It's funny how a song can take you back. Maybe it is the curse of the MTV generation, but lyrics and melodies have a way of flooding the senses. Somewhere outside of San Diego Marissa had lost radio reception for her favorite station and was now listening to a quote "oldies" station. The song that was currently playing was one from her high school days, and it was causing a flashback so vivid that it actually brought tears to her eyes.
At age twenty five Marissa thought she was through crying about the past, but sometimes it couldn't be helped. Sometimes radio stations were your worst enemy. Seven years away from Newport had given her perspective…that and the year she spent in rehab. She learned the hard way that life was all about perspective. After she got out of rehab, she made one trip back to Newport, and realized pretty quickly that her life wasn't there anymore. So instead, she got into her car and went back to San Diego. She enrolled in a psychology program, and for the last six months, since her graduation, she had been working as an addiction counselor. The pay was crappy but it was enough to cover the bills and her morning latte. It even afforded her the occasional shopping trip, but there hadn't been a new Chanel purse in quite some time, and Marissa learned that she didn't need Chanel to survive. Some days she missed the trips to the spa, and Jimmy Choo, but on the whole, she was happy with the way things were. She had never seen money bring anyone real happiness, at least not anyone she knew. Money, or the absence of it had ripped her family apart on more than one occasion. Marissa had no desire to get caught up in it the way her parents had. A Starbucks latte and window shopping were good enough for her.
As she cruised down the highway, shedding silent tears, all she could really think about was the day before she had gone into rehab. Most of senior year was a blur. After the fall out of her mom and dad's affair, Marissa had taken to self medicating. She had reverted to the quintessential party girl much to Ryan's chagrin. They had played the make up/break up game until it was an art form for them. For nearly three years they had danced around the issue, always finding some reason or another to be together or break up. On the surface the reasons were different each time, but deep down it was always the same thing. Ryan had a white night complex and Marissa took advantage of that. It was never a conscious decision for her, she just knew that Ryan would always be there to make things better. For Ryan, it was a constant inner struggle. He couldn't walk away from Marissa, he knew all to well how that felt and he would never wish it on another person, but on the other hand, he wanted out of that cycle so badly. So when it got too much, when he couldn't take anymore, he would tell her that enough was enough, and she would cry and promise that she wouldn't drink anymore, that it would be better, and eventually he would give in and take her back. For a while it would be good, but then the old routine would kick in and they'd be right back where they started.
They say you have to hit rock bottom before you can start to get better, and Marissa knew this to be true. She remembered her rock bottom moment like it had happened yesterday.
The pounding in her head wasn't something new…in fact it was an almost constant companion. It was amazing how well you could function with a hangover if you were used to it. Marissa knew all to well the only thing that would get rid of the headache was a stiff shot of vodka. Some people swore by a big glass of water, but for Marissa it was vodka. She went to reach for the glass she kept on her nightstand for just such mornings, when her hand bumped up against something. She half opened one eye to see Ryan sitting on the edge of her bed.
"What are you doing here? Didn't you explain to me in great detail last night how you were really done with me this time?" Marissa managed to croak out.
"Summer called…said you weren't in very good shape when you left the party last night and maybe I should check up on you." Ryan offered.
"Well you've checked, so now you can leave." Marissa tried to reach around him for her glass.
"I poured it out." He said.
"Poured what out?"
"You're morning shot. I also got rid of the mickey in the nightstand, and the bottle under the sink in the bathroom."
"I don't know what you are talking about. I was just looking for my water." Marissa attempted to cover.
"I don't know what's sadder, you drinking first thing in the morning, or thinking that you can fool me. After three years don't you think I know all your tricks. Hell, after seventeen years, don't you think I know all the tricks you people use?"
"What is that supposed to mean? You people?" Marissa was instantly defensive.
"Alcoholics Marissa. You are an alcoholic, and I can't watch you kill yourself slowly anymore. I did it with my mom, and I'm not doing it with you."
"You are crazy. I am not an alcoholic, and I am certainly not trying to kill myself." She stated emphatically.
"Oh really?" He said, raising his eyebrows. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of bed and stood her up in front of the full length mirror. "Look at yourself, and tell me what you see?"
Marissa looked in the mirror and squinted to bring the image into focus. She was wearing boxers and a tank top from Victoria Secret. "What do you want me to say Ryan – that I need a shower?" She retorted.
"You don't see this?" He wrapped his hand around her too skinny arms. "Or these?" He motioned to the deep dark circles under her eyes.
"OK, so I could use some more sleep or some makeup. And ya, maybe I need to hit the gym."
"No Marissa, you need to gain about twenty pounds so you don't look like a skeleton. Do you understand that I love you, but I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore? I just can't do it."
"Who asked you to? Certainly not me Ryan. Just go. I am fine." Marissa said, heading away from the mirror and back to her bed. Ryan took one last look at her and for the first time, Marissa saw it in his face that he meant it. And more than that, she saw the disappointment in his eyes. That stung more than anything had in a long time. All she could think at that moment was that there was only one way to deal with that kind of pain…she reached in between her mattress and the box spring and pulled out her emergency bottle and downed two big gulps of the burning liquid. After three or four more swigs the stinging started to fade. She kept drinking until it was completely gone. She woke up twelve hours later with a worse head ache than she had had earlier and decided that maybe some Tylenol was needed. She grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor and wandered downstairs.
"What are you wearing?" Caitlyn seemed to screetch at her as she entered the kitchen.
"What are you talking about?" Marissa asked, opening the cupboard looking for the Tylenol.
"You are wearing my jeans." Caitlyn pointed out.
"I am not. These are mine. I seriously doubt I would fit into your jeans." Marissa retorted.
"Those are so mine."
Marissa looked down at her attire and realized that the jeans she was wearing were not familiar. Upon closer inspection she realized Caitlyn was right. Although they fit OK, they were a little short in the legs. Marissa leaned back on the counter.
"Can you call Dad for me? I'll be waiting upstairs." Marissa managed to get out. Caitlyn didn't know why she had to call her dad, but she did as Marissa asked.
Once back in her room, she took off the jeans and put on a pair of her own, to find them pratically falling off her. She went into the bathroom and stepped on the scale….96 pounds. That was not good. She splashed some cold water on her face, and finally saw what Ryan was trying to show her. Her hair was dull and her skin was pale, save for the dark bags under her eyes. She really did look like death warmed over.
"Hey kiddo, you in here?" Her dad's voice came from the bedroom.
Marissa took a deep breath and went into the room. "Dad…I need help." She said softly.
"You got it." Was all he said. It was as if he had been waiting for her to say those words for months. They quietly packed a bag and drove silently towards San Diego. There was a great residential treatment program there, and he made the call on the way down. All Marissa could really remember from the drive was hearing the song Breaking the Habit on the radio. The lines that resonated with her were "I don't know how I got this way, I know it's not alright, so I'm breaking the habit, I'm breaking the habit tonight."
Rehab was no walk in the park for Marissa. It involved facing up to and dealing with things she had spent the better part of her life avoiding. Her progress was slow but after a year, she was ready to face the world again, without the aid of alcohol. Music had been a big part of her recovery. Some people took to writing in journals, or drew pictures to help express their pain, anger, and frustration but Marissa wasn't an artistic person, and she had enough problems finding the words to speak, let alone those to write down. Instead she turned to music to express herself. She found her voice in the lyrics that others had wrote. By the end of her time in rehab she had found her anthem in the song Vindicated. "I am vindicated, I am selfish, I am wrong. I am right, I swear I'm right, swear I knew it all along. And I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well, I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself." It seemed to cover everything she had gone through. She found it infinitely ironic that it was the song that was playing as she drove back to Newport for the first time since she had left rehab. Although it brought tears to her eyes, she wondered if maybe God was looking out for her, reminding her as she drove through the gates to the place she had avoided for so long, that she was strong. She secretly hoped so, because she was going to need all the strength she could muster to get through the next two weeks.
A/N Just something that has been floating around in my head...please let me know your thoughts/suggestions. Carys