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Lost Luggage. Part Seven.

After my uncanny demand that I speak to my counselor immediately, the nurse advised her supervisor of the situation. It is not unusual for clients to become irritated and uncooperative during the initial treatment. Afterall, withdrawal and taking away a client’s safety blanket (drugs), clients are likely to become unhinged at some point. And keep in mind, substituting them with more insane psychotic substitutes. (I do not like to speak negatively about treatment facilities because they do save lives and help people recover, but this one, I am not fond of one bit).


Finally, after a couple of hours demanding that someone bring me to get my stuff that I was leaving, I was escorted to my counselor’s office for a phone call. I called my Daddy. I begged him to please come pick me up. I told him I did not feel well, and the medication was making me sick. He was out of town working. He asked me to stay a few more days and when he was able to come visit he would. “Jill, please give it a few more days. You just got there. You must try. For your kids.”  I said, “okay.” What I really meant was…” f*ck you. No one cares what happens to me. “I left with rage. I was simply not getting my way. And when I say I wanted out of there immediately. I meant it. I adopted a “I do not give a f*ck attitude, and I do not need anyone’s help-especially not from my family to get home-back to my kids.” It was an impulsive, stupid decision. One I still regret. And I do not have many regrets from my past because I have found a lot of wisdom through my experiences. But------the next few hours from that adopted mindset were dangerous and life changing.


I went outside to smoke after the phone call racking my brain how to get out. The nurses told me they would call the police if I left because I was technically “impaired” from the past days of narcotics. Pissed me off. I cursed all the staff. I told them how ridiculous that was, and I could not be held captive against my will. At first, they would not get my belongings-my cell phone and luggage. They advised me I could leave without my things, and they would call the police. It is hard to express with words, but I was LIVID!!! And I was not taking that for an answer. I walked to the admissions office. I told the kind lady to stop my insurance for my stay there, they would not get paid, and I was being held against my will and would contact a lawyer.


Sidenote: If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, taking away the insurance payment for your stay will in fact get you discharged.


The kind lady made a couple of phone calls. I was escorted back to my counselor’s office. She said, “Jillian, you have not given this facility a chance. Your father thinks it is wise if you stay and get through detox before you leave. He is not in town and cannot come pick you up.”


“I told you; I am leaving and that is what I am doing. I will figure it out. My Uncle Eugene is at home.”


“Jillian, you are going against medical advice. I wish you luck.”


Thank you, ma’am. I will be fine.


From there, I went to my room awaiting the next escort to gather my belongings. I had this anxious, internal knowing…that whatever was about to come was not going to be good. I had already written off calling my parents or getting help from them. I was very determined to get to Atlanta by my own means. And by that, I mean, try to get to Georgia with twenty dollars to my name. I was going to have to be resourceful.

A gentleman arrived, handed me my cellphone, and luggage. He drove me in a golf cart to the iron gate. He dropped me off and wished me luck. It was mid-morning. I was happy. Freedom, I thought. I had no idea what it really was like to be bound behind iron rod gates without my own free will.


In my resourcefulness, I decided to leave my suitcase outside the rehab gates on the side of the road. I decided to only bring what I absolutely needed. I did not want to look “crazy” walking down the road dragging a suitcase (I was better than that). I grabbed a small plastic bag with a couple of items. Easy to carry, and for me not took look suspicious. Suspiciously, like a nut job!


Across from the facility, a few feet away, was a good ole’ Dollar General. I walked across the street and decided I needed to ask someone for a ride to the bus station. (I googled the closest bus station, and it was a few miles away.) In my delusion, if I could get to a bus station I could somehow get home to my kids. I was making my life completely, utterly unnecessarily, a lot more difficult than it had to be at that present moment. All because I wanted to prove I did not “need” anyone.


In this situation, ignorance is not bliss, it is plain deadly.


I scouted a nice-looking lady who looked harmless. She was middle aged and looked like a schoolteacher. Turns out, she was! I asked her if I could please have a ride to the closest bus stop. I told her I was trying to get home to my kids. I hopped in the car with her like it was no big deal. As much as I have hitchhiked, I often wonder if my Mama ever told me not to get in the car with strangers! HA. All jokes aside, it is dangerous, and I was brave to take the chance.


We made small talk. She told me she was a schoolteacher and for some reason she decided to take the day off. A part of me believes it was God’s handywork. Keeping me safe from point A to point B. I did not have the cognitive ability to make rational decisions. I was simply functioning from a place of fear and anger.

After she dropped me off, I noticed that I was not in the nicest part of town anymore. It looked like the “hood” and homeless people were walking the streets. I was very uncomfortable. I soon realized that bus tickets are more expensive than I thought. I needed more money and vodka immediately.


(No one knew I had left treatment. I had taken everyone off my HIPPA forms.)


  I walked around the block until I found a pawn shop.



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