Ascending From Withdrawal, From 3, Back to 12

“Do you have a bathroom on this floor?”  I could barely speak.  I could feel my body swaying form side to side as I looked at the pretty lady in the pink scrubs.

“Do you have an appointment?” she replied.  She had a stern look on her face, one of almost paranoia.  Like, maybe this women might try something crazy if givin’ the wrong answer.

“No, I just need a restroom.” I could feel the tears building in my eye’s as I answered.  Dear God, just get me a restroom.  I was on my last leg here.  I couldn’t see straight, and I could feel my pulse itching through my skin.  My body was so weak, god, just a restroom.

She pointed to the elevator.  “The basement has restrooms.”  I’m not sure if I replied or if I just jetted out of the room as Quick as I could.  I didn’t bother with the elevator.  I ran quickly down the stairs and went through the door.  It looked like a craft show had been going on.  There were tables with quilts, and some with clothing.  It was dark, and I finally found the restroom.

I rushed right to the toilet and began dry-heaving.  I had not eaten in a long while, but managed to get the coffee I had an hour ago out.  The toilet was cold as I gripped it.  I looked across the room and saw a mirror reflecting towards me.  I could see myself laying across the floor.  No makeup, hair huge and going in every direction.  I looked like death, and honestly believed I wouldn’t make it to the pharmacy.  I did though, and my steps shook with every move.  I had to hold my hands together as I signed for my prescriptions.

As soon as I got to my car, I grabbed my script and chewed a handful wildly.  I fell into a deep sleep and awoke drained, but not sick anymore.  It was hard for me to admit that I was addicted…but the doctor insisted…why?