Rehab – Day One

by asifemily

21/03/14

So my – and those of Herr Vogel – concerns that I would be out on my arse if the workers here at H—— got wind of my recent bout of non-drug taking were unfounded.  That means that the two injections of crack into the only place I can easily get a vein – my breasts – were simultaneously on Doctor’s orders and a complete waste of money.  Wait…is that true?  I enjoyed it, that’s fair to say.  Not the high, necessarily, which is as any crack user will tell you is too short and too moreish, but the process of injecting and the satisfaction of the instant effects.  I won’t go into further detail as I have found that the best way to stay clean is to simply ignore the topic, even in my own head.

The place itself is a definite step up from my first ever Entgiftung (un-poisoning) at B—– Hospital.  Instead of being under lock and key all day in the middle of the city, H—— is fairly isolated.  I can only see fields from here, although I am aware that the Dorf is just over the brow of the hill.  There are hens, geese and ducks in a large paddock and a pair of semi-feral cats roaming about.  I dislike cats as a rule – not enough personality – but farm cats are an exception as they seem to have perfected the wild/domesticated balance.

It’s almost an effort to write in English.  Who would have thought it?  From being so unsure of my mastery of German as an eighteen year old that I gave up my place at University before I had even arrived to being almost unable to fluidly express myself in English!  It just goes to show that immersion into a language is only really possible when one immerses oneself in the culture.  Don’t get me wrong, without my years of German at school and mind numbingly boring repetition of verb tables, I don’t believe I would be as fluent as I am but you can’t teach day-to-day or slang German.  For one thing, culture and language are fluid and ever changing (I like to think I have done my bit towards expanding the linguistic pool by accidentally coining the term ‘gesteined’ instead of ‘stoned’) so the textbooks would need to be constantly updated.  And no government funding for education would cover that frippery.

Back to the present.  I’m sitting alone in the room I share with a sullen, silent newcomer like myself, writing.  It’s not a bad room; big, relatively clean and well lit with the aforementioned view of the fields.  And in view of the smoking area.  Must remember to draw curtains, unless I want to incite lust and/or revulsion from the varying members of the programme.  Not that they don’t seem okay at the moment, but I think the sight of my bulging stomach and small tits might push a few over the edge.  And apropos smoking, my nicotine addiction (that in light of my more unsavoury problems, I couldn’t give a fuck about confronting) calls…