Page 14 of Dirty Monsters

As predicted, he was there again, only this time he was still in the water with a surfboard underneath him as he paddled out to catch a wave. You could tell a storm was rolling in because the waves were choppier than usual.

I watched his long arms slice through the water as he made his way out and turned around, watching as another wave crested. He disappeared every so often under a wave but resurfaced quickly.

The Atlantic Ocean was a thing of wonder. The power to be calm one second and life-threatening the next. Not only did it have the power to give and sustain life but it also had the power to take it away. Its power scared me.

My eyes fell back to him, remembering the nurse calling him Ro.

A wave came, and he started paddling away from it only to pop up and ride it the rest of the way in. He moved so freely as if he’d been doing it his whole life.

He paddled out a few more times before coming onto the shore. I watched as he dragged his board behind him up the beach and dropped to the sand. Running a hand through his hair, he surveyed the expanse of the ocean.

Is he in awe of it like I am?

He sat there for a while before he moved again to stand and dry off his hair.

Then, just like each morning on the nose, I heard an all-too-familiar knock on my door. Opening it slowly, my nurse peered in. “Good morning, Wren. How are we doing this morning?”

“First night I didn’t spend on the bathroom floor, so you tell me.”

She smiled politely. “I’d say that’s excellent news.”

“So, what's on the agenda for today? Kissing babies, praying, singing kumbaya?” I smarted off.

She shook her head but didn't remark on my snarkiness. “Well, you’ll meet with Linda this morning. Then after lunch, maybe you can sit in and listen to a group session. I feel like the worst of your symptoms are starting to ebb with the medication, so let’s broaden your horizons and let you listen to some other people talk about their journey.”

“Why the fuck would I care about someone else’s journey?”

“Because sometimes you need a wake-up call. Maybe something will finally click for you. Who knows, maybe you’ll do all the steps you need to do here simply to get out, leave, and then find out what happens.”

She sighed, almost sadly, as she continued. “Someone will overdose in front of you. You’ll witness something you can’t turn off, and you’ll turn back to drugs. Who knows, maybe you’ll be successful in overdosing again. The moral of the story is this… until you realize it and are willing to accept that you have a drug problem, nothing will change. You must want to help yourself. We can’t force it on you.”

Her words crept into my brain and ate away at me for the rest of the morning. I didn’t have a problem. My problem was I ended up in the hospital and was sent here.

The days I had been here were long and uncomfortable, and this day was just like the rest. I ate my oatmeal quickly before returning to my room to take a nap. I still felt lazy, like my body had been pushed and pushed for miles, and now that it was allowed to relax, it was taking full advantage. It was the only thing I had to do.

Somehow, a Bible showed up on my desk, but I’d already decided my thoughts on God long before I was sent to this facility. I grew up in a house where I was told God would punish the sinners.

Life was a valley of consequences. One wrong move and something bad happened. The earth tilted on its axis, and we all fell to our deaths, wondering if what we’d done in life was enough to save our souls. Still, it was something I debated on a daily basis.

It clung to the back of my mind, and I wondered if one prayer could truly save my eternal soul. Or if every little thing I did following it would be counted against me, or if it was like a get out of jail free card.

In the end, I can’t say I ever admittedly believed it, though. How could one man I’d never meet save my mortal soul when he couldn’t even save me from the monsters who preyed on me?

I often wondered if I’d ever get the ‘happily ever after.’ The chance to fall in love and be loved, but it was simply another fabrication I told myself. Because fairy tales don’t happen to imperfect people. Fairy tales are made of white knights, princesses, castles, and lands far, far away, and I wouldn’t hold my breath on any of those things.

Linda sat across from me in her chair with her notepad and pen in hand, taking notes like always. She cleared her throat, snapping me from my daze. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.”

“Let’s talk about you for a little bit, shall we? What was your home life like growing up?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you anything about it?”

“Is my question a problem for you?”

“You do not know shit about me, Linda.”

“I’m trying to help you. It’s why I’m asking.”

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