Thirst

Have you ever had that one friend that was there for you whenever nobody else was? That one friend who never turned their back on you when the world had already turned their back on you? Have you ever had that special person you knew you could trust for eternity? Your confidant? Your comfort blanket, if you will. The one true thing you live for, but the one thing you’d die for… literally…

This special person is the the only amount of control you can grasp whenever your world is at a downward spiral. The only thing that you’ll want so bad that you’d do anything to get the satisfaction; the high. What is this demon? Addiction…

At twenty-three years young, Olivine thought she was invincible, for she had been an addict for seven years and still survived. A dehydration addict, that is. She restricted water and because of it being such a rare, and almost impossible disease, everyone looked down on her and laughed in her face. She was never wanted by her father, or really anybody for that matter. She was always the outcast, which taught her how to play God with her life even more throughout the years. It had gotten to the point where Olivine was no longer able to help herself, or let anyone else help her. She was too far gone. Or, so it seemed that way. But, every storm has a silver lining, right? Eventually, Olivine learns to treat her trials like triumphs. That’s when she’ll meet death face to face, and determine her fate.

Preface:

“You’re dying, Olivine. But I didn’t have to tell you that, now, did I?”

“I’m fine, Doctor Garden. I’ll be just fine.”

“Olive, your liver, your kidneys… your brain… they’re all giving out. They’re telling you that’s enough. They want you to stop this madness. They can’t take what you’re doing. You may be strong enough to hold on, but they are not. And if they can’t hold on, you can’t hold on without them.”

“Doctor, I told you, I’m fine!”

“No. You’re delusional. No patient I’ve ever seen or heard of has ever gone through what you’re going through. You’re very brave, yet very pained. You are special, yet very broken. This is the most dangerous act I’ve seen a patient undertake. More dangerous than anorexia nervosa. Now, you need to take this seriously. If not for you, then for your mom!”

“Oh my God! See? Right there!”

“What?!”

“You all think that this is a selfish act when in reality it has nothing to do with you or me! Maybe you’re all the selfish ones who are being vain and making it about you. I really wish you could understand. Maybe then I’d stop. But until then… bye!”

I head towards the door.

“Not so fast! I may not understand you, but that doesn’t mean you can go. I am legally not permitted to let you go without admitting you. I mean, don’t want to let you go, but even if I didn’t care about you. I will lose my job.”

“Sucks for you.”

I race out of the office as a nurse grabs me.

“I could have you arrested for this but I won’t, because I know you. You’re not a bad person, you’re not a criminal, you’re just very, very sick. And I’m so sorry that we all let it get this far.”

I tried squirming out of Doctor Garden’s arms but the nurse grabbed a hold of me along with Dr. Garden and she sedated me. I woke up in the hospital, with IV fluids.

Chapter One: Guilty, Filthy Soul.

I told my mom that I didn’t want to visit my aunt Betty but did she listen? No. Instead, I’m sitting on her couch knitting, which I suck at, while my mother, grandma, and aunt Betty are all gathered around her nice round, wooden table, drinking sweetened iced tea with lemon and overdosing on cigarettes. Aunt Betty kept going on and on about her male cat named Davenport because he didn’t hop into the shower with her today and she thought that was highly unusual; she was worried he might be, well… passing. Aunt Betty wasn’t very old, but my God, she could pass for 92.

If aunt Betty were to die today, the only absolute thing she’d be remembered for is her absurd collection of wigs, the way she couldn’t let go of the past to the point she re-enacted Breakfast At Tiffany’s every Saturday and the assassination of John F. Kennedy every Thursday, and also her pool. Can’t forget her pool. It’s sad, really. Nobody truly cares about aunt Betty, just her pool. Well, we live in Scottsdale, Arizona so it’s almost mandatory for every house to have a pool, though, we don’t have one. Mom says we can’t afford it. I call bullshit. I’m going to college next term anyway. My name Olivine Granite. I am an addict and was recently diagnosed with-

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

“You okay, Olive?” aunt Betty asks.

“Yes, yes. Oh my God. I hate knitting!”

“Well, there’s no need to be using the Lord’s name in vain in the House of God. No nice way for a nice lady to talk…” aunt Betty wiggles her finger from left to right.

I slowly scratch my head and look at my mom in confusion.

House of God?… what?…

“Oh, stop that, Betty Mae. Let me see, honey.” My grandma grabs my right hand gently.

She walks over to my side and acknowledges the blood.

“That’s a lot of blood, Olivine; do we need to take you to the hospital? Do you feel okay?” My grandma looks at me with a widened jaw.

“Oh, dear. Do we need to call the fire boy? He’ll be here soon! Oh, we should! He needs to save Davenport too!”

“No, no,” I laugh. “I’m just alright, aunt Betts. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Hey, no problem. But we still need to save Davenport.”

“Okay, Betts. That’s enough. Let’s go to your room now.”

“Pish posh! I’m fine right here!” she snaps.

“If you say so. Do you want to come over here to the table, baby? Chat with us?” my mom asked.

“I feel like I’ve already taken in a lifetime supply of smoke tonight, mom,” I laugh. “If I inhale anymore cigarette smoke then the those sexy firefighters are going to have to put me out!”

“Fire boys? They’re here? Save my Davenport, fire boys!” Aunt Betty jumped up from her chair and rushed yo the door to let them in.

Shit. What have I done.

“That’s enough!” my grandma took aunt Betty to her room.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

She looks at me and chuckled softly.

Grandma came back to the kitchen.

“Who’s ready for some Poker?”

“Hey, mom. It’s been fun catching up, but I think it’s time we go. With Oli’s Vaskin’s Disorder we can’t have her out for too long. She’s gotta sleep at some point.”

“Well, don’t forget her dehydration addiction,” my grandma raised her eyebrows at me. Everyone acts like I’m a bad person because I’m addicted to dehydrating myself. I love the feeling and I love the control, okay? What on earth is so bad about that?

“That’s enough; come on, Olive. I don’t need this and neither do you.” My mom yanked my arm and marched toward the door.

“You can’t deny that she’s dying and you’re enabling her!”

“Enabling?” My mom laughs in my grandma’s face. “You do not understand, do you?”

“Actually, aunt grandma, she does the complete opposite. She just can’t control me anymore!”

I release my hand from her grip, leap out of the doorway, and skip out towards the car while humming; grandma and aunt Betty both look at each other in shock.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” my mom shrugged her shoulders.

“You gripped her hand! I would have ran too! She’s not a fucking child, Eileen! She’s a grown adult! Treat her like one.”

“How dare you tell me how to raise me child!”

“Well, since it’s time for you to go, Eileen, then I think it’s time for us to clean up Uno.”

“No, I’m sorry, mom. I can’t tonight..”

“You need to-“

“I need to go apologize to my daughter and take her home. Yes, I am overbearing and yes, I am sorry. I have PTSD and it is not an excuse, but I’m getting help. I’m calling her doctor first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, good! Tomorrow’s Thursday!” Aunt Betty suddenly appeared back into the kitchen.

“Yes, Betty, we know. It’s your reenactment. Yay,” my grandma said sarcastically.

“Well, I’ve gotta go. My daughter, as y’all said, is sick. Very sick. I have to take her home. Goodbye.”

“Look; we’re sorry,” my grandma looked over at Betty.

“Yeah,” Betty continued, “take this uneaten Boston Crème Pie. Olive devoured the other one so we know how much she loves it. Obviously.”

“Well thank you, Betty. Goodnight, mom. Betty.” My mom grabs her coat, Marc Jacobs handbag, the Boston Crème Pie, and heads out the door.

“Okay, listen, Olivine. I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your grandma and aunt Betty. I’m so sorry, honey. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to have been recently diagnosed with such a bad disorder and have your own mother be such a social Nutcase…. Olive!… Olive…?

“Mom, really? You woke me up!”

“I’m sorry, Olive. Geez. I just wanted to apologize.”

“Okay, well can we talk about it in the morning?” I beg.

“Fine, whatever.” She puts the 2019 Mercedes Benz in drive and hopelessly gives me eyes.

I glare at her then drift back to sleep in the passenger seat.

11:30 a.m.

I used to get up somewhat early in the morning, but I try to sleep as much as I can to avoid any liquid intake. I limit myself to three drinks a day. I drink nothing but soda. I used to drink coffee and tea but I later found out that coffee and tea were oddly mistaken for diuretics which have an unbelievable amount of water in them. Soda? Way different. Because of the sugar, caffeine, and much more, a 12-ounce can of Coke contains 34 milligrams. If you were to drink 600 milliliters of soda, then you’d only consume 335 milliliters of water. See how that works?

Well, for breakfast, I take my first can of soda with my morning meds I must take: my antipsychotic medications for my Vaskin’s Disorder. My second soda I call my ‘special treat’ of the day. I get to drink that during the evening when I’m eating my dinner, or hanging out with my mom, or hanging out with friends. Lastly, I take my final drink at night before I got to bed, to take my night medication. I’d like to believe I’m very scheduled, except for during the day.

But this morning, I wake up and grab my Coca-Cola and notice something peculiar: there was a jug of Cranberry Juice sitting on the counter with a note next to it. The note stated:

Olivine,

I remembered that you said that you had a UTI yesterday,

So I bought you this jug of Cranberry Juice. You had said

That it was so severe you couldn’t pee and you had to force

Yourself to do so, and you were also having other severe symptoms,

Correct? I really wish you would have gone to see Doctor Garden

But I guess instead, here you go. I don’t know why you don’t want to

And I’ll never understand you. Please drink this.

P.S.,

If this is about your dehydration shit,

I’m kicking your ass with a steel-toed boot.

Love,

Your mom.

Somehow I knew that cranberry juice was toxic to my body. I immediately looked it up to find out whether it was dehydrating or not and I remembered that juice contains water no matter what juice it is. Even if cranberry juice is less hydrating than coffee, I can’t trust it. I can’t trust anything but soda.

I rush to the sink and pour the entire jug of Cranberry Juice out. “I’m sorry, mom,” I say to myself in sadness. I truly was sad. I didn’t want to hurt my mom. But I had to, no one understood. I just had to.

I grabbed my soda from the counter, took my meds, then went upstairs and started studying for my college course in Drama. I have a distinguished degree, so I must study every day.

4:25 p.m.

“Baby! I’m home!” I heard my mom yell from downstairs.

“Mom!”

I rush down the stairs to see her.

“You drank all of that cranberry juice, honey? Is that good for you?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I laugh nervously.

“Well, I went to the grocery store, if you’re wondering where I was. I got you some grapes; they’re great for hydration. You are hydrating yourself, aren’t you? Because I have noticed some major red flags and so have some of your closest friends. You know, you really scare me, Olivine. Stop doing this to yourself! Do you want everyone to suffer because of what you decided to do? It’s really selfish, Olive! It’s—“

Suddenly, I didn’t feel so well. Her words started to fade out and I started to see utter blur as my body got wobbly. I got really overheated and my breathing turned shallow. Then… I don’t know what happened… the last words I heard were…

“Olive?… Olive!”

Two Months Ago…

“Olivine, it seems as though you have a very rare condition called Vaskin’s Disorder; about two percent of the entire population have this disease.”

“Tell me what it entails, Dr. Marten.”

“It is a form of psychosis. You hear voices, you hallucinate… imagine cancer… but in psychiatric illness form…”

“So, what you’re saying is, I have a fatal version of schizophrenia?”

“Bingo.”

I stare at him as my eyes gloss and widen. What the hell. This can’t be right…

“So, what about her childish behavior? And her dehydration addiction?” my mom asks.

“It’s all part of Vaskin’s, unfortunately, Eileen. Vaskin’s is a very dangerous disease. It should be handled with care and seriousness.”

“Dr., with all due respect, I think you’re misinformed here,” I roll my eyes.

“What do you mean?” he puts his right elbow on his desk and cups his chin with his right hand.

“Well, no offense, but I think you’re giving me the wrong diagnosis. Schizophrenia? That’s a bit heavy? Now. Something worse than that? You’ve got me messed up!”

“Olivine, I am sorry, it is unfortunate. But I am giving you the right diagnosis. And with treatment, we can, not cure it, but help make it better.”

I sigh.

“This is fucking stupid.”

“Olive!” my mom snaps.

“It’s okay, Eileen. She’s gone through a lot. Olive? Is that what you prefer?”

I slide down my chair with my arms folded, look up at him and scuff.

“Now, Olive, the man is talking! Stop!”

“Perhaps we discuss this later? How about we make a follow-up for June? The receptionist will help you pick a date and time.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Marten,” my mom shakes his hand, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It’s fine, Mrs. Granite,” he laughs, “I have plenty of patients… and patience!” They both laugh.

“Let’s go, Olive.”

Present

“I think she’s waking up..”

Suddenly my eyes are heavy; I start choking. I start to realize that I have a feeding tube down my nose and something down my throat straight to my lungs, breathing for me. What the hell did I get myself into this time? I look around and I’m obviously in the intensive care unit. My IV, I can tell, is a bit old. So that means I’ve been in here for more than a few days. Because of my dehydration issue, I’m constantly hospitalized so I know a lot about IVs. I’m drowsy, I hate this feeling. My mom comes up to me and asks how I’m feeling… um…

I try to talk but I can’t—ventilator.

“You’ll be able to talk soon, sweetie. I promise. You’re probably wondering what got you in here, huh?” she chuckled sadly.

I nodded.

“Baby, this shit has to stop. You were so dehydrated that you slipped into a coma for two weeks. They were going to pull the plug. They gave you one more day, thank God!”

Dehydration! Oh my God, how could I forget!

I ripped out my IV immediately and tried getting out of bed. Unfortunately, everyone already knew about my games, so I set all of the alarms off. I had gotten so good that my mom couldn’t even stop me anymore, but it’s now in my charts that I’m considered a ‘bed escapee’.

“I don’t think so, honey,” a nurse walks in. “But I have great news! Another nurse and I are here to take out your vent and feeding tube! And I must warn you, you will not be able to talk for a few weeks because your vocal cords will be damaged for awhile. Let’s do this, Kristinia.”

Pulling the feeding tube out didn’t affect me at all, but the ventilator was terrible. I couldn’t breathe, my throat was scratchy, I was choking the entire time, and it was just downright uncomfortable. But once it was out, I felt somewhat better and she was right; I had lost my voice temporarily.

About two hours later, a very business savvy woman walked in.

“Hi, Olivine?”

I nodded.

“Hi, my name is Fae, I am the social worker here at Fischer Medical Center. I see you’ve been through a lot!” she smiled as her eyes widened.

I smile and nod.

“Can you do me a favor? If I asked you to get out your notes on your phone and I asked you questions orally and you answered them on your notes, would you be able to do that? Since you can’t talk?”

I nod, hold up my left index finger, then pick up my phone from my food tray.

“Perfect. Okay. How long have you been dehydrating yourself, Olivine?”

7 Years.

“Oh, my! That must be hard! So it’s an on and off thing. What usually triggers a flare up?”

Many things, but one major thing is when I feel people are trying to control me and I have no control over my life anymore.

“Yes, control is a major part of addiction. What is this mental illness you were diagnosed with two and a half months ago and what exactly does it entail?”

It’s called Vaskin’s Disorder and it’s very rare. Only 2% of the population have it. It’s a fatal mental illness. It’s the only guaranteed terminal psychosis.

“And why is that? Why is it terminal?”

Because the voices and hallucinations will haunt you until you die.

“Okay. Well. About the dehydration addiction… do you want help? I think it would greatly benefit you if you went to a rehabilitation center we have for only drinking disorders: alcoholism and self-dehydration. Kind of like an eating disorder clinic, but for drinking disorders instead. What do you think?”

I don’t think I’m ready for help. But thank you.

“I’m afraid no is not an answer, Olivine. I’m sorry, but we already spoke with your mom. You’re going. Your mom packed your bags and you’re leaving once you get discharged from this hospital.”

I couldn’t believe my mom.

After Fae left and my mom came back, I was asleep. She woke me.

“Hey, good morning, sleepyhead. Ow! What the hell, Oli! Why’d you buy my hand?!”

I glared at her, Eleven style from Stranger Things.

“I’m so glad I’m getting you help. You clearly need it. They’re discharging you at 12 today, it’s 11:05, so I’d say get up and get dressed, get your things together. We don’t have much time left. You have a bed waiting for you at New Hopes Rehabilitation Center. You’re just going to have to miss this term of college and sign up for next term, you won’t have enough time to—stop biting me, dammit!”

I kept biting her because there was literally nothing I could say to her. I’ve waited my entire life for University. Now I have to wait? How on earth is that fair? I will never forgive my mother for this. Ever. I can always go to rehab. My future, my career, it can’t wait.

Well, here’s looking at rehab…

Chapter Two: The Drought

“And just remember, if you have any questions at all, please feel free to let the staff know.”

“And what about the pool? Sorry, I have a thing for pools.”

“Oh, the pool is available anytime from eight to ten, Olive. Remember, this house is your house too. And if you have any requests for special drinks or snacks, please put it on the list on the fridge. We try and make this house as homey as possible.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Well, there is no catch, Olive. All we ask is that you obey our rules, just like everyone else in this facility. We have strict rules, but we try and sugarcoat those rules with full leisurely activities. And remember, the girls stay in this house, the boys stay in theirs. Strictly. And the staff will be making unexpected house calls during days and nights. You cannot bring food or drinks back to your rooms. We do urine analysis’s and labs every Saturday, which are required. Church on Sunday which is not required.

“Do the dehydration patients have to do the labs and samples?”

“Yes, Olive. They do. We check and make sure you’re drinking enough water. And if not we have saline bags in our office which we can use for you to hook up to your bed at night and force you to walk around with. No fun, right? And if you still refuse to comply, we send you straight to the hospital, where once discharged you must begin your stay all over again no matter how close you were to finishing. We don’t mess around.”

“Cool. Can I go to bed now?”

“Your attitude won’t cut it here, I hope you know that, Olivine.”

“Awesome. I’m going to bed. Where’s my shit?”

Little did I know that it was cool to throw peoples’ duffel bags in their faces. Is this a Gen Z thing? It’s no wonder why I can’t stand them!

“Sleep well, Olive. We wake patients up at four-thirty every morning for meds. We have breakfast at five, and then morning workout at six. Sleep well.”

“Wait—it’s one in the morning.”

“Then you better be getting some sleep then!”

“Wait, I—“

“Goodnight, Olive.”

The bed was comfy, at least. The room was very well decorated. I feel if I can get by with obeying the rules then I will have no problem surviving rehab.

I wake up to a dark disturbance; my lungs fill with water. I can’t breathe. It was as if I were drinking gallons and gallons of water. But that had to be impossible. I hadn’t had water in weeks. So what is the real reason behind this—am I dying? I have to get to the closest room next to me to notify the next person closest to me that I am legitimately dying. I couldn’t talk for various reasons now, but I was confident that she could see my struggles and know that there’s was something wrong right off the bat. I stumbled out of my room, pounded on her door and no answer, so I opened it. Inside of her bedroom was a sea of crystal water leading to her sleeping on her bed, so I followed my trials and I held what was left of my breath and dove deep down under. I swim about three feet until my lungs couldn’t take any more. This was it. This was the end. I took my final breath. When I woke back up, I was ecstatic to know that I was back alive, but I was scared to find out that I’d be back on the ventilator again. I opened my dreary eyes all the way and realized that it was just a dream. I was back in my comfy bed in my room in rehab. I walked to the kitchen to check the clock for the time. It was 4:15 a.m., so I have fifteen minutes until wake up. I stared at the tap and remembered my sickening dream. Did I really want to die this bad? I contemplated the good and bad of sobriety; the good being everybody will be off my back and I’ll live a healthy lifestyle, the bad being I will have no self control and no purpose in life, and what would I had done all this shit for? But that dream said something to me. And I may not want to live the sober life, but the sober life wants to live in me.

I fill a 16-ounce glass of water and sip it. About three minutes later, the staff walk in for wake up call.

“Olivine, what are you doing up?… oh my!” she gasps, “You’ve been drinking water! Olive! Your first night! I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, Heidi.”

“How hard was it? To you?”

“Well, I had an awakening?”

“Didn’t we all?” Heidi looked around to the other staff members and laughed slightly.

I smile and chuckle.

“Olive, on behalf of all of us from New Hopes Rehabilitation Center, we would like to award you with this bronze ribbon. You are now in bronze. Congratulations!” The staff and patients applaud.

“Thanks, but, um… bronze?”

“The receptionist didn’t tell you when you checked in?”

I shook my head, confused.

“Okay, well, we have four ribbons we award to our patients. Bronze is our first: we award bronze for admitting you have your problem and, or taking the first step in any way to help yourself take care of your problem voluntarily. Silver is obviously next: we award silver for our patients who abide by the rules the entire time they reside here at New Hopes. Gold: gold is for patients who do everything they’re told to do, drink water on a daily and a don’t purge, over exercise, or take diuretics or laxatives to get rid of it. And platinum, well, it kind of speaks for itself! When we award patients the platinum ribbon it means that they are more than ready to be discharged. And once you are discharged, you must follow the discharge planning or you might as well not be, because you’ll just wind up back here!” she laughs.

“Sounds like a plan!”

“So! Olivine Granite, will you accept this lovely award?”

“Why yes, madame. I will. Ooh, it looks marvelous on me.”

“Why, yes. Yes, it does. Okay, girls! Time for medication! You know the drill! Alphabetical order! It’s last name, sweetheart.” She looks down upon me.

After morning workout, I went to go take a shower. I had a dream similar to the one I had last night; I entered the walk-in shower and I felt like my lungs were clogging up with water. I jumped out and pounded my chest with my right fist as hard as I could and bent over. It just got worse. Suddenly I felt a clog in my throat as well. I went in to grab it because I felt that I could. There was a hard, beady string coming from the corner of my mouth when I go to touch my throat. I make the mistake of pulling the string and all hell breaks loose with my body. My ears suddenly start ringing, blood starts pouring from not only the obvious parts of my throat, but my eyes, nose, and ears. I drop to my knees and try to scream but nobody could hear me due to the fact there was a fucking shower plug in my throat. I pull harder and I felt my vocal cords rip.

It’s okay, Olivine. It’s just another stupid dream.

But this wasn’t a dream… was it?

I yank harder because I thought, what the bell, how worse off could I get?

Then… I really did it. My head disconnected with my body, as did my spine and I was discontinued.

But wait… why am I still breathing? And why am I still on this floor? I’m not bleeding. I’m okay as far as I know… oh. It was a stupid hallucination. Thanks, Vaskin’s. You’ve really done me well.

“Olive! What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Olive, we tried helping you but you kept swatting up away.”

“Yeah, like flies.” They both laugh.

I look up at them and slightly chuckle.

“Look, if you want us to get Heidi and—“

“No—“

They immediately look back at me.

“It’s none of their concern—I mean, they wouldn’t understand—I mean—“

“Hey,” a girl, Alys, laughed. “It’s fine. I get it.”

“I am so proud of my daughter,” says my mom over the phone.

I roll my eyes.

“Oh, mom. Flatterer.”

“Honey. You should be proud, too. Look at how far you have come! And tell me more about this bronze award? What’s that about? And, wow! You got it on your second day!”

I laugh and explain to her the awards and their meanings.

“… and I just so happened to drink water yesterday morning…” I close my eyes, bite the side of my lower right lip and smile.

“What! Oh my God, baby! That is astonishing! I’m going to cry!”

“Save your tears for when I get platinum, mom. Soon. I’ll be out soon.”

“I know it, baby. You’re doing so well. Keep it up.”

“Always.”

“Well, I’ve got to get off. Aunt Betty’s on a roll again, thinking the Titanic has sank and she’s about to head out the door to save the ship from the iceberg. But please keep me posted everyday. I love you m, baby.”

“I love you.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, mom.”

I hang up the phone and Alys walks up to me and pats my shoulder.

“DTS?”

DTS means Down To Sim, which means playing a PC or video game called The Sims. I started playing at 13 when it first released, so I’m obviously always DTS. It’s kind of a thing here at New Hopes, luckily. We have Sims Sessions. This makes me glad.

“Always DTS.”

“Come on, let’s go!”

We all commence at the couch and open up our laptops.

“Yo, Oli. Did you get the new Go Get ‘Em Mod?”

“Yessenia, homegirl doesn’t use mods,” Darci laughs.

“Oh, right.”

“I’m sorry. I just… my computer, and viruses. It’s not a good idea.”

“No, girl. It’s all good. I get it. Your PC is top notch. It’s literally the best of the best of gaming OCs. Like, you can’t get any better than yours,” Darci laughs, “so, I would be careful as well.”

“Yeah? Okay,” I smile.

“Shit. Speaking of virus…” Alys sighs.

“No…”

“Guys, I’m going to cry…”

“Alys!”

I start sweating profusely and my heart palpitates. I finally stand up and say:

“That’s it; Sims Sessions is canceled until the virus is gone.”

There was a standing ovation in which I was not prepared for.

“Goodnight, everyone.” I close my laptop, get up off the couch and wave to the girls.

“Goodnight.” They all smile.

Months Later: The Ceremony

“… And you promise that if I give you this platinum ribbon that you will come back when vulnerable and, or triggered? And when you go home you will follow up on your regimen?” asked Heidi.

“I promise.”

“Here you go. Congratulations!”

She placed the platinum ribbon on my shirt and everyone applauded. I was so happy. I was happy to be sober and I was happy to be out of there.

My mom was sitting in the audience. I could see her pride. Her smile was 12 feet wide. I couldn’t wait to go home to my bed. I was one step closer to achieving my dream. Who needed drought when I had moisture?

Chapter Three: Fatale University

I am incredibly grateful to be alive today. To be walking through the campus doors of Fischer Bank University, to be nine months sober, to have remarkable physical and mental health, and have a distinguished degree in Drama. I’ve always wanted to be an actress, and I’ve always had over a 5.0 GPA and graduated with honors, so I obviously got a scholarship, but it turns out that waiting for my destiny was even better. Rehab made everything better. I wasn’t distinguished back then, I am now. I’m so happy. Life is wonderful. I no longer hate myself, I no longer hurt myself. I can finally live.

I walk up to the dean’s office and she gives me my schedule and campus perks, along with a map. I check the bulletin for local mixers, sororities, social events, athletic tryouts, and such, when suddenly a long, wavy, pitch black-haired, beautiful tall woman with dark brown eyes approaches me.

“Hi. You a Frosh?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “Can you tell?”

“Oh,” she chuckled, “I’m a freshman too!”

We looked at each other and laughed.

“I’m Esmiralda.” She smiled and shook my hand.

“And I’m Olivine.”

“Aka my first friend here.”

“Likewise,” I smile.

“Have you eyeballed any hotties here? Oh—sorry. Are you single?” she asked, hoping not to step on toes.

“No,” I shake my head, “I haven’t had time for a relationship. I actually just got out of rehab last month.”

She gives me an awkward look.

“Look, I’m so sorry, I-“

“No. It’s okay. Really. It’s was stupid. I was an addict for seven years but I’ve been clean for eight months and I’m just… I’m happy. I’m hoping I won’t have any triggers. But my mom said, and my psychiatrist, actually, that if I get triggered the slightest, I need to just drop out right then and there. Fucking sucks because I’m distinguished.”

“Wa-wa-wait-distinguished?! You mean, you’re one of the fourteen people in America who are attending college in America in 2021 who are distinguished?! You do realize that only fourteen students are distinguished in America, correct?”

“Yes,” I sigh, “which is why I’m so scared of screwing up!”

“That is amazing! I’m so jealous! What’s your degree?” her face was lit up like a Christmas tree; I loved it.

“I am taking an interest in acting,” I smile.

“Wonderful! So, back to the addict thing. If you ever get triggered, I can help you. I was once an addict myself.”

“Esmiralda, you were an addict?”

“Yeah. I’m not proud of what I’ve done to support my addiction. I used to abuse whippets. I did whippets for nine years.”

“Wow, Es. I’m surprised you’re not dead.”

“Yep, what about you? What’s your poison?”

“Was. What was my poison. Dehydration.”

“Well, I’m glad you got through it,” Esmiralda hugged me.

“I also have Vaskin’s Disorder,” I glance over at her.

She immediately grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eyes.

“You listen to me, Oli. You fucking fight. If you have fought thus far already, there is some reason you’re alive. Find that reason. Keep fucking living. Who on earth can say they’re distinguished and mentally ill and has overcome a serious addiction and beat death?! Kill it, girl! Life ain’t shit compared to you!

I merely break down right then and there. How does she know me so well? I don’t cry , though. Not today.

“You’re already amazing.”

She smiles at me as an attractive man walks by along with his even more attractive friend walks by his side.

“Oli, this is Marcus Deeley. He’s the brother of my boyfriend, Chet Deeley. This guy!” she touches Chet’s chest and smiles. “Marcus has been complaining all summer about how desolate he has been and I think you’d be so cute together! Marc-check this out out: shes distinguished, she’s obviously beautiful, she’s—“

“Not happening.” Marcus interrupted.

“Huh? Why not?”she cried.

“I heard it through the grapevine that this bitch is psycho, and her looks aren’t worth the prize. I wouldn’t hit it.”

“Come on, Oli. He’s not worth your prize. I thought he was cooler than that. You don’t need this stress.”

“Where do we sit? I’m so excited! Are there assigned seats?” I ask Es.

“I don’t see our names anywhere,” she replies as we look around for our possible names just in case we were missing them. She was just kid me when it came to not wanting to get into trouble. Very tension-building.

“Has everyone found a place to sit? Great! Welcome to everyone’s favorite class: Common Courtesy. Basically, Common Courtesy is a course that every Freshman here is required to take. We all need to learn common courtesy to survive. In life, they teach you the alphabet, they teach you about politics, they teach you about religion, but they never teach you about common courtesy . If we knew more about this, then life would be easier. Right?

I’m Professor Birmingham. I will be yours for the rest of the term and you will be mine for the rest of the term. If that means you have to marry college life in order to survive college life, so be it.”

A few laughs appear from throughout the audience.

“Hey. Laugh all you want. But you’ll see. College life is tough, my friends!”

Birmingham writes something on the board that I can barely make out and suddenly I lose focus and black out from there.

“Did you get the answer for number one? I’m totally lost! Olivine? Olivine!”

“Oh! What?” I suddenly awaken to Esmiralda’s voice.

“Did you get the answer to number one or not?”

“No, I-I’m sorry-.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, Esmiralda Not everyone needs to go see a doctor every five minutes like you do.”

“Ouch. Just asking.”

“I’m going to take a nap; cover for me?”

“Olive, are you nuts? We have to study!”

All of a sudden I don’t see a classroom anymore. I see pitch black with white figures. The white figures are moving closer. The figures were nothing but evil. Changing shades constantly. They all suddenly swirled into one. The entity breathed out black fog which turned the scenery axe into the classroom. I step around softly, hoping that I don’t come across something evil. Then I see Esmiralda.

“Hey. I was worried. Where were you?

“Hi. I’m fine. Did you see what happened, Es?”

“No, Oli, what?”

“It was awful. I had some sort of… hallucination. I’ve been having them a lot lately, I—“

Suddenly, a vast amount of terrifying, evil laughter springs behind the professor’s desk. I knew right then and there that I was still delusional and that Es was not real at the moment.

“Who is this?”

Then, the most disturbing figure I’ve ever seen creeps up the walls from the tile floor. The demon woman scurries across the wall and up toward the ceiling, looks down upon me.

I breathe heavily but don’t say anything. I don’t want to piss her off.

She, then, starts sticking to the ceiling and walks across the ceiling as if her hands and feet were suction cups. They even sounded like suction cups. Once she made her way back down to the floor, she stared at me for 9 seconds, then raced over towards me. She constricted my body and whispered in my ear,

“You shall not be spared.”

She got out her foot long tongue from her broken-jawed mouth and slithered it down the right side of my face. I squealed.

“Is there something you’d like to share with us, Ms. Granite?”

“The demon, she—“

Wow, really? Now everyone is laughing at me. Great. So I’m the campus freak.

“Wait a minute. How do I know this is real… this isn’t real!”

“Look, you’ve gotten away with this twice now. You’re on your last offense. Once more and you’re out of my class, got it? I’m only giving you more chances because I have faith in you.

I nod at professor Birmingham and look down at my paper. I start on question number one when the fire alarm suddenly goes off. And to think I was almost safe and sound.

We all leave class, but suddenly I’m walking down the halls and everyone disappears. I look around and all of a sudden, the doors fly open and all of the glass at the campus shatters.

“Help,” I scream, “somebody please help me!”

At first I thought I was losing my mind, but once I felt her touch, I knew that this bitch had a true power over me and not only that, but she was very real indeed.

And there she was, on the floor in the locker hallway, scooting toward me like an inchworm. Her hair so long she’s almost running it over. I go to get away but she gets up immediately and without even being next to me she stops me. By a powerful force; a very hypnotic powerful force. I finally got to see her face. I will never forget that day. Her face was porcelain that has chipped off pieces. Her eyes were hollow and black, her lips were ruby red, nose was a perfect porcelain shape. She wore blush, eyeshadow,

lipstick, mascara. Her eyebrows were penciled in and thin. Basically everything you’d see in a broken porcelain doll face. She grabs my face and with a claw on her index finger makes an incision on my lower left cheek. She then looks me in the eye and says,

“Bae, you didn’t take your meds. Your mom is going to be so mad!”

“Huh?” I was suddenly confused.

“I said, you didn’t take your meds this morning! You need to be more responsible, hon!” Esmiralda declared.

“Oh my God, Essie!”

“You were hallucinating again, weren’t you?”

“… God, I hate it when you’re right,” I shook my head.

“Take them. While you still can.”

“Definitely.”

“I see you’re taking your meds. At first I was against Esmiralda bringing antipsychotic medications to class, but seeing you like this, I’d just do anything to brag you back, and not disturb my class,” laughed Professor Birmingham.

“I’m really sorry I disturbed your class.”

“Are you ready to write your first paper, Ms. Olivine Granite?”

“More than ever.”

I sit down after class and fill in my answers, then get up and meet Es at the common for cheer tryouts.

“Es!”

“Oli! You’re here! So, this is Hali Edwards. This is the lady you’re going to have to impress!”

“Hi, my name is Olivine Granite. You’re Hali? It’s nice to meet you!”

Hali looks at me and laughs, along with her three musketeers, just like high school all over again.

“What? Did I not get the memo? Am I dressed inappropriately?”

They look at each other and laugh again.

“Um, is it because I’m distinguished? Am I too smart to be a cheerleader?”

“Just stop!” Hali laughed. “We saw your escapade in class. Your reputation is shit, you have no friends, you’re an addict for Christ sakes. Oh! And! You’re a crazy person, literally! You can’t be a cheerleader because you’re a freak!” Everyone at the commons laughed, including the mascot.

Esmiralda gives me an eery look. She takes me home back to the dorms.

“Thank you for skipping practice with me. I’m so sorry you had to.”

She pulls me aside and looks at me in the eye.

“Olive; I didn’t leave practice for you, I left practice for me. Those girls are ruthless. It’s like high school all over again.” She rolled her eyes.

“I thought the same thing!” I smile.

“So, I just know the dorms are a nightmare without even living in them; boring, nothing to do but sleep, eat, watch television… oh! And there are no cute boys in there girls’ dorms, and there’s no me.”

“They’re co-ed.”

“Still. There’s no me. So, ice cream? I know a saucy little charcoal ice cream place around the corner called Little Damage?”

“Sounds great. But can we postpone?” I ask, breathing deep.

“Aww. Why?”

“I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day as you know. Vaskin’s is a bitch. But definitely this weekend!”

“Okay, yeah. I’ll walk you the rest of the way?”

“You’re truly an amazing person, Esmiralda.”

We get to my bedroom, where I am alone. She gives me a hug and she leaves. I get out my diary and decide to write down what I had to drink today. And yesterday. And the day before. I had just realized that I had it a full-blown relapse, which was probably why I had such a bad episode, and why I was feeling faint, along with other things.

Wednesday:

2 cups iced tea-no ice

3 cups coffee

2 sodas

Thursday:

1 cup iced tea-no ice

2 cups coffee

3 sodas

Friday:

1 soda

2 cups coffee

I lie down this Friday night at 7 p.m., satisfied and ready for bed. I skip my pills for I’ve already had enough to drink today and cannot drink any more for Friday. As far as tomorrow… Bring it on!

Chapter Four: The Bottom of Bottom

It’s two a.m.; I can’t sleep. It’s been about a week since my last taste of sparkle on my tongue. I’m lying in bed, shaking vigorously. I’m no longer thirsty, it’s been too long. I’m kind of hungry, but I have no appetite. I can’t breathe; I’m coughing like a madman and my breath just keeps getting shallower. My skin is dry and itchy. The cool thing is I don’t have to worry about peeing anymore. I literally don’t. Every time I drink something, I can pee, but only when I want to. My eyes, they’re swollen. I’m delirious, confused. I’m angry, snappy. I snapped at my roommate two days ago, needless to say, they kicked me out and I’ve been living at Essie’s for two days. She still doesn’t suspect that I relapsed. She thinks that my mental illness is acting up. I actually had to drop out of my classes because of supposed psychosis. But I’m glad. Fuck school. I need to focus on my drinking disorder.

“I’m back, Oli! Class was a drag! Oop! I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about school in front of you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s… fine…”

“Olive. Why do you keep scratching? Ever since you came here to stay, you’ve been scratching. Do you have bed bugs?”

“Um… what?”

“Please be honest with me, Olivine. You can’t stay here if you have them. You need to get checked… unless…”

“Unless…”

“Olivine.”

“What!”

“You’ve been acting very strange lately…”

“So?”

“So?! Dry skin is a major sign of dehydration! You’re at it again, aren’t you?!”

“You’re fucking high!”

“No!” she laughs, “apparently you are!”

“Please don’t kick me out!”

“So you admit it! You admit that you’re using!”

“You have no idea how hard it is to stay sober when there are literal triggers all around you!”

“Oh yeah? Where, Olivine? Where?! What fucking triggers!”

“Hmm! How about… water?”

“Im trying to help you! And this is how you repay me? I give up extracurricular activities and friends because people are evil to you! And you fucking go behind my back?”

“It’s not about you! So shut your Goddamn mouth!”

“You are sick! So I’m going to let that slide. But if you don’t drink water by tomorrow, I’m telling someone. I love you too much, bae.”

My vision became blurry, my eyes felt widened, then next thing I know I’m on Essie’s bed.

“So I take it I fainted,” I deadpanned.

Essie nodded and chuckled, sitting in a chair right beside beside me.

“I didn’t go to the hospital. Why? I mean, thank you. But why?”

“As you know, I’m a recovering addict, and nobody ever enabled me. That’s all I ever wanted. I wanted someone to help feed my addiction, not make me better. I was pissed when they would rat me out. And when I thought about this, I realized that this is what you wanted. So, I don’t want to get in your way. Instead, I want to help you with your drug. Pry into your poison.”

I constrict her midsection with my arms.

“I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“I love you.

“Seriously, thank you.” I smile.

She slowly pulls away while smiling.

“Well, to be honest, I relapsed myself, Olive. So I can’t rat you out.”

“Well, misery adores company!” I wink.

“So glad you say that.” She laughs.

“Does Chet know?”

“Chet and I… we broke up.” Her eyes saddened.

“I’m sorry to hear that, bae. Why?”

“He found out I’m pregnant.”

I jumped out of bed and squealed.

“Oh my God!”

“I’m not happy about it,” she sighed.

“Uh, why?” I ask, confused.

“I want my whippets. I could never forgive myself if I killed a living person and inhalants would kill my child no doubt. I’m surprised it’s not dead already.”

“I understand. So, what are you going to do?”

“I need an abortion. At least the baby won’t suffer with that.”

I gave her an intense look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she told me, “I have to.”

“So, you’d pick drugs over letting an unborn—your unborn kid live?”

“Wouldn’t you?” she raised her right brow.

“So, when are you making that phone call to the clinic?”

She smiled then got on the phone.

On the way there, since it being two weeks before Christmas, The Christmas Song came on the radio. I laughed. Esmiralda gave me a weird look.

“Why is this song so funny? That’s what you’re laughing at, right?”

“Chet’s nuts roasting on an open fire…” I laugh.

She starts busting out with laughter.

“… Marcus nipping at his hose…” she continues.

“This is why we’re best friends!”

“Merry Christmas, bastards!” she laughs.

I sense a Christmas card coming…”

She looks over at me and smiles.

“We don’t need them,” she winks.

I air kiss her twice.

In the abortion clinic, she’s nervous. They slip the speculum inside her and I hold her hand. She’s shaking the entire time. She looks over at me and I see something I’ve never seen before in someone. How I adored her, how she amazed me… this beautiful woman was right in front of me and I’ve never knew it before but, I think I was falling in love with her. But I knew she didn’t feel the same. She’s straight. She’s never been with a girl a day in her life, neither have I, but still. Also she just got out of a relationship. But, was I falling for her? Or was I just desperate from being single for too long?

“Well, we did it! We’re baby free!” she exclaims.

“Yep.” I look at her and grin.

We sit on her master bed, stare at each other and smile. We both close our eyes, place our hands on each others’ jaw, and move in for a kiss. This kiss was sparkling like water, my only glass of water I’ll ever need for the rest of my life. I taste nothing but sweet savor drenching my swollen tongue. I breathe in deeply as we converse silence within our mouths. I can taste leftover Blue Raspberry Jolly Rancher hard candy that she literally had just finished, which is my favorite. Our kiss is about to end when my guilty, chapped lips get locked up then bailed out. Her lips are my sobriety.

One thing lead to another and before you knew it out clothes were stripped and I’m lying right next to the woman I love. I never knew I could love somebody so much.

I let out a rejuvenating yawn while stretching, popping all of my toes, feet, back and calves.

I was going to wake Esmiralda and tell her good morning but I didn’t want to wake her. I hadn’t told her I love her that way yet, but first thing when she woke, I was going to surprise her with it.

I felt like I was going to faint again. I didn’t feel well. Maybe it was time to go to the hospital?

I went to go force myself to pee, then felt afterward I’d ask Essie to escort me to the hospital. I felt as if it were a final day. I could barely move. I was going blind. I couldn’t breathe. But suddenly, I hear something hit the ground. It sounded like a can, and a body… oh shit, Essie!

I ran into the room. I guess the first thing Esmiralda did was huff. Instead of taking care of myself, I called 9-1-1 and the ambulance rushed her to the hospital.

While at the hospital, I asked them to check me out. They ended up admitted me. They said I was hours from death and they were relieved that I called in both of us. I asked about Essie and they said she’s too far gone. She’s still alive but she’s completely brain dead. So it’s best if they just put her down. They’re going to let me say goodbye.

I enter the intensive care unit, it all looks way too familiar to me.

“Essie; it’s not fair that you became friends with me. It’s not good that an addict became friends with an addict. It’s not fair that you’re gone. It’s not fair that you took your fucking life! I will try, Es. I will try, for you, to live a sober lifestyle. I want to do this for you. Live a life that you never got to live. It’s not fair that I got all of these perks while I’m such a mess. You? You got nothing while you gave life your all and more. I will be your angel upon earth, you will be my angel upon heaven. How does that sound? Oh, and one more thing I’ve never told you, and I was going to tell you literally minutes before you put that aerosol can to your mouth… I love you. And not just in a best friend way either. I would have married you in a heartbeat if that’s what you had wanted. I’m not attracted to girls in any way shape or form, but God, I was attracted to you. You were the cat’s meow. Ha. Still are. And Chet was crazy.”

Okay, Miss. I’m sorry. But it’s time. I hope you’ve said all you needed to say,” a male nurse walks in.

“Mhm, yeah. I think so,” I wipe a tear from my left cheek.

“Is there family here? Or is it just you?”

“No, no family. Just me.”

“Okay, well then here’s the number to the morgue on 7th. You can discuss funeral arrangements with Ted.”

And that’s when I lost it. Shit became real. I broke down and fell to my knees.

“Look, Miss. I know you’re sad. And I feel for you. But we have to get this body to the morgue and cremated. You’re in the way.”

“Cremated? Is that even what she wanted?”

“We don’t know, but since there’s no family, we—“

I intervened.

“What about me!”

“Well, you’re not family, sweetheart.”

“No, but I’m closest! I want an open casket! Please!”

“No can do. Had to be family. Sorry.”

“There is no family!”

“Yes. But it’s family or no family. Sorry. Now, please leave.”

I grab my Birkin handbag, scuff loudly, and head toward the exit; I cry the entire way home, then get home, throw my Birkin, and scream in Essie’s master bed pillow.

I glance at her water glass residing on her nightstand. I glare at it for eight seconds, then deny my promise. I pick up the glass, throw the water out and put the glass in the dishwasher, then pick up another glass from the cabinet and fill it to the top with filtered water. I drink up slowly then go straight to bed.

My phone rings and wakes me up at 12:17 in the morning. I look at the caller I.D. and the name says Princeton Granite, my father. I hadn’t heard from my father since age sixteen, at my very first suicide attempt. He had cut ties with me the day I discharged from the hospital. He and his alcoholic family denied the proof to their alcoholism and yelled in my face about even asking them to admit their problems. So, that was the end of our relationship, sadly. After our chat, I cried like a baby in the fetal position while my mother held me for about two straight hours. I never heard from my deadbeat father again. The only thing I wanted from this man was his affection, I didn’t even want child support. My mom didn’t even care about child support, she just wanted to see her desperate daughter smile again. But I stopped smiling at three years old once he walked out. After that, nothing was the same in my life ever again. I never did get a replacement either. It was always just me and my mom.

“Dad, I have nothing to say to you.”

“Listen, I heard about your friend.”

My eyes widen.

“How did you know about Esmiralda?”

“Look, sweetheart. Eileen and I have been talking.”

“You and mom—I—I can’t believe her!”

“Please. Take me back. I’m clean. And I hear you are too? That’s great! We need each other!”

I don’t need anyone.”

“I have money. I can help you get into your own place. Pay for your next term.”

I pause for a second, because I do need money. But why would I want to use this bastard?

“Ah. You need money. Well. If it’s money you need then I’ve got it! And if you still don’t accept me back into your life, well then that is a-ok!”

“Listen, dad. I think it’s about time you stopped bothering me. And my mom for that matter.”

“I understand that you are upset but I’ve changed! I have!”

“No, you don’t understand!”

“Actually, I do. Please do not put words in my mouth.”

“Okay, let me make one thing clear, okay? While you’re off living your life, while you’re chasing your cares away, while you’re laughing it up with your friends and having the time of your life, forgetting that I ever existed… While you’re free… I’m trapped in an oubliette.”

“What is that?”

“You are such a fucking moron! Goodbye, dad. Don’t ever call again, please.”

“Baby doll—“

“No, dad. You cut ties with me at sixteen. Now I’m cutting ties with you now. Bye.”

I hang up the phone, throw it across the room, cradle my hands in my head and say to myself, “shit.”

I then hear a pounding on the door.

“Hey, can I help you?”

“I’m Arnold, I’m Chet’s father. If you, uh, know Chet, he was the boyfriend of—“

“I—know Chet. He was also a piece of shit. Ha. Chet, the piece if shet.”

He gave a deep grilling glare.

“So,” he says, “this is technically my house. She was renting from me. When Chet moved out, it wasn’t easy for her to convince me to keep her.”

“So, you’re saying I’m out by…?”

“Tuesday.”

“Asshole! That’s tomorrow!”

“Yep! Have a good day, like your hair, bye!”

He slams the door and I watch him walk off perkily while whistling through my door window. I sigh. Great.

Flashback to the Beginning of my Addiction . . .

After the third pint of Ben and Jerry’s, I move onto the Family Size of Lays Classic Potato Chips. I scarf them down while watching Intervention. The bulimia episodes are what I call my thinspo episodes. They’re the only things keeping me going; thinspo shows, videos on YouTube, music, photos, movies, everything. I chug down a 2 liter bottle of A&W Root Beer and head to the bathroom immediately. I take two fingers and shove them down almost like I’m punching the back of my throat with my fingertips. I could go soft, but I don’t deserve it. I turn on the faucet water of the bathroom sink and the shower so nobody hears me. Right then and there my mom gets home. Luckily I can purge very softly and very quietly so nobody can hear a thing. I can also purge by barely pushing my stomach in but that’s just a talent.

Every time, after a successful purge, I weigh myself. I, then go to the gym. I am 5’11” and weigh 101 pounds. My goal is 92 but my mom says if I ever go anywhere under where I am at now she’s kicking me out. I can’t live on my own. I can’t.

I get on the treadmill and start running. I push the limits. I run faster… and faster… and…

Present

Oh my God; that’s one of the biggest problems leading up to my dehydration—my bulimia. That’s what started this whole mess. If it weren’t for my eating disorder, my dehydration addiction wouldn’t have existed. My God. I’m finally piecing it together. I’m a better therapist than a therapist. I feel like I need to work on myself.

In order to to better myself, I felt as if it were a good idea to move back in with my mom, so I did.

“Hi, baby. I’ve missed you.” Her eyes so bright and words so clear, like the crystal lake that Jason Vorhees died in.

“Mom!” I hug her tightly.

“Do you remember aunt Betty?”

“Yes, mom, of course.”

“We were just playing Uno. Would you like to play?”

“Actually, mom. I’m kind of tired. I’d like to go to sleep?”

“You know where your room is,” she said in a deep voice.

I smile but she doesn’t smile back. I brush it off then head to my bed.

The next morning, I wake up rejuvenated; I had a great night’s sleep and sweet dreams. Since sobriety played a major part in my life now, I stretched big, got out of bed, put my feet onto the rug, and walked into the kitchen first thing to grab a glass of tea from the fridge, no ice. I never use ice.

“Olivine! I’m so fucking sick of you doing this shit! First thing you do when you get here you drink all my damn tea!”

“Mom, it’s just a little cup!”

“With no ice! Do you realize how much it takes up? Also, you drank about 85 percent of this jug!”

“Mom! No I didn’t! This is my only cup!”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me!” She got in my face and yelled.

“I literally just got here yesterday—mom, you’re scaring me!”

“Out!”

“What? Mom!”

“I said, out!”

I have never seen my mom like this in my life. I guess I was actually homeless. I couldn’t believe it. I did the walk of shame out of my mom’s home and out on the streets of New York in the pouring rain, crying like a baby. But, at least I actually had tears now, right? Only, if my mom had no faith in me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to live the sober life anymore. I wasn’t sure I wanted to live at all. I had no home, I had no life, I had no one…

Before you know it I was back in the hospital getting IV fluids. Nobody came to visit me, although I did find a house on Rhenald Street. It was very tiny, fit enough for one person; 2 bedroom, 1 bath. I couldn’t pass the opportunity up when the seller, Jessica Ages, posted online that all she asked for was yard and house work for her house and for that house, for free, and every day. That is literally a steal. So I did. And I also cleaned up my act. I became a better person. I figured my mom would eventually come around, I’d just have to give her time. But one more thing: Jessica Ages said one slip up on the dehydration and I’m out. For good. I don’t know what being dehydrated has to do with keeping a house but I will try and listen to her. Here’s to sobriety! I’ve hit bottom, now I’ve found my stairs and I’m climbing my way to the top!

Seven Months Later…

Well, I did it! Today I collected my sixth month sobriety chip. I am obviously still an addict, I will always be an addict, but that does not mean that I will never get the opportunity to be better. Live life, love life. Be better. Love me for me. You know, that good stuff. I’m getting married! His name is Juniper Alexander. My mom is talking to me again and she will be my maid of honor. Speaking of honor, we are honoring Essie’s death next week at the carnival; we’re doing a raffle and the winner gets tickets to an Ice Nine Kills show. Did I tell you I know Spencer Charnas? That’s a story for later? We kind of have a history if you know what I mean… I think that pretty much wraps it up. Stay tuned for next time. Because, there will be a next time!