Finally my mother got the courage to admit me. So we walked in. She had set up an appointment but we were late for that. That was okay. They did it anyway. They did an extensive drug history. Did you do this. Did you do that. Where. When. How. With whom. There were times I couldn’t remember. Was I blacked out? I didn’t think so, but they marked me down as blacked out away. I just .. couldn’t remember. I didn’t think I drank that much. Yes, on occasion I went through a bottle of Maddog 20/20 by myself in one sitting or a bottle of Jack Daniels that one time with my friend in one day. But everyone I knew drank as much as I did. Yes, I drank during the week, it was summer. Yes, I drank in the mornings. I didn’t sleep so mornings had little meaning to me the way they did to other people.
 
  And of course I was admitted. My mom had to sign all the papers. Most important was the paperwork allowing me to smoke. I was given a short tour. It was after lights out so the unit was empty. I met the night staff and saw one other patient, a tall guy with blond curly hair. He was out of his room asking for something.  My blood was drawn and my pulse and temperature taken, two things that they told me they would be doing morning and night every day. I had no clothes with me since this was a surprise to me so they gave me a pair of hospital pajamas to wear and sent to me. Almost. First the semi-strip search. I had to take off my shirt and pants and pull out my bra and pull my panties to the side. To make sure nothing fell out. I was finally sent to bed in a room with three other girls already in bed asleep. How bizarre for them to wake up and find me there.
 
  In the morning I got dressed. Up at six. Pulse, temperature, cigarette. Breakfast at seven. I didn’t eat. I said I wasn’t hungry. But the truth was I didn’t have any money. I couldn’t pay for it. So I sat and waited while everyone else ate. I answered all the questions they hadn’t asked yet while we were smoking.  They were not quite bored with me yet.
  After breakfast was school. Four hours of it. Not a bad deal. I spent half the time that first day in with my new case manager, Tim. In the school part what work you get depends on your grade, since I had failed and was in still in eighth I got stuff I already knew, so it was a breeze for me. Boring really.
  Lunch. And again, me without money. My mom had yet to drop off anything, clothes or money. So I went without. But this time I sat at the end of the tables where I could see they didn’t seem to be paying. Although I wasn’t sure. I just didn’t know for sure. I was uptight anyway and not really that hungry. I could wait it out. Another cigarette.
  After lunch was group time. Addictions group or relaxation group. Or some sort of group therapy. I skipped that first day. I had the standard psychiatric evaluation. Fun. It took the whole afternoon.
  Another cigarette. Later afternoon was recreation. Basketball. Soccer. Volleyball. That first day I played soccer and I liked it though I could barely keep up. Then free time for the rest of the time before dinner. You could work on the assignments that staff gave you or your homework from school or write letters or make calls, watch tv or smoke. Do whatever. Evenings were AA meetings. Or visits. Also weekends were visits in the afternoons. And you could have a day pass.
  At dinner one of the counselors pulled me aside and asked why I wasn’t eating. I was embarrassed but finally admitted it was because my mom hadn’t brought me any money to pay for it yet. She told me it was covered by my insurance. I didn’t have to pay. So finally I got to eat. I felt stupid for not having realized that.
  Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to get used to smoking in front of my mom. She was the ‘cool’ mom. When she came to visit she gave cigarettes to the kids that didn’t have any. She cussed right along with them. Laughed at their drug stories. didn’t shun their drug use and felt for their being in drug rehab. HELLO. Commiserating with them over being locked up. Again… the irony. They all liked her. She was the most popular mom and they all told me so. But I had to live with her and I told THEM so.
  The next day I met with a psychologist. A woman this time, Sara. I liked her. She was not as stiff as the Dr. had been. She worked with him and gave me more tests.  Her tests seemed more fun, probably because I liked her more. But I didn’t think I would see her again.
  Bed at ten thirty. Up at six. Temp. Pulse. Cigarette. Breakfast at seven. School at eight. Starts all over again. Except I saw the Dr. again that day. And again on the fourth day. I saw the psychologist again on the sixth day. I liked her better. She wasn’t as authorative. As stiff and commanding. The testing was finally finished.
  On the seventh day Tim called me into his office. He had to tell me three things. The night before my great grandmother had died. My mother had been arrested for her second DUI. And I needed psychiatric help not drug rehab. “you’re not an alcoholic but you’re mother is” I loved and hated that statement at the same time. I think the staff were irritated with her giving out cigarettes to the kids without permission to smoke and encouraging the cussing and the drugs. At fourteen being told my mom was the one with the problem I just loved it, at the same time how dare he talk about her like that. That was MY MOTHER. He just didn’t know. 
 
  And what was this about psychiatric help?
  “You need more care than we can give you.” It was the first time I would hear those words. “I’m trying to get you into a place that can give you that kind of help. I’ve got you on several waiting lists to be transferred to a psychiatric facility” But I wasn’t sick. He just said it was my mom. He went on to explain I wouldn’t be going home. Id be seeing the psychologist three times a week and the Dr. once a week. My blood test had come back and my THC levels had come back extremely high. Well no shit. I said I had been smoking it. But he just said that wasn’t my problem. Why couldn’t I go home to wait. No. He was going to keep me. I couldn’t win.
  Recreation was volleyball. Good. I wanted to hit something. After dinner was AA. I didn’t understand why I was required to go if I wasn’t an alcoholic. But I was required to go. Just for show I think. Same as I was required to do the drug assignments as everyone else. Things like journal entries and essay questions about your feelings about drugs and drug questionnaires and working the steps. I supposed the staff knew that the Dr. thought I had other problems and it was determined that drugs were not my problem so they went easy on me. I also noticed no one else was seeing the psychologist or the Dr. That was okay. It was just a big misunderstanding. They would figure that out. I would make them see that. In time. If they really believed I was sick they would have taken me to the hospital. None of this waiting list shit.

  I settled into the routine easily enough. Even earned a few day passes. The first few days were bumpy but after that it was okay. I never really got into trouble though. I was well behaved. I was mostly afraid to get into trouble. What would they think if I did. That I was sick and needed the hospital maybe. And there was nothing wrong with me.

  I did plot to get kicked out with another patient, Doug. We thought if I could get caught in his room, in bed together, then we could both get kicked out. And we were desperate to get kicked out. I for sure didn’t want to get transferred to some other hospital. Not that that had been brought up again. It hadn’t. But I didn’t want to be there either. I wanted to leave. So this was the scheme we came up. In the end I didn’t try to get to his room. I didn’t think I could get past the night desk. So I never got in any real trouble. I maybe didn’t do an assignment once. But that’s all.
 
  There was one guy there, Jared, who did get kicked out. He had said he did a lot of drugs. I must have said so in the intake and I know he did with us. Told a lot of stories. Smoked a lot of pot. So he said. So of course he was admitted on his word. That’s how it worked. But his blood came back clean. Why he did it I don’t know. Maybe he told he friends he smoked a lot and they told he parents who over reacted and wouldn’t believe the truth so he went along with it? I don’t know. Maybe he was just depressed and his parents took that for signs of drug use. In the 80s everything was a sign of drug use it seemed like. He was the only person I ever saw kicked out of anywhere. And for being clean.
  About two weeks in my mom came in for a visit with some bad news for me. My good friend from home had gotten beat up by her boyfriend pretty badly. She had been in the hospital for it even. I wasn’t able to visit with her. Or talk to her. Just to be with her. I will always feel bad about that. 
 
  My brother came to visit a time or two. He didn’t really have much to say. What do kid brothers every have to say at that age. He was 12. Not much. About the same as he had to say at home. Not much. My dad came to pick me up for a day pass once. We went out eat. Again, not much to say. My dad’s not a talker. Never was. The fact that he showed up says a lot. We went to Steak ‘n’ Shake. I had cheese fries. We didn’t talk but he was there. That’s what matters.
 
  Basketball; I tried to play nice. I really did. But apparently, despite what I’ve seen on tv, its not a contact sport. Really. Even though it looks like there is plenty of contact. So I always had to sit out. ‘Anger issues’.
 
  Over all rehab was fairly uneventful. I wasn’t given a pass to attend Nana’s funeral. I was mad about that. And very very sad. Sad to this day. But I wasn’t in for any major holidays. No one ran away. No one attempted suicide. The staff were friendly and never gave demerits just because they could. All in all it was a good place to be. A safe place.
 
  Twenty eight days is a really short amount of time. Unless you are fourteen. Unless you are in rehab. Unless you are in some hospital like setting. Then it feels like forever. But really, its only a few short weeks.
 
  Soon enough there was only one person left that had been there when I was admitted and that scared me. It meant my time was almost up. When he left, only three short days before I was scheduled leave, I cried. A lot. Now I had been there longer than anyone else. And I wasn’t even an alcoholic.
 
  I was scared and worried about what would happen to me when I got out. That’s why I cried. I didn’t know what would happen to me. I couldn’t picture my life on the outside, so to speak. I was safe there. It was a feeling I hadn’t know before.
 
  Three days later it happened. My twenty eight days were up. The insurance ran out. I was magically ‘cured’ No psychiatric hospital had opened up their list and taken me. Because of course nothing was wrong with me. It was just a big mistake. This whole thing was. A huge misunderstanding. If there really was anything wrong with me I would have been admitted somewhere. So I was going home.
 
  I got a small party. We all sat in a circle and had cake. Then they sent me home. I didn’t want to go.