Chapter 4 - Thoughts and Bondage Masters

The schedule in rehab is pretty structured. It’s classes Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Writing on Wednesdays and Art on Fridays. We have one-on-one therapy once a week and a pox-arse games night on Mondays night.

Class is again cancelled because of the parents seminar. We have to watch 'The Secret' instead. I hate 'The Secret', it's the power of positive thinking converted into quick-fix magic. It's all about materialism and individualism and having everything u want. It's 'The Sickness'. I watch 30 seconds and sneak out and sit by the riverbank. I listen to the Magpies, watch the Butterflies flutter around noxious weeds, I think about David Dick, the junkie who said his life had changed because 'The Secret' and the power of positive thinking.

Why the fuck am I here? To watch shit like 'The Secret' and become a deluded, brainwashed member of the rehab cult. I felt hatred. Hatred. I don’t want to be here. But I want to get a good body. That's the only reason I'm here, I want to be uber-hot. I want my hotness to be the only thing people notice about me.

A new girl named Celia walks passed me.
“R u wagging Luke u naughty boy”
She’s mid-thirties, Eastern European looking with big tits.
“Yeah I fucking the secret”
“Have u noticed what a dump this place this?”
“Ah-ha”
“I want to go to the rehab that all celebrities go”
It sounded so shallow coming from somebody else’s mouth.
“Why don’t u”“Well there is a place in Byron called The Sanctuary. It’s got fucking everything. Massage, spa, daily therapy sessions. It costs like $8000 a week”
“That’s expensive; this is rehab for people on the dole”
“I could afford that”
“Really?”
“Yeah I’ve got $40,000 in the bank, but that’s my plastic surgery money”
“Ok, what do you do for a job”
“I’ll tell u, but u can’t tell anyone here, ok”
“Ok, why do u trust me?”
“Because u hate The Secret”
“Fair enough”
“I’m a stripper; I earn $3000 a week”
“That’s a lot of money”
“Yeah, but I’m nearly too old so I’m going to have plastic surgery so I keep going, cause I love stripping. People see strippers as victims, I see the dickhead guys who come and see us as victims”
“So what r u going to get done?”
“Liposuction, a second nose job, a boob job and getting my face pulled back like this” she said distorting her face with her hands “I’m going to be stunning”
“Your pretty now” I say
“Yeah I am pretty now, but I am not stunning. I want to be gorgeous I want men to go gaga over me. Do u know how much power a beautiful woman has?”
“A lot”
“Well you think about a rich husband, a mansion, men sending u gifts, I could click my fingers and get men to do anything I want”
“So why r u in rehab? Surely drugs wouldn’t be great for your looks?”
“I had a problem. No wait let me see. First I had a problem with pot and then speed and then crystal meth and then heroin. I’m also addicted to my anti-anxiety pills, Xanax. Have u had heroin”
“Yeah, it’s ok”
“Oh my god how groovy is it, I mean it’s bad being addicted but its fucking groovy. I met this guy from Narcotic Anonymous and he was this sexy little junkie. We used to do needles together and have amazing sex. Needles are so sensual, the whole thing of having a relationship with a junkie is so sexy”
“I always thought junkies were ugly”
“That’s why I have to stop and also so I can do my job. U don’t have to completely sane to flash your tits for money, but u cant be junked off your head either. U need to be well off to put make up on”
“I’ve got a degree in Political Science Celia and the most important thing I’ve learned to make sure u get ready before u take ur drugs. I’ve learnt that the hard way”
She stared at me intensely and then just cracked up laughing, a hearty, warm, sincere laugh.

This neurotic stripper was seeming more and more like me the more she talked.

“Ur gay aren’t u?”
“Yep”
“Gay nightclub have the best drugs”
“Gay guys need good drugs to escape from their problems”
“A lot of people say gay guys are like women, but I don’t think they are. I think a good gay guy is the best of women and man put together”
“And the awful one’s manage to combine a woman’s bitchiness with a man’s ego” I say
“I don’t mind licking a bit of pussy”
“Yeah, I occasionally fuck a chick”
“Really? Well mostly I do it at work cause Men love a Leso show. I did meet this one guy at work. A lot of the guys I date are customers from work. He liked us to have threesomes with get this, not just hookers, but black hookers”
“Strange, people’s fetishes are strange” I say hoping she will tell me more.
“Guys love it if we dress up in school uniform, one time this group of school teachers came in and they wanted all to dress up in uniform and pretend we were in class. Sicko bastards. But this one guy, oh my god wanted to be farted on.”
“What, farted on?”
“Yeah. No shit. He paid me and my friend $70 to fart on him”
“Did u fart on him?”
“Yeah right on his face. And he said ‘you didn’t fart’ and I said ‘yes I did’ and then he said ‘yeah but it didn’t smell. Fucking psycho”
“Celia that might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard. After that I better lay down, nice talking to u tho”

Celia has no idea how much we have in common.

I walk back to Villa. There’s a little fly-trap sitting in the garden. It’s a brightly coloured jar; when the flies go in they got stuck to the wax until they die. A heap of them are dead already, some are still swarming around.

I remind myself I'm in rehab because I need to get well to get my job back and let me repeat - despite its hip reputation - Britney Spears does not stay at this rehab. But for some reason, Celia does.

Damien and Sam sit outside.
"Jarrod's left" Damien says.
“Why?" I ask
“Who knows, but I think he's making a mistake"
"I kind of got the impression his heart wasn’t in it" I say "He just slept all day"

"Yeah man he had a few issues, that Jarrod. He killed two of his friends in a car accident, went to jail and now he's got full-blown schizophrenia" Sam says.
"I wouldn’t have picked him for schizo, just severely fucked-up" I sat.
"Man, let me tell you. He used to sit in his bed talking to people who weren’t there. Then some days he was a karate kid, some days he thought he was Jesus"
"I guess I didn’t really talk to him that much"
"Nobody did Luke, but people come and go here all the time. Most people don’t stay the full 12 weeks. You kind of get used to people leaving. It’s definitely not the best thing for him in my opinion" Damien says.

Jarrod is gone.

I walk off. I can imagine Jarrod in all his insanity still going out there and having fun; going to the pub, going to the beach. I want to leave.

How do I fix the problem if the problem isn’t really drugs? I'm nothing of an addict compared to many of these people. This is nothing but a sheltered workshop, a fucked-up little cult. I just want a cute boyfriend with good hair and then I know I'll be clean. I can’t handle being clapped all the time. I don’t like being told I’m wonderful. Addiction cycles having nothing to do with me, I'm not an addict. I just like being loved, that's all. That's not dysfunctional, is it? Wanting love doesn’t make me an addict does it?

I go back outside and bot a smoke off Damien.
"What's on your mind, Luke?"Nothing, just thinking maybe I want to leave"
"Why?"
"I'm just not sure I'm enough of an addict to be here"
"Can I ask you a question?" Damien asks
"Yes I'm gay" I say, anticipating the question
"You’re not offended that I asked you?"
"Nah its fine'
"Y'know I come across loads of lesbians in rehabs, but gay men tend to be a minority. I'm not sure why. Because I know drugs are rife in the gay community. But let me tell you mate, not one person in here would have a problem with your sexuality. Homophobes are an ever diminishing minority in this day and age"
"Yeah, no shit. I can’t imagine in this day and age why it would bother anyone unless you had serious hang-ups"
"But mate, I reckon you would have a very particular set of issues coming from the gay community'
"That's true. ICE use is so mainstream in the gay clubbing scene. Everyone smokes it. It’s hip to have a crack pipe"
"That's why Luke I reckon you should stay here for the full 12 weeks, you'll learn a lot about yourself. I've got two Psychology degrees and I'm amazed with what I've learnt about my alcoholism"
"What have you learned?"
"I've learnt a lot; like that I have a lot of resentment. I revisit negative emotions with my resentment and when I do that I drink"
"I think that's good Damien, my problem is that I'm not sure I'm really an addict. I think I need to lay down and think about it a bit more”

I go to bed. Bunch of fucking crazies and drug addicts. I don't think this is going to help me being here. farting goes on 24/7 in The Bronx. It’s making me sick. Its fine for them, but for me, I've gotta go out there and fuck guys up the arse knowing that they fart like cows.

I lay in bed and I feel like shit. It's awful, like a wave of nausea. I just want someone around. Someone in my bed. Someone to cuddle up to me and make me feel strong again.

I'm alone, I feel like have porcupines in my stomach, I can't think straight, I want it to end, but I don't know what 'it' is. I can't stop feeling awful.

I sneak into the kitchen. I pick-up a knife and hide in my pocket. I walk into the bathroom and lock the door. I put the knife to my skin and slice away. There is no blood, only a scratch. I wash my face. I have a facial, I use all my expensive face creams.

I feel better. I feel naughty and bad and better all at the same time.

The pain has been sublimated, I am relieved.

I go back to bed and stop worrying and think about Damien. He's seems pretty ok actually. It was nice that he saw right through me and in a second lifted any underlying insecurities I might have about my sexuality. He's smart, charismatic and has spent most of us life fucking himself up with alcohol. Apparently our assets can cut both ways.

I fall asleep. I dream about a guy with blonde hair and blue eyes. I was lying in bed with him.
"I'm going now" he said 'Do u wanna come?" and he smiled at me. Now I am awake.

And the dream plays on my mind. Not just the dream itself, but gay men and the gay world in general. The virtue and the bad side of the gay world is that you end up associating with people you have nothing in common with except your sexuality. We all sit around in tacky gay bars and sing 'hooray I'm gay' the Kylie Minogue Disco-Trash remix. And of course there are 'in' groups in the gay club scene; the trannies who get paid by clubs just to be there, the drug dealers, the hot ones. People who become drug dealers to get status. People like me who take drugs with the drug dealers for the sake of status. If I didn’t hang around the drug dealers, I hang out with the beautiful people. I hang out with the TV presenters and the gorgeous transsexuals and the 18 year old models and the newspaper columnists, not because I think I was hot…just because I needed the validation. And then there’s bitchy drug-ridden after parties where we eat rose bulbs, paranoia and self-loathing for brunch. I kind of love how the whole thing is a funny little fuck-off to the normal rules of normal society. How some people seem to go against all social rules and win the game anyway. I guess like drug dealers who live in flash apartments and drive expensive cars. I cant help but think the 'in' group in clubland would learn of me being here in rehab and think I was 'lame' and be so 'O.V.A ova me as a result'. I'm not sure why, but that hurts me. It hurts to feel excluded from something, even if it’s self-imposed and even if it’s the gay drug scene.

*

Meds time comes around again. I speak to the flaky hippie girl. She looks at me with tired eyes and those dark circles.

"I've only been able to sleep 4 hours a night" she said, but I wasn’t really listening...I had an overwhelming urge to rush her face with Dermalogica tinted eye cream or scrub her face with Dr. Lewinn's Private Formula.

I managed to pull myself together enough to continue the conversation
"Yeah, I haven't been sleeping well either" I said.
"Y'know I would have thought I would be used to this place by now?"
"How long have you been here for?"
"Only a week, but this is my second time in here. I left in October, but relapsed basically within a fortnight"
"Jesus, why?"
"Well, I’ve been taking drugs since I was 13. I'm now 29 and I think 3 months in a program wasn’t enough. Anyway, I’m up for meds...so I'll talk to you later” she said like she was exhausted not just by lack of sleep, but sick of being stuck with her own problems.

I took my meds as well, Zoloft and Prednisolone. The Prednisolone was starting to work, for the first time in a month I could my asthmatic, nicotine scarred lungs start to open up. It felt good.


We have class. A new guy came in; So did Celia, I wasn’t the new guy anymore.

We learn about CBT - Cognitive-Behavioural Therapy the basis of the rehab program. CBT is based on the idea that our thoughts control everything.

We get told the problem with addicts is that they don’t think about the consequences of getting smashed like a non-addict would.

Shirley explains that our drug taking comes down to this formula event-automatic thoughts-attitudes-feelings-action-outcome. She says we need to work out why certain events trigger the thought that we need to take drugs.

We all make a list of events that often lead to drug use. People say 'Friday nights', 'having an argument with partner' and 'hearing dance music'.

Shirley explains that 'hearing dance music' belongs to a category they call 'euphoric recall'.

I write my list of risky events;
- Being dumped
- Going out
- Being at a venue
- Stressful day at work
- Having something good happen
- Having something bad happen

We have to write how drug use affects our response to stressful events.

"Of course, Drugs make us feel better" Shirley explains "That's why we take them cause they make us feel good. But the consequences of drug use usually make your problem worse and then u take more drugs to deal with the problem and it gets worse and that's the cycle of addiction"

Shirley explains that we have a set of beliefs related to a desired outcome in any given situation. She asks us to write a high trigger moment situation and explain what we want the outcome of that to be.

So I write 'at a club' and I want to have fun, I want to be naughty, I want to be social, I want to pick-up, I want to be confident.

And then we write the consequences. Through drugs I become all those things, I become the sort of person I want to be.

Shirley says we need to work out why we cant be all those things without drugs and that's why we are here to work out what has gone wrong that we can't do all those things on our own.

Celia puts up her hand
“Shirley this reminds me of a story. Y’know how I’m addicted to Xanax. Well once I was so smashed that I peeled a cigarette and ate it like a banana”
Shirley tells Celia to be careful that she’s not bragging about fun times she’s had on drugs cause that’s against the rules.
Celia looks devastated.
“I’m not bragging, I’m telling u what a fucking idiot I am”

After class I talked to Shirley. I wanted to tell her that I felt like leaving.
"I'm not sure if I should be here"
"What were u thinking about that led u to that conclusion?"
"Um, that I'd rather be somewhere else. I'd rather have someone around me, lying in bed with me"
"Yes and what else where you thinking about?"
"All the times I've been dumped and all the people I’ve had feelings for who haven't liked me back'
"What else?"
"All the hip people I used to go clubbing with who would think I was a fucking dork for being in rehab. Like I can’t handle my drugs or something"
"Luke, this 'in crowd' you’re talking about; I don’t know whether its drug addicts, criminals, watever they probably don’t like u for u. They are probably using u. So when you are around people like that it doesn’t really matter what sort of person u are, they are just seeing what they can use you for"

She sits staring at me with those eyes....I wondered how she guessed that all my friends on the club scene were indeed CUNTS.

I had to tell her about what I did last night.

"Shirley, last night I cut myself with a knife"
She put her hand on my leg. She tells me cutting didn’t help. I tell her I feel like it did. She tells me I cut myself when I was anxious and I need to do breathing exercises instead. She told me that my thoughts caused my anxiety and thoughts were things I could control. She tells me there was no need for me to be anxious. She says I am funny and good looking and smart. She tells me I was safe.

"Anxiety, comes in waves" she says "It peaks and then it goes. U need to identify when it is starting and slow down your breathing. When u slow down your breathing ur body will relax, U will feel better. I think Luke everyone has it in them to make themselves feel better, u can do it. U don't need to cut urself to feel better"

Shirley takes me into the Directors Office. Apparently an episode of self-harm is a serious incident in rehab. Whereas on the gay scene it’s just a fashion accessory. The director is a tall, strong looking lady with a greying hair cut in a kind of a flat-top "I used to be a punk, now I'm a relatively conservative baby boomer" way.

"Luke, self-harm is a maladaptive way of dealing with anxiety" she says
"How do you mean?" I ask
"Well think about the fight or flight response, your body is preparing itself to fight or to run when it senses danger. You are acting aggressive when you feel anxious, but you are turning your aggression on yourself. It's not actually helping your situation to cut yourself. Do you understand what I mean?"
"I think so"
"You feel scared or worried about something, you can’t cope, so you lash out....at yourself"
"Yeah, I think I get you"
Shirley interjects "And the problem with cutting yourself is that it is quite damaging to your self-esteem. To cut you is bad for your sense of self"
They both sat there looking at me.
"I just don't want you two ladies to think I'm some kind of emo mess who just cuts themselves to be cool. Cause maybe when I started doing it 10 years ago it was kind of cool, but now I'm 28 I know its sad to be doing 'glamour cuts'" I said.
"We don’t think that Luke" Laura, the director said "We are going to get you to sign a contract with us. U have to promise never to cut yourself in here again and if you do feel like cutting yourself U have to promise to tell one of us or at least one of the staff"

And so I did. I feel like sending it to a lawyer first or something. Or perhaps like an emo union delegate. What if I say just 'accidentally' burnt myself when cooking noodles or like had an 'injury' during exercise....where did that leave me? And its also shorts weather...which only really leaves my arse and my cock to cut myself on. And my self-esteem just isn’t that low that I would go mutilating my genitalia.

I leave, I walk up and down the long driveway and stare across to the mountains. I watch butcher birds sitting on powerlines on the look out for prey or predators. I think I am safe here. I’m safe in the cult.