Narconon-Rehab Series- Part 4

Narconon-Rehab Series- Part 4

A couple days have gone by and I have spent them touching trees, drinking drug bombs, noticing things, being walked like a dog, regularly and pouring out my Cal-Mag every chance I can get. Unfortunately, today, I was unable to dispose of my Cal-Mag. Little One lingered while I was made to consume it.

Seriously, Sean and I only made it about a half of a block away from the house before we had to turn around and get me back to the bathroom. For lack of a better term, this drink has me pissing out of my asshole. It is not pleasant. In fact, I am forcing back vomiting at the same time.

Sean is my WD Specialist for the first part of the day and I have no qualms about that. Of course, I wish he had not been present for my explosive Cal-Mag incident, but he laughs about it with me and explains that he was a student once before and can absolutely relate. While his little admission makes me feel better, I am still mortified with the onset of World War 3 that just occurred in the bathroom.

We attempt to walk again. I voice that I hope we can stay close to the house, as I am fearful that the war is not over. He laughs and agrees to the terms.

“Let’s walk over to the marina and I will show you one of my favorite places to sit down and relax,” he suggests.

The marina is right around the corner. I’ve walked by it, several times now, but I am not familiar with his sitting area. There is a small piece of sandy beach and some rocks on the other side of the boats. He guides me down to the area and we take a seat.

I make him nervous. All of my sexual innuendos and vulgar suggestions the past few days, has him sweating. I can see it, so I relax with it and engage in some actual conversation.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable. I don’t know what has gotten into me,” I suggest.

“That is okay. I am not uncomfortable at all. So, look around here and tell me what is really, real to you?” He asks.

I burst into laughter, “Another light objective?”

He laughs with me and says, “I know. I know. They are a little cheesy, but we have to run it for a little while, okay?”

I agree and he gives the command again.

“The boats,” I reply.

After answering the command, three more times, I answer, “Everything. Everything is really, real to me.”

He ends the session.

“Tell me a little about yourself,” I suggest.

Sean admits to me that his DOC (drug of choice) was alcohol. He is former military and never done any drugs or illegal substances. He shares a little about the pains in his life that led him to abuse alcohol and suddenly, he is human. He’s not the boss, he’s not above me, we are equals. Different poisons, same abuse.

“Hey. Let’s go see Hannibal,” he suggests. “How’s your stomach?”

“I am feeling much better and who the hell is Hannibal? Like Hannibal the cannibal?” I ask.

We laugh together, as he leads me back up onto the sidewalk.

“You haven’t been to Hannibal’s house yet?” He asks, with a look of sincere shock on his face.

I haven’t and in truth, all I can picture is Anthony Hopkins, from Silence of the Lambs, delivering his infamous line, “A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.” Followed by the little slurp sound he makes.

Sean assures me that this is not the Hannibal he speaks of and I trust him to lead the way. He is most excited about the potential of seeing Tito Ortiz. He goes on and on about how Tito lives in the neighborhood, but he has yet to meet him.

“Who is Tito Ortiz?” I ask. “Is this someone I should know?”

Sean stops walking and scans me up and down, before replying, “Tito Ortiz! You don’t know who Tito Ortiz is? UFC BABY!” His hands are flailing about and his tone is ecstatic.

“Oh, I don’t watch UFC,” I admit, somewhat embarrassed by not knowing who this apparent legend is.

“He was married to Jenna Jameson,” he elaborates.

“Is it wrong that I know her, but not him?” I ask, before erupting into laughter, (For those of you unfamiliar, she is a pornographic star).

We continue to walk. The houses are amazing in this neighborhood. I have never seen homes like this before. We take a few turns and before I know it, we have arrived.

“See,” Sean points ahead. “That is Hannibal.”

“Wow! Oh My God! How adorable!” I exclaim. Hannibal is a huge turtle. He has his own little house, called Hannibal’s Hut.

We head back to the Huntington House. It is time for Sean to pass me off to Shelly, for the remainder of the day. After lunch, Shelly asks,

“Do you want to walk to the beach?”

“Yes!” I exclaim. The beach sounds like heaven and thus far, Shelly has been the most relaxed about running light objectives. I pack a few things into my backpack and she grabs a blanket and my cash, before heading out the door.

“I really want to get my nose pierced, ” I express. “I had it pierced before, but I took it out when I was pregnant. I was given this idea that maybe God didn’t like piercings, but now that I’ve had a heroin needle in my arm, I think he would be more understanding about a one time needle through my nose,” I joke.

Shelly giggles, “You are my favorite student Liz. Your perspectives on things and your bubbly personality, is adorable.”

I wonder if she says this to all her students? “Thank you,” I reply. “So, does that mean, I can get my nose pierced?”

“I’m not sure I am allowed to take you to do that, but I can check into it,” she winks.

“All I want to do is lay out on the beach for the rest of the day,” I say. “This has been a rough couple of days. I am so tired of walking and running these light objectives. How long do you think we can sit on the beach?” I ask.

“You need a break. We are going to take some time to give that to you today,” she responds.

“I really want a soda, lady!” I exclaim. “One of the hardest parts of this, is not having caffeine. I mean shit, I am already withdrawing folks, now you mandate me to have migraine headaches too?” I ask, rhetorically.

We both giggle and to my surprise, she allows me to get a soda at the store across the street from the beach.

“It will be our little secret,” she says, smiling with concern and hope of concurrence. I agree to keep the secret.

“You know, if I was an intern, I would be more like you,” I inform Shelly.

“I love that you understand and sympathize with me. I mean really, what the hell is wrong with having a soda?” I ask. “And, another thing, I tell you what. I would not give those pathetic little assists. I would massage my students and actually help relieve the tension in their necks and stress in their backs. Do you know how frustrating it is to have neck and back pain and then have a teasing touch grace the areas, but not apply any pressure or relief?” I ask.

“After all, most opiate/heroin users, started their addiction because of some form of legitimate pain. No one starts using heroin,” I laugh. “We get strung out on prescription pain meds first and in order to get that prescription, we had to have been in pain, right?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Shelly agrees.

“Are you thinking about interning already?” Shelly inquires.

“Yes. I am,” I affirm. “I mean, I don’t know, but I don’t want to go home, relapse and piss all of this away. Statistics say I will. I don’t want to let a number define me, but let’s be real. Going right back to an area that I can score dope two blocks away from my house, is not a good fit. I don’t know if I am strong enough to do that. If interning, provides me with a way to get extra clean time, help others and inevitably relocate to California, why wouldn’t I take those odds over the failing stats concerned with returning home?”

“Well, you sound like you would be a good intern Liz, but word of advice, if you are handing out massages and sodas, make sure your students know better than to rat you out!” She exclaims. “You don’t want to work a condition.”

“What the hell is a condition?” I ask, through nervous laughter.

“Don’t’ worry about that now,” she suggests.

I let it go. Besides, I haven’t even begun my program yet. Perhaps, I am jumping the gun a little. Who knows what Narconon has in store for me? I am supposed to be heading to the center tomorrow.

“I was very upset yesterday, when I realized I am going to be in the mountains and not by the beach for my program,” I inform her. “Thank you for bringing me here and letting me relax. Do you mind if I take some quiet time to meditate with God and his majestic ocean?” I ask.

“Not at all,” she replies.

The ocean air is intoxicating. There is a slight breeze, whispering a soft whimsical, tune in my ears. The ocean’s breath, dampens my face with it’s sweet, salty mist. This is heaven to me. I have heard that people see dolphins here in California. In the solitude of my mind, I wish for this experience. I love dolphins. I have two, dolphin tattoos.

Suddenly, all of the surfers are making their way back in. Shelly, draws my attention to this. Oh my God! Oh my God! There is a wonderful, magical sight unfolding before my eyes. A pod of dolphins, has surfaced not too far from shore. It’s breathtaking.  Truly, this is a God moment for me. The fact that I was just wishing for this experience and that it immediately has unfolded, reminds me of how God listens, even in the quietest of our thoughts. He is always watching.

I feel more at peace with myself and my surroundings than I have in a long time. God hasn’t turned his back on me at all. It is I, that have turned my back to him. I can feel myself seeking him out more. I yearn to be in his presence again. What an extraordinary send off.

“Thank you Jesus,” I murmur under my breath. “Thank you.”

As we pack our things up on the beach, Shelly suggests,

“There is a tattoo place right around the corner from here. Surely, they must do piercings too?”

“Oh my God! Really? Yes! Let’s go check it out! Please! Please! Please!” I squeal, excitedly.

The minute we walk into the shop, I smell marijuana. I hope this doesn’t deter Shelly away from allowing me to get pierced. Weed is legal in California and it is not a trigger for me. She doesn’t say anything about it.

“I felt like I was losing part of my identity, when I removed my nose piercing before,” I confess. “This means a lot to me Shelly. Thank you so much.”

“You’re most welcome Liz,” she responds.

The guy doing the piercing, reeks of pot. I am giggling at this inside and I am sure by now, Shelly has to have noticed the smell. I sit very still and follow his instruction. Seconds later, my nose has been pierced. My eyes instantly water, though the pain is short lived. I couldn’t have asked for a better last day in Huntington, before being shipped off to the Narconon center…

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