Withdrawal from meth isn’t like withdrawal from other drugs.  The sudden deprivation your body experiences isn’t met with cold sweats, the shakes, or vomiting.  No, instead of giving…meth takes something from you.  You see, every time you shoot meth, a little piece of you dies with the high.  As you delve deeper and deeper into the person you think meth makes you…it’s slowly taking your soul…and believe me when I say there is no return policy.

“He’s going to need fluids – lots and lots of fluids.” Blue scrubs instructed me, as I signed the discharge papers.  “He needs a well-balanced diet, and…”

Perhaps it was the erratic look on my face that told her I had no idea what I was in for.  Maybe it was my constant nodding…either way, blue scrubs was the only person who told me what I needed to know…I only wish I believed her.

“Listen, girl,” she said, taking my hands in hers, “he is not the same man.  He might never be the same man.  All the fluids and healthy meals in the world won’t be worth a damn unless you have patience.  His fuse is going to be short, his depression will be long…and then anger, well, it’s hard to say if that ever goes away.  I see the way you look at him and I know you love him, girl…but love has its limits.  And if you find yourself hitting yours…there ain’t no shame in asking for help.”

I looked back at Will and remembered that first night we met – how fate had haphazardly made our worlds collide.  I didn’t give up then, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to give up now.

“Thank you,” I said, forcing a smile, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
“Here,” she said slipping a piece of paper into my hand, “just in case.”
“Thank you.” I sighed, fighting back tears.
“Don’t cry yet, child…you just getting started.”



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