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Published January 2019.

The Gift of Desperation

Going into rehab felt like defeat, but it was the beginning of spiritual victory

On Sunday afternoon, April 21st 2008, I called my sister, crying, and told her I needed to go to rehab. I was working on the third day of a drinking binge, which was the third binge in three months. (Good things do not, definitely, come in threes!) After the first one, I went to the ER to get IV fluids because I knew I was dehydrated. I lied to the nurses and doctor and told them I had been throwing up for several days. Less than two weeks later I again went to the ER after three days of binging. This time I asked for a psych eval. I thought I was going crazy and was hoping they would admit me to the psych unit. They didn’t, but instead sent me home with an anti-depressant, an appointment to see a therapist and advice not to drink. 

During the last binge I found myself in my kitchen with a knife, trying to decide where to cut myself and to gather the courage to do so. I thought that this was a way to get admitted to the hospital and then maybe someone would be able to figure out what was wrong with me.

-- Becky B.

Chillicothe, Ohio

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