I’m officially out of rehab. I can (and plan to) avail myself of the after-care program, which runs from 5:30-6:30 every Monday evening. It won’t be the same as my nightly group, though, and I suppose it shouldn’t be. Presumably, my treatment team met and decided that my March 2 graduation was a good thing and that I was ready to get back into the normal swing of things. I hope they’re right.
Last night, I shared my relapsed prevention plan with the group and received their feedback. I waited for Katie to say she heard red flags in my plan, but she didn’t. When it was time to choose someone to deliver my certificate to me, I chose her. She’s been wonderful throughout my eight weeks, and I’ll miss her. Of course, I’ll see her at AA meetings, and I’m sure we’ll chat then, but I won’t meet with her weekly anymore.
I’m working on my 4th Step with my sponsor, and I have two AA groups that I love. I know I said all this yesterday, but I suppose I’m trying to convince myself that I have support. My family supports me; in fact, they threw me a surprise party last night, replete with a pie (I’m not a cake person).
I feel proud of what I’ve accomplished thus far, and I’m hopeful of the future, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. There’s no returning to normal. Normal has been flipped on its sodding head. Yes, I have more free time now, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing. Free time means my brain can get up to its old, nasty tricks. I have some new coping skills,though, and I plan to start meditating again (perhaps going back to the wonderful Headspace app. For the record, meditating while being an active alcoholic isn’t particularly helpful).
Tonight will be the first time in six weeks that I’ve been home on a Tuesday. I’ll make dinner, mediate between my children, do laundry, and pretend I’m okay. Fake it until I make it, I suppose.
Sigh. Though rehab is over, recovery continues…as it damn well should.