Intro

If you had told my younger self that I would ever go to a rehab/trauma treatment center, I probably would’ve laughed in your face.

But here I am. 45 days of treatment completed. I just have some paperwork to sign with my therapist and then I get the keys to my van, my cell phone and life back. In ways, it’s bittersweet. Life itself isn’t any different from how I went in. I feel a bit better but still, sure as shit, know I’m still on the fast track to killing myself somehow. But these aren’t things you can be 100% honest about, even with your therapists.

I started this journey for my friends, who insisted I go into treatment after writing some goodbye letters to them. I’ve had some friends die by suicide and so I know that I should at least try, for their sakes.

Anyway, my thoughts are interrupted by McBasil, my hot therapist, who comes up with the release paperwork. He has both of our phones and a bluetooth speaker with him. When any of his patients finish treatment, he has them choose a song or two that meant something to them. I spent way too much time trying to figure mine out. I love many a song and wanted to find something somewhat abstract or indie that he wouldn’t have heard yet liked. Basically, I was trying to impress him. Super thirsty but if you saw him, you would at least understand why. With a name like McBasil, an Adonis is NOT what’s conjured up in your head as soon as you first hear the name. I imagine an old bald headed drunk man with a fierce red beard.

Let me just try to draw you a mental picture of this angelic man. He’s tall – maybe 6’3” – with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. Jet black hair. His parents are Hawaiian and Japanese. He has these chocolate eyes that just see right into your soul with a wide mouth. He’s a black belt in karate, ballroom dancer, rock climber, hiker, hospice worker, drug and trauma treatment counselor and he even fuckinn FENCES! YES! FENCING – where they have those dangly thin swords and mesh face protectors and dance around each other, .jabbing. He’s bungee jumped and done a bunch of other epic shit. Literally every person in the treatment center loves him. OH! I almost forgot: he fuckin writes poetry! A sexy Jack of All Trades. I can’t even count how many times I had to masturbate in the treatment center before and after our therapy sessions. He’s also an incredible therapist so helped me in so many ways.

He knows very well all of us patients have the hots for him but somehow he stays humble. I don’t think he has any faults except his bad handwriting and punctuality, which are the lamest. You cant even get mad at him for those.

Ok, so he comes over. He insists we go outside on the grassy front lawn since it’s a beautiful day. I can’t say “no” to him so just follow him. I get a deep sadness inside me as I stare at the back of him. This is probably the very last conversation I’m ever going to have with this Earth Angel of a man. After seeing him almost daily for 45 days and having conversations of the highest intensity, I just couldn’t imagine never hearing his voice or seeing his face. I want too ask him if we can take a picture together but feel like it’d be too unprofessional and I couldn’t bear it if he said no.

The songs he chose were “A Better Son/Daughter” by Rilo Kiley and “Get Ready” by Lady.   My songs were “Atlas: Last” by Sleeping At Last and “Suit & Jacket” by Judah & The Lion. We sat under the sun. He danced a little. My god, how the man can move. I bet that translates well in the bedroom. I want to fuck him so bad. We stare at each for a few seconds. We do this a bit. Until one of us looks away, usually him.

After being nearly catatonic after being raped though and thinking I’d never want to be with anyone intimately, McBasil definitely made me realize my southern regions were very much still alive. Mojo was definitely rising.

I signed the release forms. We hug for just the right amount of time for it to be considered “appropriate”. I give him a cheesy letter I wrote talking about how hes helped me and how grateful I am for his help. It’s basically a love letter and hes sweet enough to ask if he can keep it after I read it out loud for him.

One thing you should know about me is that I’m HORRIBLE at goodbyes. I lived in 4 different countries by age 8. I grew up in a cult that people were always coming into and leaving. I’ve had friends and family die and/or just disappear. Feels like people were always leaving me. This felt no different.

So I just got up, asked for my van keys and loaded up my clothes and hygiene supplies. Since I was recently shunned by my mom and all my childhood friends, I was just going to hit the road in my lil  Toyota Sienna minivan. It had a small sink, single stove and a tiny bed. That’s all I needed to beat the streets. My friend, who’s a leathertramp (one who travels by foot), called me Hobo Luxe when he saw my outdoor shower. I’d rejected all proposed trail names whilst backpacking on the Pacific Crest Trail but, for some reason, I really liked the name “Hobo Luxe”. Hence the name for this story.

I had decided that I was going to do a “Fuck-et List” road trip after I got back to California. I had never seen Banff National Park in Canada and would go up the coast, to Kelowna (to see a friend I had met backpacking on the Pacific Crest Trail) BC and then head over to Banff. Then come down Montana and down into southern Utah. All in time for my 33^rd birthday. I have a big thing for symmetry and 33 seemed a nice symbolic age to die at. 33^rd birthday at 3:33pm or am from Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park (one of my favorite places on this planet).

I had also decided to not plan as much as my anxiety usually would insist I do. I would just plan day by day. Download offline maps for all the areas I’d go through and take it from there. Improvise daily.

My dad had died and I didn’t get much but had a thousand or two in my bank account. If I boondocked and didn’t spend money on much else but gas and cheap food, I should easily be able to do that trip.

I was a bit nervous though. I’d been in treatment and had support all around me for almost 2 months. Now, it’d be just me and my thoughts all alone. I wanted to do this roadtrip.

McBasil hung around while I loaded up my van and just before I drove off, he waved at me and came over with a travel mug. “Heres a goodbye present”. “I’d rather have had sex but ok” I thought and smiled at him. God, I wanted to marry that man.

Some of the patients came back from some Salt Lake City sobriety march and gathered around my van as I started driving off. Maddy, a gorgeous heroin addict, waved goodbye at me and mouthed “I love you!”. I blew her a kiss. I really hoped her sobriety stuck. She was one of the most fantastic humans I’d ever met. We almost hooked up in there but shes married and I’m not into married people, unless they have an open marriage.

 Who knew that was the last time I’d ever see some of them. Maddy left her family and moved to Salt Lake to be with her addict friend, replacing heroin with love. Dominic & Colton, some fantastic friends I’d met in there, soon overdosed within weeks of each other after getting out. But their stories are theirs and not mine to tell. I miss them all though dearly.