured out. And maybe when that was done, maybe then Sam could try to get Jo back. It was his ultimate goal, but it was the furthest on the list from where he was now.
"I can do this," he said softly to himself as he folder up the letter and wedged it into the journal. He would get some tape to put it in a bit more firmly so he wouldn't lose it, but he needed to keep it close to be able to refer back to it later on. He put the journal under his pillow, then stretched out to look at the stars through his window bars. "I'm going to do this, Jo. I'm going to become that man you and every one else think I can be. I just hope you're still around town to see it one day."