Chapter Seven
Tristan
I kept telling myself that one day I’d look back on the rehab and think it was worth it. The problem was that in the moment, it felt like being in prison and I hated the fuck out of it. It was a start though. The first two times I’d gone to rehab, I’d gone in kicking and screaming. Maybe going in voluntarily would be different.
The first week was all one-on-one therapy, I was told. At least in a group setting I could either sit and listen or I could mimic what everyone else was saying. I hated sitting across from a therapist, trying to think of something to say. I guess some might argue that if I just told the truth that would satisfy him. The problem was that the truth made me sick—literally—and telling him about it wasn’t going to change anything. My therapist was relentless, though. I guess you have to be that way when you’re working with addicts. I’m sure one that’s willing to open right up with the truth is rare. For the third day in a row, I sat in his office while he asked the same questions over and over.
“How’s your relationship with your mother?” He leaned forward, trying to convince me he cared.
“Fine.”
“What about your father?”
“Fine.”
“Do you have a girlfriend…or boyfriend?” That made me laugh a little…so politically correct.
“No,” I said, “Neither.”
“What’s your drug of choice?” he asked me for the ten thousandth time.
“You name it, I’ll take it. I’ll smoke it, snort it, drink it…I just won’t inject it; I do have my principles.”
He sighed. “Tristan, this is serious business. I don’t think you’re taking it very seriously.”
I motioned to the room around me. “I’m here. If I didn’t think it was serious, I’d be home puffing on a joint.”
“I don’t know what to do to get you to open up to me. None of what we’re doing here is going to help you if you aren’t willing to let us inside so we can help you.”
“I’m just not sure what you want from me,” I told him. “You want me to cry and tell you what a miserable life I’ve had?”
“If that’s what you feel like doing,” he said.
I laughed and said, “That’s not going to happen.”
“Okay, that’s okay,” he said. “I think maybe what we need is some family group time.”
That got my attention. “No!”
“It’s part of the program, Tristan…”
“I said no! I’m not a child. I have the right to refuse.”
“True, but if you do, you’ll be asked to leave. You have to go along with the program or it won’t be successful.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I told him. Fuck! I should never have told him they were even still alive.
“Why’s that, Tristan? You told me that your relationship with them was—and I quote—‘fine’.”
Fucking great, a smart-ass therapist. “Okay, I lied.” I told him. “I’m not fine with them. They’re not fine. They’re junkies and I don’t want anything to do with them.”
“Then maybe it will help you all for them to be here.”
“I don’t want to help them!” I said, jumping up off the couch. “They’re the fucking reason I’m here. They made this!” I said, slamming my hand into my chest.
“Then maybe you need a safe place to tell them how you feel.” I wanted to rip his fucking head off.
“They know how I feel. I don’t hold anything back with them.”
“Good, then it will help to have them here. I think I’ll try and arrange it for this afternoon.”
“Fuck!” I stormed out of his office, slamming the door on my way out. He didn’t have any idea what he was doing. I couldn’t be trapped in a room with those freaks. I slammed my way back into my room and sat down on the bed. Suddenly I realized what I needed. I got up and went out to the nurse’s station.
The unit secretary said, “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, can I use the phone?” I felt breathless as I said it. The stress was really piling on.
“Have you used it yet today?”
“No,” I told her. We got one call a day. They’d taken my cell phone when I checked in. She had me sign the clipboard so they’d know if I tried to sneak another one in and then handed me the phone.
I dialed Elly’s number and willed her to answer. She did, and without thinking about it, I said, “Thank god.”
“Tristan? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…everything. This fucking therapist is going to bring my fucking parents in here for a group. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. Come in to see me, Elly. They’ll let you in because you’re from the show. Please….”
“Tristan, it sounds like the therapist thinks this is important. My parents attended a few groups, too.”
“Fuck! Elly, it’s not the same thing. Is your mother a crack whore? Is your father a heroin addict?” She was really quiet so I took that as a no.
“I’m sorry, Tristan,” she said at last. “I can understand why you don’t want to see them. It’s important though that you do what the facility asks you. They’re professionals. They know what they’re doing….”
I balled my free hand into a fist. “I’m not doing this!”
“Listen to me, please. I’ll come…I’ll be there with you if you promise to go to group. I’ll go with you.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s better. Then, I have two witnesses to my fucked up family dynamic.”
“Maybe afterwards we could find a way to be alone for a while….”
Damn it. She was offering herself to me if I agreed to do it. I was craving her. It had been too long; maybe it would alleviate some of my anxiety.
“Okay, but you make sure we find time to be alone. None of that maybe shit,” I told her.
“Okay, I will. I’ll be there soon,” she said.
I handed the phone back to the secretary and went back in to my therapist’s office.
“Did you call my parents?” I asked him.
“Yes, they’ll be here at one p.m. I’m hoping you’ll join us.”
“I’ll be here, but I’m bringing my own back-up,” I told him.
“I’m not sure that’s….”
“Do you want me here?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll accept me and my friend, who also happens to work for Fresh Voices, the show that is paying for me to be in this expensive place.”
“Okay, Tristan. One o’clock.”
*****
Elly had shown up not long after I talked to her and when we went down to the group room just before one, I saw my parents sitting just inside the door. They both had cleaned up some, trying to look like normal people. My mother was bone thin and her thrift store clothes hung off her body. My father’s stomach looked swollen; his liver must have been close to exploding. They both looked so damned old. Every time I wanted to walk out and use again, I needed to call up an image of those two and remember that it was the drugs that did that to them.
“You ready?” Elly asked me. She took my hand in hers and squeezed it. It didn’t make me want to go in; it made me want to take her back to my room and fuck her. I knew she wasn’t going for that unless I did the session first though, so I sucked down my hatred for those two people and went inside.
“Hi baby!” My mother got up as if she thought I was going to hug her or something. I shot her a look, so she sat back down. My father knew better. He only nodded in my direction. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Elly, though, and for that, I wanted to knock him out of his chair.
I introduced Elly to my therapist and he repeated who she was to my parents since I’d left them out. The way he was going out of his way to be so polite to them was making me sick.
“Let’s get this over with,” I told my therapist.
“Okay, would you like to start, Tristan?”
“No. Just consider me a hostile observer,” I told him. I could feel Elly’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look at her. She really didn’t understand.
“I’ll start,” my mother said. I couldn’t wait for this. “Tristan was the most beautiful baby,” she said. I rolled my eyes. I felt like I was on a fucking episode of This is Your Life.
“I don’t think he cares about my tender years,” I told her. She looked embarrassed and that made me happy. I wanted her to know that I thought she was an idiot.
“I was just saying…he was a beautiful kid. When he was about three or four, we discovered he loved to sing, and he was good. We started putting him in singing competitions--”
“Cha ching!” I said.
“Tristan, do you have something to say?” the therapist asked.
“No, I said it,” I told him.
Mother went on, unfortunately. “He started singing professionally when he was ten and then the band formed when he was twelve. They were all boys he’d met in his competitions. They were all so talented.”
My decided to cut in. “Tristan’s just pissed that the band broke up. Bottom line, that’s what his problem is.” God it would feel good to slam my fist into his face. I’d never done it. I never hit either one of them. I really wasn’t a violent person, but they brought out everything bad and evil in me.
“Fuck you!” I said.
“Tristan, that’s not productive. No name-calling, no profanity. Tell him how you feel.”
“I don’t think that’s possible without profanity,” I said. My fucking mother actually started crying.
Dad put his arm around her like he gave a shit and my therapist asked her, “Mrs. Rogers, why are you crying?”
“It breaks my heart that he hates us so much. I try to stay in contact with him and he turns me away. It hurts so much. I don’t know what we ever did--”
“Oh, dear god! Are you two fucking kidding here? Tell him the only reason you’re even here is because you’re still hoping I’ll win Fresh Voices and get that money. You’re hoping I’ll be stupid enough to give you some of it.”
“You think they only want your money, Tristan?” the therapist asked.
“Yes, that’s exactly what they want. They took it all the first time around.”
“Bullshit!” My father said. “You had the best house, the best toys and clothes; you went to the best schools--”
“And you were able to buy the best whores and the best drugs.”
“You took plenty of drugs yourself!” he snapped back at me.
I could feel my limbs starting to shake in anger. “I was a kid. I not only learned by example, you two fucking gave them to me. Uppers for the shows, downers for bedtime. It’s no wonder I’m a drug addict!”
“You started the street drugs all on your own,” he said. “It was after that band broke up—you couldn’t deal with not being famous anymore.”
“You’re right, I was fucked up after it broke up and all that went away. You want to know why? Because those people—the band, the media the fans—they were all I ever had. I felt like someone gave a shit about me when I was famous. It was the only kind of love I ever knew.”
“We loved you, Tristan,” my mother said. “You pushed us away.”
“You were sleeping with my agent, my producer, and my friend’s parents…both male and female!” Pointing at my dad I said, “He was spending his days at the casino and his nights at the titty bars or with high priced hookers. I was alone and I took the pills you left me so I could fucking sleep through it until I was old enough to go out. Then, I partied because I didn't have anyone at home to tell me that I shouldn't. The only time I was happy was onstage, and you may as well have taken that away too!”
“You blame us for your band breaking up?” the old man said with a smirk.
“I blame you for making me what I am. My drug abuse broke it up and I was abusing drugs because of you!” My mother started to open her mouth again, but I was done. It was a big fucking waste of time, just like I knew it would be. All it had served to do was piss me off even more. I got up and walked out. I could hear my mother babbling and the therapist calling after me. I didn’t give a fuck about any of them. I just needed out of there so I could breathe.