It All Starts With The First Step

I watched her in her environment. Surrounded by friends and peers who didn’t hide the fact that they worshipped the ground that she walked on. I knew that they seen her just as I did, perfect. Not just in looks but in personality as well, something that rarely happened in the selfish world that we inhabited today. I watched on as she complimented someone’s shoes and helped another. I yearned for her as she breathed life and positivity into those around her.

She laughed at something that was said and it took everything in me not to walk over and take in some of her infectious energy. To walk over and just hear the harmony of her voice that I’d gotten used to this last year.

I had become dependent on her being the decider of my emotions for the day. I was used to her pulling me out of my slump and reminding me that I am my own person and that I have value in this world.

I wanted to, once again, feel her soft fingers massaging my scalp as I cried my hurt into her lap. I wanted to experience life the way that she did, filled with sunshine and rainbows.

Looking down at the pamphlet in my hand my throat tightened at the same time my fingers tightened around the papers. The pamphlet was my ticket back into her presence and while I wanted that more than anything, I was afraid.

I was afraid to see who I’d become once I gave up the piece of myself that I was so used to depending on. Afraid of feeling emotions that I’d run from for the last three years.

Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself before the panic set in and caused me to change my mind. Today was the day that I’d take the first step into recovery. It was the first time in a long time that I was deciding for myself to better myself. I was admitting to myself above all else that I had a problem and that problem needed a solution.

I looked down the street and seen the shuttle a few lights down. My eyes watered as I picked up my duffle bag and stared at her for what would likely be the last time for a while.

Naturally, it hurt when she told me that she needed space, that if I wouldn’t seek outside help then she would need to break away to protect her own mental. I was floored when she blocked my number and removed my name from the guest log to get through the gates of her neighborhood. I was sick when she emailed me five thousand words of hurt and pain of seeing me fade away in front of her eyes.

Id hurt her too many times through hurting myself and it took those words for me to understand that she genuinely loved and cared for me in a way that I thought I was incapable of receiving.

Sisters. That was what she called us in the email. Sisters who if I were willing would be glued at the hip until we were old and wrinkly. Sisters who would plan each other’s weddings, be God parents to each other’s kids, double date with our future husbands, sisters who would love each other unconditionally.

I wanted that now and I was willing to do anything to get there. It’d been three months since I was actually in her presence and I was feaning for another hit of her love and attention.

According to my therapist my attachment was unhealthy, and I needed to learn to validate myself. For awhile he tried drilling into me that she’d already done her job as my friend. She was a ship out on the horizon that decided to save a stranded stranger who was used to isolation and silence. She rescued me and brought me back to civilization and that should have been the end of it.

Instead, I got attached. I fell into a habit of allowing her to be my savior in all things. I tied my life raft to her ship, and I didn’t care where it took me. I had mixed one addiction with another. I was destroying myself and I was having a hard time letting go of either.

I was halfway through my twelve steps when I’d seen her the first time. My sponsor had told me over and over that it was dangerous, that I’d regret it if I got to close but I didn’t see it that way. I couldn’t imagine someone as funny and loving as her being a danger to me.

I wiped my eyes as her fiancé Gregory jogged up to her giving her a quick peck on the lips before turning and saying hello to everyone else around them. My insides turned to ice as I watched her look at him in the way that I looked at her. As he then returned her love in a way that I wasn’t able to.

Looking down at the pamphlet in my hand I felt my heart shrivel in defeat. I’d allowed tiny white tablets to dictate my decisions and to control my world. I was using them to escape the guilt and shame that I felt for getting addicted to them in the first place.

I looked across the street once more as the shuttle approached the light before my stop. She was smiling as Gregory joked around with her friends. Then as if she felt my turmoil, she turned and when our eyes met it was like my decision was made final.

There was no more questioning, no more second guessing, no more panic. I was getting on the shuttle and I was going to go through the steps and this time I would finish.

I couldn’t stop my tears anymore as I seen her jump up and make her way to the exit of the gate. The bus blocked my view of her black hair flowing in the wind as she sprinted across the pavement trying to make it to me.

As the bus doors opened, I wiped my face with my sleeve and looked at the driver.

“The first step is up to you and only you” I said before he could utter the same words that he’d been telling me for the last month.

Everyday I came to the stop with the intention of changing my life for the better. Everyday my addiction won, except for today.

He smiled as I stepped onto the bus and made my way to the back to take a seat. Squeezing my eyes closed I tried my hardest not to look out the window where I knew she would still be making her way to me. Where, like always, she would attempt to save me from myself. She would tell me how getting on the shuttle was the best for me and that she would support me the whole way through.

I knew if I heard her voice, if I was pulled back into her green loving aura, I wouldnt want to leave and the bus would once again pull off without me. If I did, my addiction would win. I would walk away and start the process all over again. I wouldn’t just be hurting myself but her too. I knew that I needed to stay on and get proper help. I had a problem and I needed to work towards a different fix.

I’d sent her a letter explaining everything and letting her know that I wouldn’t be gone forever. That I was sorry for letting my destructive world collide with her peaceful one. Hopefully, she’d receive it and understand. Hopefully, she’d read it and forgive me for all that I’d done.

The further the bus drove the more relaxed I became until finally I opened my eyes to see my therapist sitting across from me.

“Hello, Alana” he spoke, handing me the paperwork to sign myself into the 90-day rehab. He had been so patient with me throughout everything. Every day I said I'd be at the stop and everyday I failed, but no matter what, he showed up anyways.

My emotions were starting to choke me and my hands were starting to sweat, but still, as soon as I signed my name, I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders. For the first time in three years, I felt hope.