[Trigger Warning: talking about depression, bulimia, and symptoms of detoxing]

It was the next morning, bright and early, and I was in my first group therapy session. I was largely cranky from detoxing. All things considered, it wasn't nearly as bad as the last time. Last time I was here, I was in the hospital wing of the building for the first five days, being monitored. I hadn't known that alcohol was one of the few drugs you could actually die from going through withdrawals. Yeah, it was a scary and rough five days.

That was after I had been drinking heavily since the age of thirteen though. This time around I have been sober for a while. Don't get me wrong; I definitely had begun drinking every day again when I fell off the wagon. The difference was I wasn't trashed every day.

So as of right now my symptoms were a fucking terrible headache, my heart occasionally decided to dance a jig in my chest, and I had already puked a few times. I could deal. This wasn't, "Oh my God I'm hallucinating and they're afraid I'm going to have a seizure". This was, "give me some fucking alcohol before I rip your God damn head off." Still annoying, but not nearly as terrifying.

I was the newbie, so that meant I had the floor as we opened up. Scott, to my secret relief, was in my morning group. He sat across from me, arms crossed, looking at his feet instead of me.

I hated this. But at the same time, I wasn't going to be a rude dick like last time. By this point I had nearly four months under my belt of this shit, so even though I didn't want to pour my heart out to this group of people, I knew I had to. So I did.

"My name is Orion Bauwens and I'm an alcoholic," I started. "I'm also bulimic and suffer from depression and anxiety."

The therapist paused, before filling in for me, "And you have OCD."

I let my dark eyes flick to the side. "Yeah, that, too. But I've gotten a pretty good handle on that, now."

"Alright Orion," the therapist told me, "since you already have the floor, why don't we open up today's meeting with you."

I had to grit my teeth to stop myself from saying, "How about not?" I might have been new, but I knew the drill. I knew what sort of session this was, so I began spoon feeding everyone what I knew was expected.

"So," I said, scratching the back of my head like I had fleas as I looked at the floor instead of at anyone, "short of the long is, I've been in rehab before. I was sober for a while, but then..."

I can't continue as memories flash through my head like a fucking movie. What should I say? But then I threw everything away? I paused, trying to weigh how much I was willing to divulge, especially in this first session. When my stomach lurched at even just the thought of how the past few months went down, I decided not much.

"Then some stuff happened to me having to do with my profession, and I found myself getting overwhelmed again. Like, really overwhelmed. When I get overwhelmed, I start thinking about how I feel like I had very little control over most of my life. It triggers my depression."

I glanced at Scott, who was looking at me with intense eyes. So I looked away again. "When I get depressed everything unravels. I get so hung up on that feeling of hopelessness that I just want it to stop. Drinking numbs me--numbs everything--so here I am."

I had said the last part barely above a whisper. Fuck if I was going to cry on my first day though.

"That's a good start, Orion. Thank you for sharing."

I looked at the therapist in the face. "May I be excused? Detox, gonna puke."

She looked slightly alarmed, but pointed to the direction of the bathroom. "Washroom is right there."

Making it a point to not look at Scott, I sped my way to the bathroom and did exactly what I said I was going to. However, when I was done and had taken some sips of water, I was nice enough to return instead of just hiding in the bathroom for the full hour.

Because, you know. It's not like last time I was here I did that once, or anything.

~

"You look a little green around the gills."

I picked my head up at the familiar voice. Scott set his tray down once again across from me and sits. Sighing, I close my eyes as my mouth waters.

"Please don't mention the color green. Or the fact that I'm supposed to be eating now. Don't mention food." I moan and put my head on the table. "In fact, just--don't talk."

I hear him chuckle. "That bad, huh?"

"Better than last time. Last time I was in the med wing for almost a week."

"Yikes. Been there, no fun."

I pick my head up. "How many times?"

Scott holds up two fingers. "So, half the amount of times I've been in rehab."

I suddenly feel oddly giddy. Maybe it's because I finally found someone relatable, as loathful as I was to admit it. "Did you ever in your life think the words 'times I've been in rehab' would leave your lips?"

Scott laughs in his perfectly charming English way. "First time, no. Second time, no. Third time? Yeah. This time? Definitely."

That makes me laugh a little. However I regret it immediately, my stomach twisting. Closing my eyes I put my head down once more.

"You gotta eat," Scott chirps.

I shake my head.

"C'mon, at least try the salad, mate. It's really good."

I pick my head up and glare. "Are you trying to make me barf? I don't think either of us want that. It'd ruin your appetite, and I'm sure the guilt you'd feel from making a bulimic puke would be terrible."

Scott frowns at me and looks a little uncomfortable. Oops. So, I do what I do best and make a joke out of it. I extend my hand and force a grin. "Hi, my name is Orion Bauwens and I try not to take anything seriously."

Flashing me a wary look, Scott shakes my hand. When he still gives me the side eye, I roll my own.

"Seriously, please don't be like that. I know, it's a serious subject. But I try to laugh about it because if I don't laugh what else is there?"

After a moment, Scott sort of shakes himself. I can see the resignation in his face. He then picks up his glass of juice and holds it up. "Fair enough. Cheers."

I pick up my own water and clink my glass. As soon as I put my glass down, Scott has his eyes honed in on me. "Now eat your salad."

I look at it and frown, trying not to gag. I grab three croutons and pop them into my mouth. Closing my eyes, I try to convince myself that it tastes good and isn't making my stomach do barrel rolls.

"I said salad, not croutons."

I chew a bit, trying to prepare myself to swallow. "This is the closest thing to toast right now. I don't think my stomach can handle real food."

"Do you always talk with your mouth full?"

When I open my eyes to glare, I find Scott is giving me a rather disgusted look.

"Fuck off. I seriously feel like shit right now."

I'm happy when I close my eyes again to his laughter.