fergie's Diaryland Diary
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cured!
Somehow it works.
Who knew hacking into the clinic�s database and changing our release records would be so easy?
There is something about sleeping in your own bed that�s so comforting. I love my royal prince bed, with it�s velvet canopy and luscious calvin klein bed set. I may emerge from under the covers before 2003, but have no plans to move for the next several days.
11:11 p.m. - Dec. 28, 2002
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anywhere but here
The staff assures me it�s OK to bleed from he ears.
Sitting in a much calmer place today, I see the world in a different light. Actually, it�s not so much a different light, as it is the same light as before that�s gotten fuzzy around the edges. I am told peripheral vision eventually returns to the majority of patients after shock therapy.
At least that�s what I think I�m being told. There are so many voices in my head it�s hard to distinguish which ones are real.
Anyway, I'm beyond all that now. My new Native American friend big John (and no he's not tall) has a plan to get us out of here. No more pink-fucking-dot runs, I learned that lesson the hard way. Even thinking about it makes me twitch a little. This time I�m busting out. I suppose I could stop resisting treatment and just go sober, but that would ruin my plans to get fucked up on New Years Eve.
Tonight, we fly.
3:36 p.m. - Dec. 27, 2002
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don't tell me my name it will come to me
Recovering from substance abuse or the therapy?
We were discovered. After our late night pink dot orgy, the wrappers, cigarette buts, and empty lube packets were found by the staff in the morning. Though no one would admit to squealing, we all know my fat ass roommate told them everything after they offered him a leftover Twinkie.
Let me just tell you shock treatment is not for the faint of heart, sweetie. Literally. After only a few minutes into his first session, Foxy (the 80-year-old sex addict) died from a massive coronary. At least he got his wish to go out in a pair of pumps. I�ll never forget the little smile on his thin but perfectly lined lips as he lay on the floor, clutching his chest with one hand and curly blond wig with another. It was tragically beautiful.
I later passed out as they were �treating� me with 5,000 volts to the temples and woke up in my room about an hour ago with a slight buzz in my ears. It�s odd, because I could swear this room was a different color before.
12:13 p.m. - Dec. 27, 2002
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2002 - Dec. 24
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twisted xmas
It�s a joke, I tell you.
Instead of breaking out of the clinic, a small group of us ordered pink dot online and had them deliver to the back parking lot window. The clinic is a converted bank with the old drive-through still attached. At first we thought the dogs would give us away, but we fed them some of my roommate�s beef jerky and they quickly quitted down. They later had mass diarrhea all over the side lawn.
My co-conspirators this evening: My roommate, the over eater; the really overly large woman across the hall who has a problem with co-dependent relationships and has a crush on my roommate; Alexander, the gay republican, and the eighty-year old sex addict from down the hall. He wore a black teddy. There is a strange bond in rehab, and these few moderately sane people have become my only support in this happy sunshine fucking la la clinic with high security and no MTV or cell phones.
I thank g-d for this contraband laptop, he has blessed me with spike and his abilities with baked goods.
I enjoyed my Marlboro lights, fifth of Jack, and eight ball of coke while my roomie feasted on ho ho�s, ding dongs, and the cookies the girl across the hall bought for him. Foxy, the sex addict, wasn�t pleased with their selection of dildos and toys, but was satisfied with a few good porn mags and a look at the driver�s cock. When pink dot says full service, they mean it. Alexander got a Bush quotes book and bobble head, which seems appropriate. We all sat around engorged in our excess, beaming with sinful joy.
It was probably the sickest, most twisted version of christmas there has ever been.
9:33 p.m. - Dec. 23, 2002
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one flew over the clinics nest
I've started to notice how odd the other patients are here in the clinic. I hear little scratching noises coming from down the hall as someone tapps on the wall. The lady in the room adjecent to ours talks to herself all night long. Another man stares at the corner of the room during our group meetings and never speaks.
I think I've got to get out of here before I become a rehab freak. Some of the patients have been in the program for months. I must break out before I face another moment of sobriety.
3:46 p.m. - Dec. 22, 2002
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can mastercard by my sponsor?
People really take this too seriously.
My roommate, the over eater, is so consumed with himself that he can't focus on anything but pleasing himself with his next meal. His new addiction will be a vegan diet and yoga. He is convinced his entire life will change if he stops eating 98% of the available food supply and ties to sit with his legs crossed for twenty minutes a day.
To help him think beyond himself, he will be obligated to help others live healthy and happy lives by trying to convince everyone he knows to become a vegan and take up yoga.
His treatment will be sponsored by 24 hour fitness.
10:01 p.m. - Dec. 21, 2002
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yeah me.
Today marks my first week in rehab. Yeah me.
We're learning that our addictions are no fault of our own, because it is something we cannot control. While there are ways to deal with the inner issues that create these destructive patterns, it's easier to simply develop new addictions.
I've chosen shopping, which is what is called a "positive addiction," because it doesn't cause me any physical harm and is good for the economy. I'm actually helping the world rather than destroying myself. I'm beginning to think this clinic is really on to something. I started my own independent therapy today and bought a pair of Kenneth Cole shoes online.
9:19 p.m. - Dec. 21, 2002
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sober = boring
I have to be very careful about posting updates, as the security � I mean nursing � staff keep us under constant watch. I�ve had to resort to hiding my laptop inside a hollowed out section of my pillow like a prisoner with a shank. The clinic is an institution for all types of addictions, so I had no problem getting rid of the extra pillow stuffing by convincing my roommate, an over eater, that it was diabetic cotton candy.
The first few days of treatment went by pretty fast. Most of that time was spent getting aquatinted with the facilities, spotting other celebrities, and coming down off my two week pill-popping blunt-smoking drinking binge. Now my day is spent attending meetings, reflecting on the pain of my inner child or some crap like that. I think it�s helping, I can feel myself thinking better, more clearly, and have become more centered and balanced in all that I do. Then again, there is nothing to do here. No television, no phones, no bar, nothing! Not even a pool or recreation room. I�ve never been more bored in my life. A little drink would really make the time fly.
I hear the soft squeak of rubber shoes coming down the hall, more later...
7:33 a.m. - Dec. 20, 2002
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you can take away my drugs but not my computer
Dear Readers,
Please excuse my lack of updates over the past week. Due to recent circumstances beyond my control, I have checked myself into rehab. Well, not so much checked in on my own free will, but rather ordered by the court.
Through no fault of my own, I was charged with public intoxication after I fell off my balcony and landed on several school children I was yelling at over the veranda. I�m fine, their little bodies managed to break my fall and I was unscathed. However, several overbearing and nosy people with nothing better to do than make a public arrest decided to take it upon themselves to bear witness to the incident and report me to the authorities. Somehow, this harmless accident has turned into the latest episode of cops.
The judge said I was unstable. Well, duh. I�d like to see him try and keep his balance after a bottle of Jack Daniel�s and half an ounce of weed.
This place does not allow...anything. Apparently, the philosophy behind the clinic is to abstain from everything from aspirin to phone calls, forcing those of us in the program to become listless, hollow versions of our former selves. When we are released, the stimulation from ordinary everyday activities will be an overload for our dull and sober systems, and we will therefore be forced into absence from chemical dependency.
Keep in mind, it�s not an addiction, it�s a disease. In this great country we call America, we are born with the g-d given right not to take any responsibility for our own actions. The first step is admitting you have no control over yourself whatsoever.
Drugs and alcohol I can live without, my internet connection I cannot. Fortunately, my buddy Spike was able to slip me a laptop in a faux xmas sheet cake he brought into the care center on visitor�s day, so now I can return to updating the site regularly.
6:43 p.m. - Dec. 19, 2002
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