I was an entitled selfish prick

Deciding on which rehab to go to can be overwhelming, exhausting and not to mention wildly expensive.

The first place I picked was a rehab in Newport Beach, California called HOAG – it was also a hospital.

The view from my detox room overlooked Balboa Peninsula and all of its yachts. It was truly picturesque and thank god, because the only thing I could do for the next 24 hours was look out the window before getting admitted into the rehab residence.

They took my phone and my belongings and said I was not going to get them back for 30 days. There wasn’t even a television in my room and the whole facility only had one public phone that you could use for five minutes a day.

Five minutes a day was NOT acceptable for me.

I imagine that when my name pops up on my friend’s cell phones, they have to mentally prepare before answering because they know it’s going to be at least an hour long conversation. 

During this hour, it will consist of me talking about 95% of the time - only allowing 5% of the time to the other person so that they can agree with me and compliment me as needed.

In addition to my phone, they also took my blood.

Things escalated very quickly from here. The lab results came back and my liver enzymes were registering at dangerously high levels suggesting the onset of acute liver failure. The doctors could not figure out why they were so high since I had told them I hadn’t had a drink in three days – which was true.

However, I chose to skip a minor detail while filling out my patient intake forms… In addition to that bottle of vodka I had drank three days prior - I also had a special garnish, a bottle of Tylenol.

I knew if I had told them I attempted suicide three days ago there was NO chance I would be getting out of that facility, at least not without a straight jacket.

While this is not a men’s fashion blog, it should be noted that I do appreciate fashion and looking good. Straight jackets are not in my repertoire of clothing and I wouldn’t be caught dead in one.

Because of my liver concerns they would not medically clear me to move from the detox facility into the rehab residence so I was stuck in this shit hole room that only had a view. After a short amount of time, I even hated the view because every time I looked out of the window, I saw people out on yachts, paddle boarding in the bay or simply just walking around. Sure, from my vantage point I couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing but I sure knew what they weren’t doing. They weren’t trapped in a prison cell, I mean, “detox” room without a cell phone.

At one point I actually stepped into the hall, shouted for my nurse and demanded that I be moved to a different room without this view. I aggressively told her “This is PISSING me off.”

The nurse was very perplexed. She said “Austin, I don’t understand. This is the most beautiful room in the whole facility –“

I cut her off and said, “Are you out of your god damn mind lady? You call THIS beautiful? Don’t you dare try to piss on me and tell me it’s raining! I’ve been to the Ritz in Laguna Niguel, THAT’S BEAUTIFUL!  THIS - THIS IS A FUCKING PRISON!” She was not amused, nor did she find my tone charming.

If you haven’t come to the conclusion on your own thus far, let me just be clear. I was one entitled prick at this time of my life. My behavior towards someone when I didn’t get my way was less than “cute.”

I felt like the world was out to get me and I was at war with virtually everyone I crossed paths with. It didn’t help that I had just gone through a drawn out break up, I had just been laid off from my dream job due to COVID-19, the COVID lock downs left me isolated in my half empty apartment and I had attempted suicide twice in the two months leading up to this first day of rehab. Things were rough and I was lost.

The next morning, still not medically cleared because of my liver, I marched into to the office of the Doctor on site.

With little poise and not an ounce of dignity, I addressed the doctor, “Listen. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re going to sign me the fuck out of this place. I am done. I want my phone -IMMEDIATELY. Also - who is going to validate my parking?”

I continued, “Oh what’s that? You don’t know who validates the parking? Well who the fuck can get shit done around here, Atul? I want to talk to them.” Yes, I called him by his first name and did not respect his Doctoral status… Always classy, Austin.

Shortly after this exchange with the Doctor, I signed an AMA (against medical advice) in order to get discharged and I was on my way home. I felt like a failure.

I’m just kidding, I felt like a Tito’s Martini, straight up with a lemon twist from my favorite restaurant in Irvine called Houston’s.

I fought the crave knowing that I probably should take the diagnosis of my liver seriously. I drove straight to my apartment and opened my laptop to begin researching other rehab options. This time in Arizona. I wanted to be closer to my family while going through this significant chapter of my life so that meant packing up and going back to Phoenix where I’m from. I also knew that if I was going to be successful, I would need an outpatient style of treatment. No more of this take your phone and be locked in a room bullshit. 

Before I wrap up, let me address my tone and the amount of times I used the word F***. It is not my intension to offend anyone, it’s just me being 100% transparent in how miserable and angry I was with the world.

Through treatment, I learned I wasn’t actually pissed off at the world, I was angry at myself. It had nothing to do with anyone else besides me. Treating people like I was better than them was my main coping skill and defense mechanism as a direct response to childhood trauma and carried shame. 

Also, I’m laced with a very sarcastic sense of humor. One of my favorite comedians once said, “tragedy + time=comedy.” I don’t take depression or addiction lightly at all, but I will make sarcastic jokes about myself because it’s part of how I’ve healed.

-Austin