#substance abuse treatment near me

[intheroomblog]

7 Steps Of The Cycle Of Drugs And Alcohol Addiction

The 7 steps of the cycle of drugs and alcohol addiction explain how substance abuse escalates into full-blown dependency. It begins with casual use and progresses through regular consumption, risky behaviors, and emotional dependence before reaching addiction and crisis. Each stage reinforces the next, making it difficult to quit without professional support. Understanding this cycle is crucial for recognizing addiction early and seeking the right treatment. Recovery is possible with detox, therapy, and long-term support. If you or someone you know is trapped in the cycle of drugs and alcohol addiction, now is the time to take action and regain control of life.

[intheroomsrecoverytool]

Find Aftermath Addiction Treatment for Addiction Recovery

Discover hope and healing at Aftermath Addiction Treatment Center. Our compassionate team provides personalized care, guiding you through recovery with evidence-based therapies. Embrace a supportive community dedicated to your well-being, where each step forward is a triumph. Begin your transformative journey towards lasting recovery with Aftermath Addiction Treatment Center.

[thrivetreatment]

Thrive Treatment is a leading Mental Health Center in LA that specializes in comprehensive mental health and addiction treatment services. Our team of mental health professionals is dedicated to providing a supportive environment where clients can address and overcome challenges such as anxiety, depression, substance abuse, and trauma. At Thrive Treatment, we focus on personalized, evidence-based care that promotes healing and long-term recovery. Thrive Treatment 3101 Ocean Park Blvd. #309, Santa Monica, CA 90405 (855) 232–1334

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[stronghearttraumarecovery]

At Strongheart Trauma Recovery, we specialize in offering personalized addiction counseling in Novi MI, designed to help individuals overcome substance abuse and lead fulfilling lives. Our experienced therapists use evidence-based techniques to address both the psychological and physical aspects of addiction. By fostering a supportive environment, we empower our clients to embark on a journey toward recovery and healing.

Strongheart Trauma Recovery 47610 Grand River, #1286, Novi, MI 48374 (248) 677–1090

Official Website: https://www.stronghearttraumarecovery.com/

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Marriage Counseling Couples Counseling Online Trauma Therapy Online Addiction Counseling Ptsd Treatment Substance Abuse Counseling

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[premiumlegacyhealthcare]

5 Indicators of a Potential Relapse of Addiction

One of the common concerns of alcohol or substance abuse treatment is the potential chance of relapse. There is always a risk of relapse of addiction even after completing an anti-addiction treatment at a rehab facility. Many people find it challenging to stay away from their addictive habits and the pleasure they derive from them for a long time. Read more...

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[overcomewellnessrecoveryllc]

At Overcome Wellness & Recovery, LLC, we understand the importance of providing specialized care tailored to the unique needs of the Jewish community. Our Jewish treatment center offers a safe and welcoming space where individuals can embark on their journey towards wellness and recovery with a strong sense of cultural understanding and support.

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[substancerehab]

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[ms-nesbit]

Good jay hunting (chapter three of empire records)

Chapter one and two found here (x) (x)

Rating: 18+ (say it with me: minors, fuck off!)

Summary: y/n and jason go on a date at the gotham cemetery, where jason tells y/n about his tenure as robin. Her feelings for him deepens, so much that he receives a surprise when the date is over.

Trigger warning! This chapter dives into Jason Todd’s history, which includes: d0mestic vi0lence, r@pe, pr0stitution, substance @buse, child @abuse, and neglect. PLEASE be advised.

ao3

Note: I fucking loved writing this chapter. I will take a break though because it hit a little too close to home for me. I hope you all enjoy and, as always, reblog and refrain from being a dickhead and reposting my work elsewhere. Thank you!

A cold front ushered into Gotham quicker than the summer heat could pay its sorrowful respects, Gothamites struggling to acclimate to the drastic change in temperature. On the Gotham News Network, gas leaks and lawsuits were reported, detailing the inhumane treatment landlords provide for the elderly; it was nothing new to the godless city, each sin managing to top another.

Jason was desensitized to it, too. He recalled his time in an apartment on the upper East side of Gotham, near Murphy Ave. - his biological father stumbled through the door, fury steaming from his lips in the scent of bourbon, as he picked which target to his unfathomable wrath; Jason’s mother sacrificed herself when Jason’s motor skills were still developing, and skull fusing together from his ripe birth; yet, when Jason began reading, gaining ideas that inspired him to do good, he stood before his mother, fists balled and chest puffed, a zeal of a thirty year-old in a nine year-old’s body.

His father was why Jason’s mother dipped her toes into medication - he injured her so severely, she visited the doctor, who abruptly prescribed her narcotics without questioning the source of her injuries, and sent her on her way. Each tablet was a sense of bliss to her, something she missed so dearly, it enveloped her in endless bliss when she re-experienced it, so she became erratic for more, bargaining with the local shadows to entice her, indulge her, give her what she needed.

And Jason was learning from this. He blinked his deer eyes as he saw his mother dive into the pill bottle face first, and how his father’s silhouette looked carved in chalk. I’m okay, he told his teachers when they noticed his missing assignments, or unexcused absences from school. I was just sick. I forgot.

Never could he step down from his position as son, mother, and father - he was all a nuclear family to himself, and couldn’t afford to jeopardize his position. With his father dead, he was man of the house at ten, and grew three sizes to accommodate; with his mother paralyzed by chemically-induced numbness and familiarity in the shape of ovular bliss, Jason adapted rapidly, cooking meals for himself and his mother. And without the income, he stole what he could; after being arrested a few times, he feared not his own record becoming tarnished with demerits, but the judicial attention being shifted to his mother, whom he dearly loved and missed, and instead sold his soul to the streets, begging to give whatever he could so he could feed his mother, care for his mother, rear his mother as she needed.

After that dreadful night, though, when he visited his friends after school instead of checking on his mother, he re-entered the apartment, dirtied and covered in neglect. The air was thick with news he believed he had the power to prevent, the poor boy, his last light of innocence taken from him with her final breath before she lay lifeless on the bathroom tile floor, becoming one with the grime and mildew that accumulated.

He shed no tears that night. He cradled her, listened to her in lament, but remained a soldier for the mother he wished he knew. Jason held her as he rocked her to sleep, hoping the embrace could restore her soul to eternal happiness in the afterlife. With her, a piece of his soul died, too, and his smiles were in vain, voice seeming a bit tainted with a poison others in his life couldn’t quite identify.

It was quite ironic that he loved the theatre tenderly, as he became an actor at a young age, playing the role of a century. He performed at Apollo Theater as Lady McBeth, his mourning in tow each day he spoke of his mother and her life, as if she wasn’t a ghost haunting his mind post-sunset. His tongue was burning and heart lonesome as he performed exquisitely, so well that even he was convinced that his mother would be at home, waiting upon his arrival.

One night, after escaping from the hands of his disparaging foster parents, Jason picked up his equipment used to steal - or boost, if you will - automotive parts for cash. He used the pieces as relics to restore value to himself, whether it be in form of wrinkled, used money, or bartering for shelter, transportation, or a favor; that night, however, proved to be different in many ways: the moon entered its final phase, the quarter presenting itself behind passing clouds, Jason’s best friend had been missing for days, only to have his body recovered from the lake that day (another day of grief for Jason, no doubt, although he was anesthetized to death).

Jason found an abnormally shaped vehicle in Crime Alley, and he snickered to himself when he approached the profile, it was…the Batmobile. He kneeled and began his workmanship, spinning the car jack to loosen the lug nuts. Before he could finish, though, a presence bestowed itself behind him, the Fool, and it was the caped crusader himself.

The following months were a quick haze for the pre-teen - the vigilante revealed his identity as Bruce Wayne, and Jason, although ecstatic to belong in a home once again, didn’t shake his misfortune, the baggage worn around his neck like a lagahoo. If it wasn’t in his days as anxiety attacks and hoarding, anticipating the next loss, then it was carried through in his subconscious, the most unsuspecting of all in forms of nightmares and shapeshifting creatures lurking with a liquor bottle and belt.

Screams and pleas entered the halls of Wayne Manor, carrying all the way to Bruce’s chambers, and sometimes, on the most unforgiving nights, into the Batcave. It brought heartbreak to the home, especially to Bruce’s butler, Alfred, who served Jason much closer than Bruce could. Although Jason’s older adoptive brother, Dick, was polite and respectful of Alfred, Jason saw Pennyworth eye-to-eye, restoring some youth into the mature man when Jason assisted him in the kitchen, or with chores, with such glee (and it was a delightful task for Jason to partake in! He longed for mundane tasks that other children took for granted, gruelled about, resented their parents for, and Jason smiled with each load of laundry completed, or dinner prepped with Alfred.).

“We must do something, Bruce.” Alfred begged Bruce with broken eyes. “Not that cloak.” he spoke vehemently, with such disgust that the man could ever dare coerce Jason back into danger, this time with less protection and a daring purpose.

Yet his concerns were dismissed by Bruce’s concoction of arrogance and stubbornness, a deadly duo that ultimately led Jason to his demise by the clown prince of crime. His lifeless body lay on the concrete, and Bruce was taken aback by the woeful fate of the boy, despite the stern admonishments made by his aid at home. He vowed never to risk another boy’s life after this, to allow Jason to rest after sixteen years of distress.

The truth unfolded after the detective unmasked details of his son’s death: the clown had tempted him with the unveiling of his mother’s existence, his true mother. The pictures the clown’s unhinged partner took, which were messily glued to Todd’s tombstone, left little to Bruce’s imagination: the torture his son endured at the hands of a criminal, the look of terror in the boy’s eyes in one photo, with a shadow of a man’s arm in the air, crowbar in hand…

It was the first time since Martha and Thomas’s deaths that Bruce wept, shoulders slumped as he hiccuped. The boy died in vain. For nothing. There was no rest for his tortured soul, no restitution, requisition for the last breaths laborly drawn.

And when Jason arose from the dead, vindication sharp on his tongue, and life stolen from his green eyes, it only instigated heavier burden on Bruce’s aching bones, remorse deep in his voice when he faced the revived Jason returning back to Wayne Manor, distraught from uncovering that shortly after his death, Bruce replaced him.

—

“So…you were Robin?” y/n asked.

Jason nodded sadly, face pointed at the starry sky. “Yeah.”

Silence cursed them again, the night drawn out from Jason’s confession. Y/n didn’t expect it to be this tragic, although she appreciated it quietly. “Do you miss her?”

The words caught Jason off guard. He was used to y/n’s surprising angle on conversations, scoping out a person differently than the status quo. No small talk, no pleasantries, just rawness. “I talked with Bruce’s shrink about it - he said she could help or some shit,” his face warped in disapproval. “But I don’t. I romanticized the idea of her, but to be honest, she chose drugs over me. It hurts sometimes to think about, but that’s that. It was easier for me to think of my dad as a piece of shit, because he basically hit me more than he talked to me.”

“Makes sense. Guys are often stupid pieces of shit. No offense.” y/n raised a hand.

Jason shrugged. “None taken, we’re sacks of fucks.” he scoffed at his own comment. “I still kinda resent Bruce for wanting me to be Robin, I mean…why did he think that was any bit okay to do?”

“Maybe because that was the only way he could handle grief?” y/n offered.

Propping himself on his arms, palms flat behind him, he breathed deeply. Y/n had a point, though: when Bruce introduced the idea to Dick, Dick felt the same type of grief Bruce had; however, when the mantle was passed to Jason, the mourning was different, if at all: both Bruce and Dick had someone to lose, whereas Jason hadn’t.

And it showed when Jason worked the role. He showed sympathy to petty criminals, sometimes aiding and abiding them, to Bruce’s disapprobation; his demeanor soured as intel regarding trafficking rings and abusers surfaced, knuckles bruised and teeth clenched as perpetrators’ blood spurted onto the Robin costume, tainting its bright colors into a deeper, richer tone.

It was worse when Bruce pushed Jason to attend the Wayne galas. The upper class flocked their wealth and acquitted crimes, which burned Jason’s ears as he heard someone’s misfortune reduced into a witty anecdote paired with hor d'oeuvres and sparkling champagne.

Jason knew of the children who were taken by the boogeymen and women in the dark. He knew of their lives and tales that were once short, stout, and sweet. The attendees spoke of their deaths apathetically, muttering insults under their breath as they attempted to justify their ill motives. Almost as if these were the boogeymen and women, simply dressed up in thousand-dollar gowns and heirlooms that cleverly disguised their sharp talons and venomous taste for the vulnerable, their souls containing all moral onus were snatched from their now-empty vessels. He argued with them at the galas about the children, urging them ferociously about their contributions, as if nobody dare exist outside of them.

How could they? A life so lavish, how could they know of any decision made out of self-preservation and greed rather than sympathy and the greater good? They were the one-percent, top of the socioeconomic chain, the bourgeoisie glaring down from their terrace views at the filthy proletariats below them - and while one could argue that the view from up high could be so grand that even the diamonds in the filth could be mistaken for fool’s gold, the wounded mistaken for the parasite that would consume the rich had they attempted to so much as inspect the streets, why would they then take measures to ensure their own safety, stuff more money into their pockets, knowing what they’ve seen?

The pasta salad Jason was poking at lost its flavor. A shame. “I know that Bruce couldn’t understand, but…Dick? I mean, you said he was Robin, too, right? And it wasn’t like he came from a wealthy background.” Y/n spoke between munches of lettuce that hung out of her mouth.

“Dick traveled a lot, and his family didn’t have a ton, but they were…a family.” Jason’s words were a sad string playing into the cemetery. 

It was the truth. Jason was a true reflection of the city in which he was raised: impoverished and tattered, the result of a godless, greedy, unfiltered city full of beasts whose sins remained unpunished, unanswered for. His heart pumped true - as that of Dick and Bruce - but in deep red, different than the blue blood that his adoptive elder brother and father carried in themselves; they could never understand him, really, their path vastly disparate than Jason’s living tragedy.

All y/n could think to do was kiss the man beside him, spilling his life before her atop the delectable array of desserts he prepared for her. She cupped his cheek with her hand and pulled him toward her, their lips clashing into a deep but slow kiss. As y/n’s lips moved to hold Jason’s, she felt a tear on her thumb, the one on Jason’s cheek, and she inched her body closer to his, to ensure that she wasn’t another chapter in his story, either.

She hadn’t disclosed her sobstory - the one filled with angst, betrayal, and the anguish of abuse and torment year after year from those closest to her; she was just as tired as he, and finally felt a bond, vulnerable with someone besides the weeping albums she listened to when her nightmares resurfaced.

When they broke their kiss, only the faintness of the ghosts from their graves divided Jason and y/n. They held their hands, fingers interlocked, as they stayed close. Y/n hummed when Jason wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and Jason smiled (for the first time in hours) when y/n reached up to kiss the white patch of his hair, now knowing its origin.

Instead of parting ways after their food finished, they laid down, hip to hip, and counted the stars as they relished in the caress of each other’s skin. It was the first time Jason saw y/n so disarmed, which was jarring compared to her all-plaid, studded outfit. He liked her anyway, a bit too much for his liking, afraid that he was diving too deep.

And before y/n drifted to sleep in Jason’s arms, she felt the same fear subside, until it quieted to nothing but a puny whisper.

—-

Jason’s administrative account was open on his laptop when he arrived back at his home, securing each lock before he removed his leather jacket and set down his biking helmet.

He glanced at a notification on his phone, which was from y/n. He was glad she wasn’t insecure and reached out to him first. The innocent grin on his face quickly turned amorous as he opened the notification, which brought him to a video y/n sent of herself. 

Naked.

Masturbating.

Determined, Jason shuffled to his armchair, unbuckling his jeans and wriggling his cock free from them as he sat and watched the video. Y/n ran a hand up and down her body suggestively, showing Jason what he was missing; then, after brief teasing, she opened her legs, sitting up as she revealed her wet cunt on full display for the camera. Jason’s cock twitched when he saw her swollen clit aching to be touched, and the thought of his head between her legs, thigh on either side of his shoulders, almost made Jason explode there.

Instead, he took the fuel and set up his webcam and account, enabling bluetooth on his phone and connecting his wireless headphones to privately hear y/n’s noises. He pressed a key on his laptop, beginning the livestream.

On one hand, he held the phone, the content away from the webcam’s view; his other hand stroked his cock, quickly, as he followed y/n’s every word.

“Put your cock in me, Jay.”

“Fuck! Yes, eat me out just like that.”

The phrases were too much for Jason to handle, who was moaning incoherently, fitting in garbled, “So hot” and “Gonna make you come.” His hand moved rapidly on his cock, and he was getting close, noises crescendoing. “Y/n, y/n, so good.”

It wasn’t until y/n exploded, dildo inside of her and fingers circling her clit, that Jason’s orgasm was ripped from him, his body tensing as he nearly screamed, eyes squeezing shut as he rocked his hips into his hand. “God, fuck.” he yelped, sucking a breath in as he felt his body tense up again after he thought his climax was over.

He had forgotten he was live. He didn’t know he said her name aloud in the dazed state. Nor did he know that he continued to say her name, over and over, as cum shot from his cock.

“I’ve been seeing someone. Hope none of you are jealous.” he admitted, blushing. “I’ll see you all later. Till then, take care.” he ended the livestream abruptly, finally taking a breath after logging out of his administrative account.

He closed his laptop and set it on the end table beside the wingchair, heading to the bathroom to shower and masturbate again to y/n.

[intheroomblog]

Navigating the Path to Recovery: Understanding Drug Addiction Treatment Options

For someone to successfully recover from addiction, it is crucial to understand the various drug addiction treatment options. It is necessary to have a thorough understanding of the several programs offered by drug and alcohol treatment centers. It examines several care tiers, ranging from rigorous inpatient rehab to outpatient programs. It highlights how crucial it is to create customized treatment programs that take into account the mental, emotional, and physical components of addiction. It makes it simpler to locate addiction treatment facilities nearby for individuals when they search for “drug and alcohol treatment centers near me.” They can get help by highlighting the availability of drug and alcohol treatment facilities.

[intheroomsrecoverytool]

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[mermaidsirennikita]

The true crime here is how TJR uses infidelity as a plot stick to beat almost all of her main female characters with. Carrie Soto, Camilla, Daisy, Nina. I did like how in the show, Camilla said peace out until Billy went back to rehab and (crucially!) for therapy as part of his treatment. Also this will be controversial but neither the show or the book really understood the nuances of addiction, particularly substance abuse. The show just showed a bunch of Daisy being a pixie girl and hoping around, the book made it seem like Billy’s willpower keeps him sober even though the stats show that about 50% of addicts relapse within of year of sobriety (high for substance abuse), and this would’ve been doubly true in the 70’s if Billy got no additional therapy and support treatment. Also, in recovery communities, what Billy did in the book is still considered relapse, not almost relapse. I do think TJR also had a very Hollywoodesque, surface level understanding of addiction.

I would agree--and I didn't mean to imply that Billy taking a sip isn't a serious issue, sorry about that! It's just nowhere near the extent of what he did on the show, and I think that his trigger just felt much more... real, than what occurred in the show. The fact that Billy relapsing in the book was connected to Teddy's death expanded his emotional range in the way the show just wasn't interested in. Not everything was about being torn between two women and being into drugs and alcohol; a lot of it was about his issues with his own role as man and his lack of a strong male figure in his life until Teddy came along.

Personally, I know a good number of addicts, and I don't know anyone who hasn't relapsed, so it does seem unlikely to me that Billy never would again, if not, of course, technically impossible. For the sake of a book, I don't think that I needed to know every minute of Billy's life after the band broke up. Do I think the Billy of the book would have gone to therapy, ever? Nope, I sure don't. And I don't think I would've wanted him to, tbh. He still needed therapy at the time of the interview; that's part of why he was a compelling character to have interviewed. He couldn't come to terms with everything he did. He was a loving husband and father, and he was also deeply damaged and self-loathing. Both of those things can exist in one space. I mean, how many people have fathers that they'd call great fathers--who also seriously need therapy? Probably many.

I was willing to accept the book's version of Billy white knuckling it through sobriety because I think that this was something the book established really well as a hallmark of his character. It was the double-edged sword of his personality. Billy was the type of guy who thought he needed to be a Real Man for his family the way his father never was. He would sacrifice a lot to be that guy--not just the substances he found solace in, but his feelings for Daisy, his music, his art. And then any issues he had he'd take out on people like Eddie, Graham, etc. I imagine he and Camila had highs and lows after the band broke up, like many long term marriages, and those highs and lows came back to his white knuckling personality.

So yeah, I totally agree that the book wasn't realistic about it either--but I also think the book just was better product in terms of character consistency, so I was willing to believe in it. Billy's sobriety (as it was) was kind of a plot device, versus something true to life. I think the book's version of.... a lack of reality, was also more palatable to the rather goofy version on the show.

I mean, the book also really didn't get into nasty shit that comes with addiction either--like, as much as Daisy was snorting everything that moved, she probably should've had some nose bleeds at least. Shit the bed like Kendall Roy, girl! Wake up in your own vomit. Be GROSS. In the book, the fact that they're all telling the stories themselves makes it feel more like they're glossing over embarrassing shit, but the show isn't that, not really. So it was wild to me to see Daisy do her little Stevie Nix dance to express how high she was, and having a pretty aesthetic~ overdose.

Basically: both were unrealistic, for sure, but the book was a more artistically valid approach to unrealism, whereas the show was just. Lifetime drug addiction. "Augusta's Gone", but it's Daisy Jones.

I don't mind TJR's fixation on infidelity; I actually really love how the book dealt with it, because it was so gray. But I do think that none of her other works hit it as hard as this one does, and the show just. Isn't vaguely interested in nuance.

[stronghearttraumarecovery]

At Strongheart Trauma Recovery, we provide top-tier marriage counseling in Novi MI, designed to help couples build stronger, healthier relationships. Our experienced therapists specialize in addressing the unique challenges that marriages face, from communication issues to trauma recovery. We offer a compassionate and supportive environment where couples can work through their differences, rebuild trust, and enhance their emotional connection.

Strongheart Trauma Recovery 47610 Grand River, #1286, Novi, MI 48374 (248) 677–1090

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[dark-roleplay-finder]

🕊️👾 Hello there! I (18NB) am looking for a partner (18-22) to fill the position of an OC in an OCxOC MxM RP. The RP will include elements of substance abuse, mental illness, and self-injury, so if that's not your thing, please don't inquire further.

The plot that I have in mind is Character A and Character B have somehow found themselves rooming together in rehab. As Character A nears the end of his inpatient treatment, Character B slips him his phone number during a moment of downtime, telling him to text him so that they can stay in contact beyond treatment. Having become friends throughout the course of the program, Character A happily accepts the phone number, and promises that he will shoot him a text as soon as he gets his phone back. Character A is discharged that evening, and they bid each other a temporary farewell.

After a week or so longer, in which Character B gets discharged from the program as well, Character B excitedly checks his phone, only to find that Character A hadn't bothered to contact him at all after getting out. Left with no way to contact Character A, Character B gives up on the idea of remaining friends, and instead decides to move forward with his treatment and life.

Several months pass without any contact, and Character B essentially forgets about Character A. This is where we would pick up with the RP, having them meet again in some kind of scenario, whatever we decide that may be. I am comfortable with taking on the role of either character, so long as we keep the backstory the same.

If you are interested in this plot, or in brainstorming something similar with me, like this post and I will reach out to you. Thank you for your time, and I hope that we meet again soon!

Like this post and the asker will reach out!

[substancerehab]

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