Three hours later, I was waiting outside, dwelling on my misfortune. I was not a bad person, I had been told, trying to get good. I was a sick person trying to get well. For some reason, this didn't resonate with me. I couldn't make the break from a position of self-loathing. This was typical for me upon release from a detox. I was dangerously vulnerable and, predictably, my gaze drifted from my shoes to a point in the distance down the road. Could I get away with a pint? I shuddered and shook my head hard. I couldn't believe I was caving already. What the hell was the matter with me? I pressed my fingers to my temples and rubbed hard, squeezing my eyes shut. I had no idea how much time had passed when I heard 'Russ? Are you OK?' I hadn't even heard her pull up. I took a deep breath, grabbed my bag, and hopped in.
It took about ten seconds for me to gather the strength to say something. 'Hi,' I said, unable to make eye contact. Suddenly, I felt utterly exhausted. I turned toward her with the thought of an apology, but before I got another word out, I fell to pieces. I began sobbing uncontrollably, completely emasculated and broken. In an instant, her arms were around me, and she pulled me close, rocking me to her breast. 'Shhh, it's OK. It's OK, Russ. I love you so much. I'm so sorry. I'm here.' Her tears mingled with mine, and we sat there in her car, holding onto each other as if nothing else would ever matter. And, for the first time in years, I felt safe.
No comments:
Post a Comment