The pain was insufferable. Everyone tried to tell her they understood it but they didn’t. Not really. They didn’t know. They didn’t know what it meant to be away from her wife and stuck in what might as well have been jail – just with better packaging. They tried to tell her the Florida sun, the warm breezes from the beach, that any of it was worth it. That her wife wants her to get better and that her life was waiting for her, just as long as she got sober.
Her stomach was on fire, she just wanted to rip her bones out of her body, and scream. They didn’t fucking get it. And that fucking bitch, the woman, her “case manager” was supposed to help her? Bitch never went through this.
She tossed and turned in bed, kicking the walls and wailing in agony.
“Just get through this,” said a voice by the door.
If she had the strength for it, she would have thrown the lamp at her case manager just then.
Instead she lay there, shaking, trying to drown it all out, trying to sleep, trying to just not exist.
Why did she think she could ever get sober?