He had tried rehab so many times. He always fell out around the second week. The first week wasn't terrible, but the second week was hell. He couldn't think straight, and despite detox ending, he felt anxious. People were everywhere. He had no privacy, and nothing was private. Rehab was just like that, he figured. He had always quit, and figured the only thing he couldn't quit was using drugs. He figured a lot of things. None of them were entirely true, and he knew that much, but choosing to believe he couldn't change was easier than actually making a meaningful change in any way shape or form. Really, his goal was to sleep his life away doing drugs, and he was doing a good job of that he thought. Yet, after every hit, something changed inside him, literally. His brain stopped taking dopamine the same way. It needed more, and he couldn't provide it. It only took three separate hospital visits for him to finally consider rehab again, despite his past failings. He refused staunchly at first, citing that while finding treatment in California was easy, finding treatment that he wanted was probably impossible. His family had all but abandoned him years ago, so he knew that even if he did find rehab in California that looked appealing, they certainly wouldn't help. So cost was a factor here, too. There were a lot of factors – too many, if you asked him. He wanted to quit again. He wanted to quit again so desperately. It was easy, like falling into a pool. Normalcy awaits, and while the water may shock at first, it turns warm and comforting quickly. However, where he was right now was far from comforting. Tubes were coming out of his throat, and needles pierced his skin. The bed was pulled taut and the sheets felt like barbed wire. This is what I want to quit, he joked to himself. He chuckled under what breath he could muster, but the jest didn't leave his mind. Is this what I want to quit? Can I quit this? The humor made way for heavy thoughts. I'll fail. I know it. But can I do this again? Death was probably right around the corner for him, so he figured it was either win or lose, no middle ground. He asked his doctor tentatively how he could expect any privacy in rehab. He explained that rehab isn't always what he had experienced, and that to find drug rehabs in California that fit his needs, all he had to do was look. While he appreciated the help, he asked for some privacy. He revelled in the quiet for a moment, tentative and nervous for the future. He was happy, though, that this might not be the last time he got some privacy. For the first time, it seemed like he wasn't going to quit.
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