Narconon- Rehab Series- Part 8

Narconon- Rehab Series- Part 8

Morning comes early. It feels as though I have just fallen asleep, but it is time to get started with the day. My roommates are the IC’s and are nice enough to get me up and inform me it is time for muster.

Muster happens in the lodge. We report there for a head count and once a week, we are given our weekly chore. Because I am new and because there is one chore that changes each day, I am stuck with the dinner dishes. After muster, we have an hour to complete weekly chores, make our beds, clean up rooms for daily inspection and shower and get ready for the day.

Because my chore is dinner dishes, I remain unscathed from the duty of a morning chore. I am grateful about this, despite everyone apologizing for my having this chore.

“I call first,” Coco says, concerning taking the first shower.

“Second,” Chanel follows.

Hmm, I am feeling a little slided here, but I am too exhausted to care. My first class is in less than an hour, so I make my bed and sign up for a phone time down in the office.

“Two minutes (sounded out- Twooo Minuuuutes),” a man’s voice yells out in a drill sergeant tone. It is our warning to get into class.

Once we have all piled into the classroom for roll call, some students are dismissed to get into the van and go across the street, cutting the student body in half. They are in the, “Objectives” part of their program. I find it odd that they are required to be driven, literally, across the street, but I guess there is an issue of liability with crossing the highway on foot.

There are two male instructors in the class. They are both in their twenties. It is odd, being older than most of the staff here. Jacob, is an attractive, athletic type, with brown hair and a big, white smile. He is very friendly and even though it is my first day, I can sense a sincerity in him to help others feel at ease with their program. He is deliberate with maintaining eye contact when he speaks to you.

Andrew Stormy, is hilarious. He has a mustache that he insists on curling at the corners, while staring at you, and from the sounds of it, he is obsessed with the band Iron Maiden. He is most often referred to by his last name, Stormy.

There is another staff member that has lingered around the desk. She is short, with reddish blonde hair, like a faint strawberry blonde and adorable freckles. She has big eyes and once again, I feel inadequate in the trunk department, as she is packing a nice booty, as well. How on earth do all these thinner girls have Puerto Rican asses?

She has a bright, pink vapor in her hand. Her fingers have large, silver rings on them. I think one of them is a skull. Like Madison, she, also, has a feeling of, Badass, emanating from her. But, it’s a less threatening stare. She is walking in my direction and I can’t help but notice her hips have a distinct back and forth sway to them with each step. Meaning, if I was behind her, her junk would be swinging with a definitive bump to the right, then bump to the left.

“Hi, I’m Tessa Moff. I am in charge of this department (Division 5) and am here to welcome new students into the program. How did you sleep?” she asks.

“I am so tired. I didn’t sleep well. At some point I got up and the night watch guy, Ernie, gave me some Melatonin and sleepy time vitamins,” I respond.

Her face wears a look of concern, “Are you okay to begin classes?” She asks.

“Yes. I want to get started,” I reply.

“Okay, well if you need anything or have any questions, come find me. Have a great first day,” she suggests, before excusing herself and leaving the classroom.

Andrew Stormy comes over to where I am sitting with a light blue book title, “Narconon Book 1- Therapeutic TR’s Course.” He has brought with him, another student who is farther along in the program to work with me.

He explains, “You read the book out loud and Dyson will help you clear any words and answer any questions.”

Clear words? I grew up in a home where my father would intentionally use big words and then have me look up and define them. “Let’s see what Mr. Webster has to say about this word,” he would say, as he reached for the dictionary. It was annoying as a child. However, it has endowed me with an expansive vocabulary and I doubt that I will need any words cleared. (I was wrong).

After opening the book, I discover these comic strip, cartoon illustrations that correlate with the text. The words are in a large font and I immediately think to myself, “I am college educated. This program is going to be cake (easy) for me!”

As I read the text out loud, Dyson stops me a few times and asks me to define words. He has a sheet of paper and is taking notes on the words he has asked me to define and there are other notes that I am uncertain about their meaning. I read rather speedily. I can see that Dyson is excited by this and we make it to the stopping point, Stormy has designated for us.

It is break time and we are allowed ten minutes for a cigarette. Ten minutes is over quickly and we are ushered back inside.

Stormy comes over to me and asks, “How are things going? How are you feeling?”

“Good,” I respond.

“Great. This is Keisha. She is also a book one student. She is a little farther along in the book, but has graciously volunteered to run some of the TR’s with you,” he explains.

Keisha is petite, like me. A little extra weight, but not fat at all. She has long, beautifully, thick brown hair and big, brown eyes. She has a great smile and perfectly, manicured nails. She is around 25 and I immediately love her. I don’t know it yet, but Keisha will become my best friend through the entire program and a lifelong friend once back home.

As she is explaining these TR’s, she is filled with sarcastic eye rolls, sighs and in a friendly tone informs me, “Let’s just get through these and yes, they are weird,” she laughs.

I laugh with her. After reading what I have already read, I know that these TR’s are strange. Of course, reading about them and actually running them, are two entirely different things. We decide to run, “Do birds fly?”

We sit, three feet apart, in chairs facing each other. We are to maintain eye contact through this drill. You can accept any answer in response to the question, “Do birds fly?” You are to acknowledge the response with a thank you, or if you are not happy with the response given, you are instructed to repeat the question.

Because Keisha has already run this drill, repeatedly, she volunteers to ask the question first, so that I gain a better understanding of how to acknowledge and repeat the question.

“Do birds fly?” She asks.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Thank you. Do birds fly?” She repeats.

“No,” I say, hesitantly.

“I repeat the question, do birds fly?” She repeats.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Thank you. Do birds fly?” She asks, again.

“Uh, dude this is so weird,” I say.

“I repeat the question, do birds fly?” She asks.

“Over Walmart,” I respond.

This response causes both of us to chuckle.

“Thank you. Do birds fly?” She repeats.

“What the fuck is the point of this?” I ask, while giggling.

“I repeat the question. Do birds fly?” She repeats.

“Dude, yes, birds fucking fly!” I exclaim.

We both chuckle. She is not trying to irritate me, but the damn drill is. She is simply, running the drill how it is meant to be run when she says,

“Thank you. Do birds fly?”

“No. They don’t fly,” I answer.

“Thank you. Do birds fly?” She repeats.

“Wait, I just said no they don’t fly and you thanked me. Aren’t you supposed to repeat the question?” I ask.

“We are allowed to accept any answers,” she giggles. “I repeat the question, do birds fly?”

“Orange, green, fuck you gold,” I sarcastically respond.

“I repeat the question, do birds fly?” She asks.

“Repeat it all day Keisha. I’m going to have you repeat it until lunch,” I inform her.

We both giggle.

“I repeat the question, do birds fly?” She repeats.

After about 20 minutes of this dialogue. I am so over this drill. Keisha has been over it for two days now. The instructors are busy helping students that are in the later books, so we stray away from this TR and engage in a formal introduction.

“I’m Liz. My drug of choice is heroin. I am from Washington,” I inform here.

“I’m from Washington too!” She exclaims. “I’m from Kent.”

“Kent? Oh my God, we are neighbors. I am from Marysville. We live like an hour away from each other in the real world,” I realize, out loud.

“That could be a good thing or a very bad thing,” I elaborate. She concurs.

If we end up becoming good friends through the program, go home and connect and relapse together, that would be horrible. We will have gone to rehab, only to make a new dope connect. However, if we end up becoming great friends here and both remain clean and sober, then we will have a lifelong friend in the real world, who will walk together with us in sobriety.

“My roommate is moving to the house in a couple days. You should tell Ethics, that you want in my room,” she suggests.

“Is it a top bunk?” I ask.

“No. There are only two beds in the room, so it would just be you and me and they aren’t bunk beds,” she elaborates.

“Hell yeah!” I exclaim.

“Wait, what do you mean she is moving to the house?” I inquire.

“After the sauna portion of the program, students move into houses up the road,” she explains. “It makes room for new students at the center,” she elaborates.

It is time for lunch. Keisha comes with me to the Ethics department to request the room transfer. I am so excited. Aiden meets us at the door. He is still wearing that silly ass grin.

He agrees to put me first in line for the bed in Keisha’s room. I am so excited and hope that it doesn’t take long. It is nothing against my other roommates. I just can’t be on the top bunk. It was extremely difficult for me to make my bed this morning, seeing as I am barely 5 feet tall, and let’s not forget the heat vent that blows directly above the bed!

Keisha and I make our way through the lunch line and into the dining area.

“2 Chaaaaaaaainz” a voice calls out in my direction, imitating 2 Chainz’s voice.

He is a fit, attractive guy with a J Crew haircut and tan skin. I think he is gay and I am hoping to make a diva friend among the mix. His name is Jude.

Another guy sitting next to him, is also tan and fit. He has a more Ambercrombie and Fitch look to him. He walks with a limp. I’ve met him before. Oh God. He was at the doctor’s office when I was high on Valium, getting my vitamin drip.

“What? Are you 2 Chainz?” Keisha asks, as we make our way to that table.

“I think so,” I laugh.

“Hi, I am sorry I forgot your name,” I admit to the Ambercrombie looking guy.

“It’s okay. You were pretty out of it at the doctors. It’s Rick,” he informs me.

“Is that 2 Chaaaaaaaainz?” another voice from the table behind me calls out.

How mortifying. I already have a nickname. That means that the student body here, has already heard about me, and not in a good way! The guy who asked if I was 2 Chainz from the other table, is now making his way over here with his lunch.

He is a younger guy, with brown hair that puffs out from under his hat. He has a skater boy appeal to him.

“Hi, I’m Daily,” he introduces. “Do you remember asking me to rub your feet?” He asks, through a fit of uncontrollable laughter, while taking a seat next to me on the bench.

My face turns 50 shades of red, as the table retells the story of when they first met me at the doctor’s office. They are sweet about it, and make sure that I know, that they know, I was comatose from the Valium.

All I can do is laugh with them. Many of these details are new details to the story. However, as they are told to me, I remember them as being accurate depictions of that day. After lunch, we all make our way outside to smoke. We have an hour lunch break each day.

Several more students make their way over to me and introduce themselves. Many of them have already heard about me as, 2 Chainz. As we make our way back to roll call, I hear the warning,

“Two minutes!” It is Jacob, the instructor.

Like a bunch of elementary school children, getting through roll call proves difficult for the instructors, as many of us resort to being immature.

When our names are called out, we are to respond with a, “Here” response.

There is a clique of students, including Rick and Jude, that have a different response.

“Jude London,” Stormy calls out.

“2 Chaaaaaaaaaaaainz,” Jude replaces his, “here” response with.

Stormy does not look amused. However, the entire classroom has erupted with laughter.

“Quiet down,” Jacob instructs.

“Rick Mason,” Stormy continues with roll call.

“Yeaaaaaaa, true,” Rick replies, imitating the way 2 Chainz says those phrases.

Again the entire classroom is roaring.

I can’t help but reduce myself to the level of immaturity the class is demonstrating. I find myself laughing and rolling with the punches. After the “Objectives” students disperse. Keisha and I are paired back up for another TR. This time, we are to sit three feet apart in chairs facing each other. Our feet are to remain flat on the floor and the palms of our hands, flat on our thighs.

We are instructed to sit straight up in our chairs and close our eyes. We are not allowed to move, laugh, scratch, open our eyes or commit any other infraction, or we will be “flunked” and have to start the drill over again.

“TR0, eyes closed for 15 minutes, start,” Stormy says.

My mind is racing with an abundance of thoughts ranging from, oh my gawd my nose itches to what the hell is the purpose of this? I can’t quiet my mind. Moreover, I can’t block out the sounds of the room around me. Students are talking. Instructors are instructing. Someone just closed the door to the bathroom behind me and slammed the toilet seat down. I can feel the corners of my mouth starting to curl.

Why is that funny? Oh my gawd, where is this laughter bubbling inside of me coming from? My leg starts to shake, but I quickly cease it’s shake, reminding myself I am not allowed to move. What is Keisha thinking about? How am I going to get through this? Has it been 15 minutes, yet? I already know that this is just the beginning of this TR. I was told, at some point, I will be mandated to run this for 2 hours! My eyes start to water from forcing their close.

“TR0, eyes closed for 15 minutes, stop. Good job ladies,” Stormy calls out.

Phew! I made it. I made it through it.

“Okay ladies, are you ready for TR0, eyes open for 15 minutes?” Stormy asks.

This is the exact same drill, only we keep our eyes open and in direct contact. Basically, you are staring directly into the eyes of the person sitting three feet across from you without flinching, laughing etc.

“TR0, eyes open for 15 minutes, start,” Stormy commands.

Keisha maintains a straight face with a blank stare. This is so fucking weird. Am I allowed to blink? I feel jitters creeping through my leg again and I force myself not to shake it. The corners of my lips begin to curl again and I can feel it bubbling to the surface. I need to laugh. Why is this so funny? I can’t hold back. Suddenly, I burst into laughter.

“Flunk,'” Stormy calls out.

“I am so sorry,” I apologize.

“It’s okay,” Keisha assures me. “Everybody laughs their first time.”

Stormy is ready to start the TR again, but I can’t control my laughter. I can tell that this is only the beginning of some very weird shit that is about to unfold before me. I position myself again and await for Stormy to start the session…..

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