The Good Times Are Killing Me

It was six o’clock in the morning on June 1st 2016. I slept soundly to the loud screeching cars on the Brooklyn Queens Expressway, as they had acted in place of a lullaby my whole life. A knock on the door startled me awake as I struggled to grab blankets to keep my modesty. I awoke red eyed, memory still hazy from the events of the night before. My head was pulsating as I sat up in utter confusion. I had my final exam of the school year that day and was dismayed that my mother would wake me so early. My was voice thin and weak as I managed to mumble the words “Come in”.

Two unfamiliar faces entered my room and slammed the door, a noise I can recall vividly to this day. Confused and terrified, I sat motionless, still clutching my blankets. There was a man and woman, both of whom were strong, with looks on their face that suggested that they had done this before and were not to be manipulated . I wanted to fight back. I wanted to scream and yell until all that was left of my voice had vanished, until my vocal chords ripped in half, but I couldn’t.  Somewhere in my strung-out, weak 105 pound body I knew I needed what was about to happen. I had been expecting this. It was my only option if I wanted to live to see the age of twenty-five.

“Your parents have hired us to take you somewhere that will help you” the man said, his bald head shining in the radiant summer light. The man barricaded the door. “Don’t get out of bed, or this will get much harder, very quickly.” I stayed in bed as the lady picked out clothes for me to wear, warm, salty tears rushing down my face as I sat there gripping my silk sheets so hard my knuckles had turned to white. Trapped in the constraints of my own bed, the shirt I was handed ironically printed the words, “The Good Times Are Killing Us.”

As I finished getting dressed, I held out my wrists, mentally preparing myself for the journey on which I was about to embark upon. I felt the cold metal on my pale skin and heard a click into place.  I walked down my stairs, eyes drawn to the floor, trying to forget that this would be the last time I would see inside the walls of my own home for a very long time. The front door opened, I inhaled the heavy New York City air as I let my thoughts consume my mind. I expected this to happen, but now that it was my brain couldn’t seem to process it.

I looked up as my giant escorts opened up the rental car. The seats were smooth and the car smelled so new it was nauseating. The stone cold automated voice of the GPS started on its route to John F Kennedy international airport. I was left with no information about what I was about to experience. Life as I knew it was about to drastically change, and no one was even telling me where I was going. I stared into the abyss that was New York City as we made our way from Brooklyn to Queens, tears streaming down my face, but my thoughts suddenly still.

The ride progressed, my mind turned into a film, replaying the past four years and all the decisions I had made that had led to me to this moment. I remembered all the times I let people down, all the situations I got myself into that no seventeen year old should ever have to experience.  Regret and shame flooded my being as I let out a wail, releasing emotions that had been pent up for years. All those emotions that I had been trying so hard not to acknowledge devoured me as the car pulled to a stop in front of the airport.

I looked up at the terminal and saw I was going to a rehab in Hawaii, two strong arms grabbing either sides of my shoulders, taking me through the motions as I began to mourn my old life. Reality clicked back into place, like the metal cuffs had clicked onto my wrists. I looked around and locked eyes with a smiling old lady, “Why are you crying sweetie?” She asked excitedly “ You’re going to Hawaii!”

And the summer was over.