#drug and alcohol rehab in Indiana

[intheroomblog]

Explore Addiction Treatment & Drug Rehab Center in Indiana

If you or someone you know is seeking addiction treatment centers in Indiana, there are several resources that may offer assistance. Numerous alcohol treatment centers in Indiana provide treatment programs for overcoming drug and alcohol addiction. Detox, inpatient treatment, outpatient therapy, and additional support services are all offered by these drug and alcohol treatment centers in Indiana. Look into programs like MAT, addiction treatment for youth, and specific rehab options. To learn about the facilities' offerings, fees, and insurance alternatives, give them a call. Don't be afraid to ask for assistance from drug and alcohol rehab in Indiana.

[hickorytreatmentcenters]

Hickory Treatment Center at Indianapolis

Hickory Recovery Network and Hickory Treatment Centers – Indianapolis offers 28-day customized treatment plans, utilizing the best therapeutic modalities available. We provide detox services as well as a residential treatment program.

Address: 2926 N Capitol Ave, Indianapolis, IN 46208, USA Phone: 317-779-1088 Website: https://hickorytreatmentcenters.com/indianapolis-drug-alcohol-rehab

[her-power]

Last Chance to Dance (Rockstar! e.m. x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Summary: Modern Eddie + reader are early 30s. Eddie is the famous lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin, who has gotten himself into legal trouble due to his antics and drug use. Eddie broke your heart many years ago and he receives a letter from you asking to meet to talk about what happened between you two so long ago. Secrets are talked about, mental walls are built and broken down. Most of this series will be in Eddie's POV. (I will also be putting song inspirations on each part 🤍)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: There will be a LOT of mentions of heavy drug use in this series. This series DOES NOT glorify the use of drugs. It is not cool, it is not fun, it is something that destroys people and everyone around them. I have loved and lost people I know to drug and alcohol use, a lot of what you read here is my own personal experience from what I have seen with my own eyes. I hope this series will spread awareness and will give anyone and everyone who reads this hope. If you or anyone you know is struggling with addiction, please know you are not alone, there is help out there.

The silence is almost deafening as I sit there in my dimly lit office, tapping my finger against the arm of the chair; the metal of my ring clinking as I stare at my therapist, Dr. Catherine Ryan, in front of me. She had a kind smile, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk today. 

“What’s bothering you?” She asks gently. 

I gaze at her, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. A stupid habit I formed when I stopped using six months ago. 

Let’s see, I’m tired of the noise inside my head that is constantly reminding me what a piece of shit I am. I’m lucky that my bandmates don’t hate my guts for the shit I put them through on tour when I was needle deep in a heroin fog and couldn’t remember the lyrics to a fucking song I wrote. My music career is only surviving because the world thinks we’re on a hiatus to write our next album when I actually did a stint in rehab and have court ordered mandatory therapy once a week. The only way I can have therapy is if she comes to my escape cabin in upstate New York and escorted in and out by a security guard. 

Oh, I also can’t stop thinking of you, the one whose heart I broke fifteen years ago back in Hawkins, Indiana because I was too scared to love or be loved. The same you who mailed me a letter that I received at my P.O. Box in Boston three days ago, that I haven’t opened yet and sits in my back pocket folded up, because I’m too much of a pussy to see what you have to say.  

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I tell her, taking a cigarette out of my pocket. I let the smoke fill my lungs and exhale the smoke away from her. 

“What do you want to talk about?” She asks, crossing her legs. I stare at her long legs, and my eyes scan up her body. She was curvy and thick, with a perfect set of tits and stunning green eyes. I almost laugh, if a beautiful woman like her was in my house six months ago, it wouldn’t take long before I’d have her bent over the back of my couch, fucking her until she couldn’t take it anymore. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, or whatever the fuck the saying is. 

“Eddie, this is mandatory therapy. I can’t help you if you’re not willing to talk. We’ve had four sessions so far, and the only thing we have talked about is your drug habit.” She seemed annoyed, and I couldn’t blame her.

“I’m only here because of my drug habit.” 

“Is that all?” 

She was testing me, and I smile at her, leaning my elbows against my knees. “You know, I bet you are really good at helping people and are able to get your patients to sit here and cry about their shitty lives or whatever it is people tell you. But I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, you’re not gonna get it from me.” 

“You keep up a guard. Defense mechanism, it’s common in people who have been hurt before.” She says, scribbling a note down. 

I narrow my eyes. “I sense judgment in your tone, and I’m not sure I care for it.” 

“It’s not judgement, Eddie. It’s an observation. I’m observing you.” 

I sit back against my chair and scoff, lighting up another cigarette with the ember of the one I just had. I inhale deeply. “I think our session should be cut early today.” 

She closes her notebook and gives you a kind smile. “If that’s what you want.” 

“I do.” I tell her. 

I get up from my seat as she stands, walking her to the door where the security guard waited outside. I may be an asshole, but I know how to be a gentleman. Chivalry isn’t dead when your name is Eddie Munson. She nods at me as she leaves, handing me her card for the time of the next session for next week and I close the door behind her. I stub out the cigarette in the ashtray and let out a deep sigh. I plop myself on the couch, hearing the crinkle of the letter in my back pocket and I lift my hips to pull it out. I look at the neat print on the front; seeing your handwriting brought back so many memories that I had forgotten about. 

Why would you send me a letter? Is it just to tell me how happy you’ve been these last fifteen years since I’ve been gone, that you’re married with children, thriving in your thirties? 

“Well, the only way to know is if you open the letter, dipshit.” I mutter to myself. I groan, shaking my head as I rip the letter open and unfold it. It was only two pages, but you had written a lot. 

 Hey, You’re a tough guy to find, being famous and all. I didn’t think this P.O. Box was real at first, but I ended up tracking down Gareth and he told me it was real. I can’t believe he still has the phone number he’s had since high school.  I don’t know why I’m writing you a letter, I guess I could’ve just texted you, he did give me your number, but I wanted this to feel more personal. Like when I’d write you those stupid folded notes in class.  I know it’s been a long time, and you’re probably thinking I’m absolutely insane, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. There are so many things that I wanna say to you. There are so many things that were left unsaid, and I guess lately it’s been bothering me. You’re probably not even going to get this, so I don’t even know why I’m continuing to write.  I don’t want you to think that I hated you or have hated you this whole time. It would be easier to hate you, believe me, I’ve tried but I physically cannot have that kind of power over me. I’m proud of you, Eddie. You worked so hard to get to where you are, and you made your dreams come true. I knew you could.  I want to tell you I’m proud of you in person; to let you know that what happened in the past stays there and we can both move forward in a way. I mean, I just told you now. I know you’re really busy and I feel stupid now. But I will be in Boston in December, the week of the 18th while my aunt is down in Florida for the week, house sitting. Gareth had mentioned you and the band were taking a hiatus to focus on the writing and doing some self reflecting. I would love to see you, especially with the holiday season. 

It’s not every day you get to see the boy you’ve known since diapers be on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, selling out stadiums. 

Please don’t feel obligated, though. 

I suddenly forgot how to swallow, and I almost choke on my own saliva. You had written your phone number on the bottom of the last page. I swing my legs onto the floor, taking my phone off the coffee table. I scroll to my contact list, and add your name, along with your phone number. 

I pause, my hands begin to shake, and I inhale deeply. 

“No no no, not now, not now.” Grimacing, I sit back on couch, closing my eyes as my stomach turns to knots and my chest feels like it was going to explode. I can feel the sweat bead at the back of my neck as the panic attack feels like it’s choking me out and I groan. I go into the drawer of the coffee table, pulling out the lorazepam pill bottle, taking a minute to open the cap because my hands were so sweaty. I throw the pill in my mouth, swallowing it dry and breathe in through my nose. 

This happens more often now, especially since being off dope, I had to learn how to deal with them like a normal thirty-four-year-old man. It took a lot of convincing for my doctors to give me the lorazepam, but apparently threatening to go and take a hot shot of heroin to kill myself was convincing enough for them to give me the lowest dose of the stupid pill. 

I close my eyes. Thinking back to how I got here; how I could’ve lost everything because of my own stupidity, because of my inability to slow down, because I took sex, drugs, rock and roll too literally. All because I refuse to let love into my soul and hold on tight. 

One year earlier

The dressing room walls echo with the moans of myself and...I don’t even remember her name. Sarah? Shelly? It doesn’t even matter. I only see the back of her head anyway; she was very blonde. I hold onto her hips tightly, slamming my cock in and out of her. She was screaming like a porn star, and I’m pretty sure she was putting on a show. 

“Oooooh, just like that baby. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Oh goddd, you’re so fucking good.” She moans and I roll my eyes, slamming into her harder just to get her to shut up. I reach over to the coffee table to grab my tiny vile of cocaine, I pop open the cap, and pull out of her for a moment. She was still rolling her hips as I sprinkle the drugs onto her ass.

“Stop fucking moving.” I tell her, grabbing the plastic straw and snorting back the drugs into my airways. She moans again when she hears me snort another line off her, and I slam myself back into her. My head falls back in pleasure, the effects of the cocaine causing every single part of my body to pulsate, and I can feel my orgasm approaching. 

“Fuuuuck.” I moan, my rhythm getting sloppy, and she groans. 

“Cum inside me baby, cum inside me.” She moans and I immediately feel myself go soft. Fuck this. I stop moving and slide myself out of her, she turns to look at me, her mouth opened in a gasp. “Why did you stop?”

I take a cigarette out of my pack and light it. “Get out.” 

“What?” She snaps. 

“Get your shit and get the fuck out of my dressing room. Telling me to cum inside you, I know what you’re doing.” I take her dress off the floor and throw it at her. Her eyes narrow and she gets up from the couch, throwing the dress over her head. 

“You weren’t even that good, fucking junkie!” She yells at me, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lungs. She looked like a cartoon character. Her eyes wild, her hair a wild mess, her fake tits bouncing as she storms out of the room. I lean back on the couch, a little mad that I didn’t cum, but whatever, that’s what my hand is for. I don’t know why I invite these women back to my dressing room after every show. Most of the time, these women don’t even know the words to our songs, they just want to be able to tell their friends they fucked a rockstar.  I sigh, opening the vile and do another bump. I’m one hundred percent in love with heroin, but I’m an addict. Cocaine just takes the edge off when I need it to. I tie my hair back in a low bun, blowing my bangs out of my face. I stand, catching a glimpse of myself in the fluorescent lit vanity mirror. The lighting made me look terrible; I was thinner than normal. The ram skull tattoo across my abdomen looked discolored, but I know it was just the way the light was hitting it. I was losing muscle mass in both of my arms, but since tattoo sleeves covered both my arms, no one could notice. No one knew how bad it was getting with the dope; I honestly preferred to suffer in silence about it, but I knew they noticed. I would feel Gareth’s eyes burn into the back of my skull whenever I would escape to go into a bathroom, or immediately go into my hotel room to get started on my new supply. I felt terrible keeping it from him, he was my brother, my bandmate, but he didn’t need to worry. I was fine, at least that’s what I told myself. 

We had awhile before we hit the next city of the tour. The tour bus felt too crowded, too stuffy. We all decided it would make sense to hide out in a hotel for a few days before we got to Atlanta.  I requested my own room of course, the supply I just bought felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. Isn’t that what they say about money? 

Money meant nothing to me; if I lost it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. That’s the beauty of this drug, you don’t have a care in the world once that shot courses through your veins. 

I lock the door to my room after saying goodnight and head into the bathroom. I pull my shirt over my head and undo the belt from my jeans. I set everything up on the table: fresh needle, the drugs, and water bottle cap.  It doesn’t take long for me to pull the dope into the syringe, at this point it’s like riding a bike for me. I sit on the floor against the bathtub, I wrap the belt around my left arm, pulling it tight with my teeth and clench my fist. I see the most perfect vein pop up in the bend of my arm; I have to be careful though, I can’t go to the same spot twice or else I’ll blow up my veins and then more people will notice.  I’ve always hated needles, isn’t that ironic? I’m thinking that as the tip of it pinches my skin and my thumb is on the trigger, slowly pushing it down.

“A spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down…” I sing softly, feeling the sweet burn of the heroin flow like a tsunami in my veins. My eyes flutter close as the most beautiful feeling overcomes me; my head lulls back against the porcelain and I feel a smile grace my lips. 

A loud knock at my door startles me out of my high, and I’m pissed. 

“Hang on a second.” I mutter and awkwardly pull myself up, undoing the belt from my arm. I place the cap on the needle and toss it behind the doors under the sink. 

Knock knock knock knock knock

I toss my sweatshirt over my head, putting a cigarette to my lips. “Yeah, I hear you! Fuck, I’m coming.” 

I open the door to find Gareth standing there with his arms crossed, I light the cigarette and wave my hand, tilting my head at him. “Yeah?” 

“What are you doing?” He asks me. 

“What do you mean what am I doing? I’m not doing anything.” I inhale on the cigarette, and he continues to stare at me. If there was a God, I thank him for giving me brown eyes, because at least he wouldn’t be able to see how my pupils look like pinholes. “Do you wanna come in?” 

I move to the side, and he walks by me, I shut the door, locking it. 

“Do you want a beer or anything?” I ask him, going into the mini fridge, pulling out two, I could feel myself about to nod, but I quickly stand up, clearing my throat so I can at least look like I’m not fucked up. 

“No, I’m fine.” His eyes scan every inch of my room, the floor where my clothes were, Sweetheart laying on the foot of my bed. My necklace I always wore with the red guitar pick laid on the nightstand by the bed. I always take it off before I shoot up, I don’t know why, I think something is going to happen to it if I don’t, it means a lot to me. His eyes fix on my belt on the bathroom floor, he doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking. 

“Gareth, if you got something to say, man, just say it.” I tell him, leaning against the small table, I ash my cigarette into a coca cola can. 

He turns to me; he was still blessed with a baby face that I remember from school. “How bad is it getting?” He almost whispers.

“How bad is what getting?” 

“The drugs, man. Come on dude, I know you’re not stupid.” He sits across from me on the foot of the bed, gently moving Sweetheart over. 

I sigh. “Gareth, I’m fine. It’s not getting bad.”

He puts his head down, shaking his head. “Don’t fucking bull shit me, Eddie. I’ve known you for almost two decades. Have you even looked at yourself lately?”

I close my eyes, feeling a wave of anxiety hit my lower gut, and I force it to go away by not caring. “Don’t worry about me, man. I’m serious.”

“Of course, I’m gonna fucking worry!” He stands up, his face full of rage. “If you fuck up this tour, our entire music career is in the gutter! How many times have I had to bail you out when you’ve been coming down from a cocaine binge and are late to rehearsal? How many goddamn times have I had to convince cops not to arrest you when you’re inebriated beyond belief. It’s getting fucking old, man.” He towers over my 6-foot frame and again, I start laughing. 

His eyes widen. “Are you seriously laughing right now? 

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I am, because it’s funny how you think I’m gonna be the one who’s gonna fuck up this tour. I built this band from the ground up, nothing and no one is gonna fuck that up.”

“Oh fuck you, dude!” He yells at me. “You built this? What happened to you saying this entire band was built on friendship, loyalty and fucking friends who play nerdy games? What happened to that Eddie?” 

“Dead.” I give him a sideways smile. “Dead dead dead.” 

He looks at me incredulous. “Wow. You’re an actual nightmare.” 

“You’re the one who decided to knock on my door.” I place the cigarette in the can, hearing it sizzle out. I cross my arms over my chest, already itching for another shot. “Anything else?” 

He scoffs, walking towards the door and stepping out. “No. Have a good night, Eddie.” 

“Yeah, you too!” I scream at his back as I shut the door, locking all the locks and kicking the bottom of it. Suddenly, the chair near the table gets a boot from me, followed by the lamp, the paintings on the walls. I smash the beer bottles against the windows, and when I’m finally spent, I collapse on the bathroom floor, digging out the needle. I’ll leave the hotel a couple hundred dollars to pay for whatever I damaged; I’ll hopefully remember to clean up tomorrow.

I’m pretty sure I put too much in it this time, because I’m riding something wild right now. My eyes are half lidded, my breathing is slow but it’s such a peaceful feeling.

“Makes the medicine go down…medicine go down…”

The beginning of that year was when shit started going downhill fast for me. Once I had gotten my panic attack under control, and I felt calmer, I sent you a text message, realizing that tomorrow was the 18th. I typed up, deleted, typed up, deleted, about six different times before finally sending you: Hey stranger, it’s Eddie. Pretty wild to hear from you. I’m currently up in my cabin in upstate NY, but if you are gonna be in Boston. I can make the trip. It would actually be awesome to see you. Hope you are well. 

I forgot how nervous you made me, even back then. You were such a kind, beautiful soul, who loved me and took care of me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so nervous all the time because I really loved you too, but I couldn’t…wouldn’t let myself feel it. You were the only woman in my life that knew me, and actually saw me. You were my best friend, always my partner in group activities in elementary school. It was us against the world the minute I kissed you for the first time when we were eighteen, and then it ended with me, burying my head in the sand, because I’m a fucking idiot. 

My phone dings and I see your name pop up.  Hey!!! Wow, your own cabin huh? Are you a mountain man or something this winter season? I’m sorry if my letter was all over the place, I really should’ve just texted you but, whatever. Here we are now. Yes! Let’s meet, I can give you a spot to meet for coffee? Unless you just want my aunt’s address, I don’t know how Boston is when it comes to famous people. 

I type up a message: Boston is one of those cities that is wild to play on stage in front of, but the people don’t give a fuck if you’re famous. Which is why I bought a condo there, I can live out some downtime in peace. Coffee sounds great. Just let me know a time when you are settled. 

You quickly respond: Ha! Boston is pretty rad. I’m already here, I got here a day early. I know you got a pretty long drive so we can meet the day after tomorrow if you’d like? Say around 10?

I type up that that time and date worked for me and begin packing a small suitcase to take with me on the trip. 

I honestly felt like I was dreaming all this; I get sober, you, a woman that was literally the one that got away because of my own fucking deep-rooted issues, comes back into my life and wants to see me? I feel like I’m living the Notebook. Except, the rated R version where Ryan Gosling is an ex-junkie, who doesn’t build houses, or used to blow cocaine off a woman’s asshole. 

I groan, I already know I’m gonna fuck this up again. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The coffee shop you chose was a place I’ve never been before, it seemed newer, and no one batted an eye when I walked in. I take off my sunglasses and scan the place. It was quaint, quiet, with rustic undertones but mostly modern. 

“Eddie?”

My eyes immediately fix on you, sitting in the back booth by a small window, and I feel my heart flutter down to my stomach. God, you were stunning. Your eyes still shone that sparkle in them, your smile was just as adorable as I remembered, especially the dimples in your cheeks. I whisper your name and find myself quickly walking towards you. You wrap your arms around my shoulders, and I let out a deep sigh, almost lifting you off your feet, as I hug the curves of your waist, burying my face into your shoulder. We stay like that for a while, you giggle into my chest, telling me you couldn’t believe it was me and that I was here. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew I had to. We pull away and you are still smiling, looking into my eyes, you lift your hand to gently curl your fingers into my hair and I smile at you. 

“I love that you still kept this hair.” You say, shaking your head, looking like you’re still trying to process that I’m standing in front of you. 

I gently cup your face, swallowing hard, studying you. You turn your cheek into my hand, and I slowly remove it. You nod for me to sit, and I scoot over into the booth, peeling off my leather jacket. I still stare at your face; I couldn’t believe you were real. The server comes over to take our coffee order, I get mine hot with triple espresso and a shot of caramel, and you get an iced coffee with a shot of vanilla and almond milk. I smile, you’ve kept the same order since you started drinking coffee. 

Your eyes fix on mine, and I smile at you, sipping my coffee. “You haven’t changed.” I tell you softly. 

“My back will have to disagree with you.” You laugh, spinning the straw with your finger. “You haven’t either, aside from more tattoos.” 

I smile; remembering that you were there for most of my smaller ones. I had convinced you back then to get a large tattoo that started from under your breast, all the way down to the top of your hip; that was always my favorite part of you to taste. I cross my legs, feeling a tingle in my lower belly. Fucking pervert. 

I notice a few finger tattoos on your right hand, and I nod to them. 

“I told you they were addicting.” I laugh. “How many do you have now?” 

You laugh, a sound so beautiful to my ears, I want to cry. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

My eyes widen and I laugh. “No way! Let me see.” 

You meet my eyes, your face turning crimson. Of course, there were hidden ones, I immediately feel like I overstepped and go to apologize when you speak. “It’s a lot of random ones, all over. I added some stuff to the rib piece.” That one you show me, you lift up your sweater, and I feel my dick twitch. 

Pervert. Dirty pervert. It’s been fifteen years, put your dick away. 

The cluster of wildflowers that started from your ribs to your hip had added roses to different spots they ended up entwining into a beautiful ivy vine, before falling off towards your back. I notice the bottom of a small piece on your sternum, and you pull your sweater back down. 

“That’s beautiful.” I tell her, smiling. “What have you been doing these last fifteen years?” 

“Well, I moved out of Hawkins.” I smile at that, she always wanted to leave that place. “I moved to Maine, I bought myself my own little cabin in the woods. I’m a nurse at the local hospital there.” 

My heart practically bursts with pride, and I laugh. “See? You don’t have to be famous to have your own cabin. That’s wonderful, I know that was always a dream of yours, becoming a nurse.”

“Yeah, it’s fulfilling. Heartbreaking 99% of the time but fulfilling.” Your eyes fix on mine again, and we just share comfortable silence as we stare at one another. 

“Your eyes are sad.” You say suddenly. 

“What?” I snap myself back down to my reality; it was easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back again. Sorry for being blunt, I’m just sorry for whatever is bothering you.” Your eyes show me that same familiar kindness, and I smile awkwardly at you.  

“I’m okay.” I tell you, only half lying. 

You place your hand over my ringed fingers, gently entwining them. I stare at our hands, and gaze back into your eyes. “What am I doing here?” I whisper to you. I can feel my heart do another back flip, and my brain screams at me to get up and run because I can still feel your love. 

Your fingers gently move over the bumps on my rings, and your eyes dart to mine. You spot the small silver chain around my neck, half tucked in my shirt, and you lift your hand to gently pull out the red guitar pick. You finger the plastic and smile. “Wow. You kept this all these years.” 

“Of course, I did. I never take it off.” Except when I used to shoot dope, but that’s beside the point. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Sweetheart, why am I here?” 

You sigh, giving me a sad smile. “Would it be weird if I said that I really fucking miss you? And for the last fifteen years, I haven’tstopped thinking about you.” 

Heart exploding. 

My breath hitches and my eyes widen slightly. “But…I hurt you…and I left—"

“I know, I know you did, but” you take my hand again. “Eddie, we were best friends. Since before we could even say those words. You were so important to me. You’re still important to me. How could we throw that away?” 

I stare at you, reading your face, gazing at the shape of your mouth, the way your hair falls in waves, the curves of your breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my hand away from yours. “You wouldn’t think that anymore once you know what I’ve done, who I’ve become.” 

“Then tell me.” You say softly, your eyes dart from my lips, to my eyes. I stare at your lips, remembering how perfectly they fit against mine, how soft they were. How eager you would be when your tongue would slip into my mouth, deepening the kiss, your soft moans vibrating against my mouth as I carefully push myself inside you. 

I meet your eyes; you’re waiting for me to say something. I shake my head, running my hands over my hair. I sigh. “How long you got?” 

You look at your wrist at a fake watch. “About a week.” I laugh and lean back in my seat, sipping my coffee. 

Yeah, I missed you too. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

Special shout out to: @trixyvixx @originalstar1 @iggyizalien @themorticians-world

& so many of you who supported my last series.

I wouldn’t continue writing if it weren’t for you guys giving me the motivation to do it. Love you all!

[rachellaumbrella]

death

9/23/2024

I guess I made a tumblr to use as a diary, it seems like a lot people do. I would just journal but sometimes that doesn't always seem 100% private. I really don't know what to write either, I thought about writing about past life events. Maybe help myself work through stuff or unburden myself.. Ill write about my mom. She passed away in 2023. Actually 2 days after my 30th birthday. Shitty, I know. The last day I seen my mom was on my birthday, she would make whatever i wanted for dinner and always made me a cake. She wasn't feeling well because she had a cold & a ear ache, She kept asking if I was happy & okay cause she felt bad that she didn't feel well and felt like she didn't do enough. I was happy, I felt bad & even told her before if she wasn't feeling well, we can have my bday dinner another day. She insisted we still have it that day, looking back, I'm happy we did. The following day, her and my dad went grocery shopping. My bday was on Friday and she passed Sunday morning. So she went shopping Saturday, in case anyone is reading this & to better understand the timeline. On my bday, I told her I would be over Tuesday and if she still wasn't feeling well, I would take her to the doctor.

Back Story: My mom wasn't in poor health but she wasn't working due to having hip problems, making it difficult to walk around. She has always been in the service industry, either as a waitress or bartender. My mom has struggled with addiction to drugs and alcohol majority of her life, she got sober from drinking when i was in 3rd grade. She stayed sober for awhile but eventually began drinking again because like I said, she has always worked in bars & restaurants. Anyone who knows addiction, its not the best ide. a for a alcoholic to work in a bar. She never became sober from pain killers during this whole time, I didn't this till I was a adult. I'll get more into this another time. When she stopped working, I went over a lot during the day to keep her company and to drive her to doctor appointments or whatever she needed to do. In this time, I became closer to my mom than I ever had before. Due to her addiction, we didn't have much of a mother-daughter relationship or the one I wanted to have. I wasn't working at this time because I was taking care of my niece and nephew because my sister in law was struggling with her own issues at this time, again another story for another time.

Several months before her death, she had her hip replaced. The surgery went very well & her rehab was great. Due to insurance and her surgeon wanted to make sure she was in best shape for surgery, it took some time from the time she stopped working to having the surgery. Because it took so long, she was putting her weight on her other hip which wasn't already in the best of shape. After so much time, the doctor said basically, he couldn't even fit a hair in her hip joint, which means it was bone on bone. The week after my bday, we were going to the doctor to get the surgery scheduled for the other hip. My mom had her own mental health struggles through her life which led to self medicating and which lead to addiction. She was on several medications for mental health and she was on a drug for addiction opiates. She was on that for 10 years, maybe less. I don't think that's normal, I'm not a doctor so who am I to say, right? I think I'll write more about her addiction in another time. I think I'm getting side tracked haha.

So I have dinner with my family Friday for my birthday. Saturday, my parents go grocery shopping and spend the day at home. My bday is in January in Northwest Indiana so its very cold. My husband & I go to dinner Saturday night for my bday, he likes to do something just us for my bday plus it was my 30th so we went to a nice place. Sunday morning, I wake up, I don't feel right... Not like sick or anything just felt like something was off. I got up and went to lay on the couch and put on the TV. For some reason, which to this day I do not know why I left my cell phone on my nightstand. Which isn't something I normally do. I end up drifting back off to sleep and I woke to my husband talking, it sounded like he was just woken up. I heard him say my dads name so I sat up. He came out into the living room and handed me the phone. I don't remember if it was his phone or mine. I do recall looking at my phone after and seeing I had 8 missed calls from my dad. My phone was on silent so I never heard it. I never heard my dad scream and cry like that, he kept just saying, "she's dead Rachel, she's dead". It didn't register with me at the moment, I just looked at my husband and said, "I need to go, something is wrong with my mom". My husband already knew what was going on so we got our coats & left. I live about 30 minutes from my parents home. I don't remember the drive very much besides my aunt calling to see where I was. When I got there, there was so many cars there. My moms sisters(who live 45 minutes away) were there along with their husbands and one aunt brought her kids too. It was a lot to walk into. My dads brother & wife(my uncle & aunt) were also there. My dad wouldn't let the funeral home take my mom or move her until I got there. I was asked if I wanted to see her before they took her, I really didn't know how to answer or feel about it. I guess it took over a hour for anyone to show up and move her. So my mom was laying on the floor while everyone was showing up. The funeral home, was in the middle of putting her on a gunnery as I arrived. Like I said, all of this wasn't really registering with me or what happened or what was happening. I went to see my dad first and was stopped because they were taking my mom out, I turned around and seen my mom in a body bag. Then was asked if I wanted to see her or say bye before they took her. I didn't want to. I didn't see her. Which I think was for the best, I didn't want my last memory and seeing my mom for the final time in my childhood home was of her dead. My last memory was on my birthday, her alive giving me hugs, kisses, telling me "happy birthday", and asking if I was happy. Its bitter. I don't look forward to my birthday anymore. My mom passed in January of 2023, so as I write this, it been almost 2 years. That whole day was a lot. I was annoyed with my family for even being there. My moms sisters quit speaking to her for several years. They only recently started speaking again because my grandmother had to go into the hospital for a fall and the doctors said she couldn't live on her own anymore so we had to go through all her belongings and move her into assisted living. My mom was aware she wasn't the best sister to them due her addictions. She was trying to mend those relationship's at the time. I just wanted everyone gone so I can process all of it, My sister was on the phone the whole time, calling everyone to let them know what happened. My sister is much more social than I am. I barely use any social media, I don't post really anything about my life around 2 years or more. My dad was crying a lot and blamed himself for not getting up sooner, in his head, if he got up sooner, he would seen her on the ground and could of got her help.

My dad didn't want a autopsy done because he didn't want anyone to hurt her and cut her. I don't know what actually caused her death. If the death appears to be natural causes, the corner doesn't even take the body, you have to find a funeral home and have them come. Which I didn't know, you'd think there would be things in place so the family doesn't have to figure that out within moments of a loved one passing. I don't think her cold had much to do with her death. I just know it was natural causes, so it could be heart attack, stroke...I guess whatever is in the realm of natural causes. I was angry and so sad for such a long time because it wasn't fair, why would she pass right after my birthday... Just grief.

Her service was really nice. A lot more people showed up, way more than we expected and planned for. It was too overwhelming, I didn't want to talk to everyone and be asked what happened , I couldn't tell them. I just tried to avoid everyone as much as possible. I never thought about that before. I've been to more than my fair share of funerals before and it is just the worst, standing there & repeating the same things over & over to everyone who comes up to you. Its almost torture. The funeral home did a wonderful job and so helpful. My mom loved pajama sets. She liked to me comfortable and cute. We decided to put her in set of her favorite pajamas. She wore a pink long sleeve shirt and the pants were grey and pink. If you didn't knwo, you'd think she was just in a regular outfit. I don't know the correct name but the lady who dressed her and did the make up did a great job. Like I said, I've been to a lot of services and a lot of the time, the person doesn't look like them anymore. My mom looked like she was just asleep. I couldn't touch her. I never been able to touch anyone in a casket since I was a kid. The first time I did, the body was hard and cold. I didn't understand why the person felt that way. As I got older, I understand it but I just couldn't bring myself to hug & kiss my mom while she was in the casket. I don't know if that makes me a bad person or not.

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Important Components of Addiction Treatment

Addiction is a complex disease that requires effective treatment to ensure successful recovery. The most important step in addiction treatment is when an individual admits they have a problem and is willing to seek help. Often, this will happen as a result of an intervention conducted by friends or family members, which can be very helpful in getting someone to the point where they are ready for treatment.

Behavioral Therapy (CBT) is used in many addiction treatment programs to address the mental, emotional and physical needs of clients. It involves talking with the client about their problems and helping them identify and change negative thinking patterns, which can be one of the causes of addiction.

Group Therapy is also an important part of addiction treatment and can be done in a variety of settings, including outpatient treatment centers. These groups are designed to support and encourage people in recovery by providing a community of individuals who have also experienced addiction.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy is an evidence-based therapy that helps patients understand how their thoughts and beliefs can impact their behavior. This is crucial for patients in addiction treatment because it allows them to make changes that will help them move forward with their lives and stay sober.

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Medications are also often used in combination with other therapies such as counseling and 12-step programs. These can help people with opiate dependence and alcohol abuse stabilize their lives and reduce their drug use.Know more about rehabs at http://www.ehow.com/how_5630706_start-wildlife-rehab-center.html.

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The Recovery Model is a popular approach to addiction treatment and has been shown to have a positive effect on the lives of those who participate in it. This approach combines the best elements of behavioral and psychotherapeutic treatment and uses the 12 step model of recovery.

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Can a drug addict fully recover without going to rehab?

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High-functioning alcoholic sounds like a classic contradiction in terms. How can someone who is an alcoholic meaningfully function?A high-functioning alcoholic, also known as a functional alcoholic, is someone who can hold down a steady job, dresses well, and can socialize effortlessly without drawing attention to their drinking problem.To everyone on the outside, a high-functioning alcoholic can appear to be fully in control. However, beneath the façade, these people are struggling with alcohol use disorder.High-functioning alcoholics are difficult to spot and deal with. The way they see it, if the world doesn’t see they have a problem, the problem doesn’t exist. If they are seen by others to be financially independent, happy and successful, they’re fine. People who are high-functioning alcoholics often have difficulty admitting that they have a drinking problem.WHAT TO DO NEXTThe dangers of regular drinking are the same as for alcoholics who are not high-functioning. The risk of liver disease and other complaints are roughly comparable.

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Please give Great Uncle Wayne babysitting duty (workingmanwayne)

@workingmanwayne

It was the first summer he'd seen since rehab. Things were odd, slowly returning to normal, but still strange. He still woke up fuzzy-brained and exhausted, like he hadn't slept through the night and had instead been out drinking whole bottles of vodka again, chased with thousands of dollars worth of cocaine. The doc said that feeling would continue for a while despite his clean system, but he also had some brain thing called ADHD. He asked if it could kill him. When the doc said no, he stopped caring about it. They were supposed to help him with drugs and alcohol, not his wild brain. He didn't need a professional to tell him his brain was wired differently. That'd been well documented for years. All he wanted was to go home. Well, to the new home, Steve had been preparing in his absence with uncle Wayne. A fresh start, they called it.

The fresh start is nice. It's by the perfect California beach with an oak decking that leads down to the sand and far enough outside Los Angeles that they needed a car to drive into the city. There's peace and quiet; it's pretty beautiful, actually. "You don't gotta go back to Indiana, ya know?" Eddie proposed to his uncle one morning when they were sat together on the deck bench, warm summer sunlight streaming over them, and Eddie's three kids over the way playing noisily in a paddling pool he and Wayne spent the previous hour blowing up, then filling it with water. Joany waved at them from the pool's edge, seeking their attention to watch her splash about like she'd done something impressive. According to the little miss herself, she was meant to be a dragon. It made Eddie laugh. Yeah, she was his blood, alright, and he made sure she knew she was the most fearsome dragon of all. "They'd love for you to stay here," he continued, gesturing to the kids while lighting a cigarette. Rehab might have kicked his habit of the hard stuff, but the cigarettes kept him sane and away from temptations.

"Permanently, m'saying. Stay in Cali permanently." Wayne had been invaluable the past few months, from convincing Eddie into rehab in the first place for the sake of his family to helping his son-in-law with their trio of feral goblins. Neither Sam nor Rian were related to Wayne by blood or Eddie. But they'd been Wayne's grandsons and Eddie's kids since the moment they were born. To the boys and Joan, Wayne was gramps and paw paw and hearing it made Eddie smile every single time. Sometimes he slipped and would refer to Wayne as his dad, then get embarrassed about it. Wayne also gained another son when Eddie unofficially married Steve in 1991. The point was that they were all family. Not the ideal family society wanted them to have. No, their family was much better than that.

Eddie leaned back, head turned up to release a puff of smoke into the bright blue sky, basking momentarily in the rays. He never quite appreciated the sun as much as he did now. Funny what an accidental overdose did to a person. "There's plenty of room for you. Honestly, I think Steve bought the place with you in mind." Satan bless his husband and his domestic inclinations. Yet, Eddie could not bring himself to say that maybe he needed Wayne there too. After everything, he still felt like a burden to his uncle, causing him nothing but worry and grief. "Would you at least think about it, please?" Finally, he looked over at the elder Munson with pleading eyes as the very image of the miniature version suddenly skipped over to them, soaking wet from the water. Eddie tossed his cigarette into the fancy-ass marble ashtray Steve had gotten. He never did understand his husband's love of fine decor, but he loved him all the same.

Grabbing a nearby towel, Eddie scooped Joan up into his lap, though not without a noticeable tremble in his arms, the strain hidden well in his adoring smile. "Hey, short stuff. Pretty sure that paw paw over here just announced his intentions to make everyone pancakes." Armed with an excited four-year-old and their matching smiles, how could grandpa say no? Then Joan quickly called to her big brothers that Wayne was making pancakes, and Eddie knew he'd won amidst the childish screams of delight. He shrugged just a bit smugly at Wayne, while silently mouthing...

Sorry, dad.

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