Rehab: More Than Just Sobriety

Dragged into Rehab – Against My Will

“Don’t you dare take me! You don’t know who I am! You can’t take me anywhere without my consent. I am a free citizen of a free country. I know my rights!” My voice echoed in the night as the rehab staff dragged me toward the car. My wife stood there, watching, but she wasn’t allowed to come along. They feared I’d either turn violent or that she would break down seeing me in that state.

I was too drunk to resist physically, but my mind raced. Memorize the roads. Find an escape route. I won’t stay here. The streets blurred under the dim streetlights. A middle-aged man sat at a counter as we arrived. He tried to calm me down, but I wouldn’t have it.

“Take me home immediately, or I’ll create a scene. I’ll call the police! You’ve taken me here against my will.”

“Your wife requested us to bring you here for treatment,” he said, his voice firm yet calm. “If you don’t want to stay, we’ll take you back tomorrow morning. But for now, go get some rest. It’s late.”

His words meant nothing to me. My anger was blinding. I demanded a cigarette. They gave me one, perhaps hoping it would silence me for a moment. After a few drags, a staff member led me to a crowded room where five or six other men were asleep. He handed me a thin mattress, a bedsheet, and a pillow.

“I need a blanket,” I muttered. Without a word, he threw one at me and walked away.

My head pounded. Someone handed me a pill. A sleeping pill? A painkiller? I didn’t care. I swallowed it and drifted into a restless sleep.

Waking Up in a New Reality

Morning light streamed through the barred window. I felt heavy, sluggish. My mouth tasted bitter, my head ached from last night’s alcohol. I turned to see a man in his early thirties watching me, smiling slightly.

“Forget about everything,” he said. “You’re not leaving unless your family wants you to. You better listen to the rules, or you’ll have a tough time.”

I ignored him. My wife wouldn’t do this to me. She couldn’t possibly leave me here in a place meant for people with substance use disorder who had lost all hope. I wasn’t like them… was I?

The day passed in a daze. I didn’t bathe. The single bathroom was shared by eight of us. I wasn’t allowed to leave the detox room. At 11 AM, a staff member took me downstairs to a doctor who checked my vitals, asked how I felt, and took my blood for testing.

That night, two more men arrived—both younger than me, both relapsed person in recovery. One of them was talkative, full of stories about his past life. I started boasting too, exaggerating my wealth, my connections. An old habit—pretending to be someone I wasn’t.

The First Days – A Mind Trapped in Denial

I spent the first few days staring out the tiny window, searching for a way out. I believed my wife wouldn’t have the money to keep me here. Surely, she’d have to take me back in a few days.

I planned my escape. The moment I got home, I would threaten her, push her to take me to our ancestral village. And then, I would do what I had planned before they took me away.

But my wife had a stronger plan. A plan to save me from myself.

Days passed, and my body grew weaker. The withdrawal symptoms were brutal—headaches, nausea, trembling hands. The worst was the shame that started creeping in. At first, I ignored it. But as the days went by, I began to see myself clearly. What had I become? Want to know the real reasons behind my downfall? Read: “Alcohol’s Shadow: My Life in a Bottle”

Life in Rehab – Structure, Discipline, and a Harsh Reality

After fifteen days in detox, I was moved to the main community—a hall with over sixty men, some as young as 13, some as old as 70. It wasn’t just rehab; it was a world of broken stories.

Our routine was strict:

• 6:30 AM: Wake up, wash, exercise.
• 7:30 AM: Morning prayer—a half-hour of asking for strength.
• 8:00 AM: A motivational talk.
• 9:00 AM: Breakfast.
• 10:00 AM: Therapeutic Daily Assignment—cleaning, dusting, mopping.
• 12:00 PM: A bath, followed by lessons from Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) and Narcotics Anonymous (NA).
• Afternoon: Leisure—TV, chess, books.
• Evening: Group meetings—sharing personal struggles.
• Friday Nights: Fun activities—singing, dancing, playing guitar.

Some men had been there for months, even years. Their families feared they’d relapse if they left. They became the self-appointed leaders, bossing us around. For the first time in years, I had gone a month without alcohol. I felt stronger, but the biggest change was internal. I had started hating the person I had been.

A Conversation That Changed My Perspective

One day, a counselor visited. He gave us the option of speaking privately or in a group. I chose private.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I replied.

He leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Even if you quit drinking, do you think that alone will fix everything?”

I hesitated. “No. My problems go beyond alcohol. Rehab just wants me to stop drinking, but I have a life to rebuild.”

A small smile played on his lips. “I’m not here to talk about alcohol. I’m here to talk about you.”

He paused. “Can you look me in the eye and say you have fought with everything you had to fix your life?”

I said nothing. Because I hadn’t.

“I’ve seen men in worse conditions than you rise back up,” he continued. “Your battle isn’t with alcohol. It’s with yourself. The world doesn’t care about you. But your family does. You need to fight—not for the world, but for them.”

His words weren’t new. But for the first time, I actually heard them.

Leaving Rehab – A False Start

One day, they called me downstairs. My wife, sister, and niece were there. My heart pounded, but I didn’t react. Was I really free?

They gave me instructions on adjusting to the outside world. I pretended to listen. But the moment I reached home, I exploded.

“This was hard enough, and you made it worse!” I shouted at my wife and mother.

I went to my wife’s purse, took money, and went straight to the liquor store. That night, I drank whiskey in front of them. But something was different. It tasted bitter. It felt wrong.

For five days, I forced myself to drink, hoping to enjoy it again. But I never did.

Then, one evening, I looked at my wife and said, “I won’t drink today.” Her eyes sparkled, but she said nothing. She didn’t need to.

The next day, she encouraged me to join a gym. And my life began unfolding a different chapter.

Did Rehab Change Me?

No. Rehab didn’t change me. But it stopped me from falling deeper.

The real battle began when I stepped outside. I could have chosen to relapse. But instead, I chose to fight. I trusted the trust my family had in me. And that’s why I am here today.

➡️ Read my next blog: My Sobriety Awakening: Reclaiming Myself.