“Yeah, Nic, I do. I really do.”
“And maybe I could even get into an outpatient program. That’d be a really great way to start meeting people, plus I’d get drug-tested once a week.”
My dad has tears in his eyes again, but in a different sort of way. “That would be wonderful. I think that’s a great idea. I’ll make some calls as soon as we get back.”
I hug him and thank him and tell him how much I love him. For some reason, I actually feel pretty excited about everything. I’m excited to start getting better. I’m excited to move forward. I feel hopeful, suddenly. I’m not sure where that’s coming from.
“Dad,” I say, looking off at the horizon again, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No,” he almost whispers. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s so hard. I’m sorry you keep having to go through this. I understand now, Nic, I really do. I hate that you have this illness. But I know it’s an illness. I don’t take it personally anymore. We all get it—Karen, the kids—all of us. We just want to help in any way we can.”
“You are helping,” I tell him. “I mean, you’ve just helped me so much. You did everything right. Man, you’ve really learned a lot from all this book stuff, huh?”
He laughs. “Well, so have you. I can’t believe how easy this was. In the past you would have blown up at me and then totally shut off. You’ve made a ton of progress, Nic, whether you can see that or not. I mean, honestly, it might seem like you keep falling down again and again. But really, from the outside, I can see that when you fall now, you’re really not falling anywhere near as far down as you used to. It’s like you still make mistakes, but you’re learning how not to make as bad mistakes—as often. You are getting better, Nic, I promise.”
I laugh along with him at that. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s something.”
The ferry has slowed and stuttered, and when we look off to the side, I can see the harbor coming up fast. Above us the sun is obscured behind drifting clouds, and I notice that the reflection of the boat and the other world has vanished completely. The parallel reality is gone, and I’m stuck back here, trapped by the decisions I’ve made and the circumstances of my life. But as the ferry eases in to the dock and my dad puts an arm around my shoulder, I realize that, suddenly, this reality doesn’t seem all that bad after all. I feel hope—you know, genuine hope. And I owe that entirely to my dad and all the hard work he’s done trying to understand my alcoholism or addiction or whatever. It’s kind of amazing, right?
So we walk together to the rental car, and I hold his hand, and I feel truly excited for the first time in… man, forever. As hard as it’s gonna be, I actually feel like I can do it, and there’s a weightlessness in me—a calm—a serenity. Even the fact that I’m about to have to lie my ass off in front of all these people at the rehab doesn’t seem all that bad. I mean, I know it’s fucked up, but the guilt isn’t tearing me apart like it used to. Anyway, it’s just one lie. And in a lifetime full of millions, I guess one isn’t all that bad. At least I’m pretty damn used to it by now.
Ch.35
It took about ten phone calls, but I finally did find a psychiatrist here in LA who sounded pretty cool. I mean, all I had to go on was a brief phone conversation, but, uh, I don’t know, this woman just seemed like a good fit is all. I can’t totally explain it—other than to say that, uh, yeah, I got a good feeling from her. Plus, she’s young and works specifically with addicts. And she’s a she, which has always been more comfortable for me.
But, anyway, we met the other day and, man, she really is awesome. I just respect everything she says so completely, and she was totally cool about not pressuring me about twelve-step stuff at all—even going so far as to say that a lot of addicts in recovery don’t relate to the program and I shouldn’t feel bad or evil or doomed to failure. Hell, that’s tantamount to heresy at every rehab I’ve ever been to, so I respect her not looking at everything as so goddamn black and white.
In terms of meds, well, she’s starting me out on a kind of intimidating regimen of lithium, Lamictal, and Prozac. It’s a lot of meds, for sure, but she definitely feels like I’ve been goin’ around untreated way too long. So I’m going through the little sample packs of each medication, trying not to get my hopes up, but, you know, feeling hopeful just the same.
The whole medication thing is pretty fucking annoying, too, ’cause it’s so hard to tell whether the shit’s working or not. I mean, it’s not like taking a hit of E, or whatever, where suddenly everything is all bright, shiny rainbows. It’s subtle. It doesn’t bring me up at all. If anything, it just makes the lows not as low as they would’ve been in the past. And the lithium, well, it really has started to even me out a whole
