I escaped from the clutches of some holy rolling treatment center in Arizona.

“Jesus is Fentanyl for my soul!”

“Give him 40 CC’s — Christ Conquers!”

They kept talking about suiciding me and I half expected some sinister figure to approach me and say “Hillary Clinton sends her regards” before bashing me with a dumbbell or whatever.

They meant suicide precautions.

Oh, whew. Glad we cleared that up.


backs slowly towards the door

This nurse was going to refuse to give my my heart and HIV meds to make an example of me for being late for medication.

She reconsidered when it was starting to look like I was going to embed her medication cart in the drywall before her shift was over.

The next day I pointed out that they’d release the fucking hounds to remind everyone to attend AA, but that as a licensed medical facility they were dead set against reminding people to take medications.

The place is designed like a fucking casino.

Why the fuck would anyone have any concept of time in there?

They quickly changed some policies and started announcing medication times on the PA.

Speaking of the F word, their thing was clean language, clean living.

I tried to come up with a little song:

“Frack frack frack a duck… say how do you do to a kangaroo? Say good morning gang to the orangutans, a wholesome outing at the zoo!”

I bonded with the other gay Eskimo in our tribe.

He talked about how the gay meetings were all toxic here, too.

Et tu, Brujas?

So I’m sitting there in my Britney Spears T-shirt making penises out of play-doh and sticking the bendy figurine’s legs behind his head.

This volcanic bitch asks me if I’m re-living the trauma of my addiction.

I lost it and just about cried laughing.

One of their chaplains started talking about one of the churches I attend.

I was like hey, I’m from there!


Yes girl, I’m a SPY, they sent me here to END you!

Just kidding, no really, that’s the one all my Liturgy Service posts are about though.

I signed out against medical advice. Frack that place.

Their program consisted of hour after hour after hour of idiots at the pulpit droning in about how AA works y’all!

I’ve been around 11+ years and I’ve spent hundreds of hours listening to men and women give the ole’ tired and true formulaic Saturday Night Special from the podium.

Half of them are drunk or high now.

My story might be fucked up but you know what, at least it’s mine and it’s not “hurrr durrr hurrr my daddy beat me and I started drinking wine. And then I drank some more wine. And then some more wine. And muh steps and muh sponsor and I lived happily ever after.” 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪

If you really want to piss me off, give me and the tattoos the once over and tell me “it’s okay, you don’t have to believe in god right now.”

That’s a rullll purty book you brought, SHIT, that’s the same color blue my aunt turned when they narcan’ed her, y’all! Maybe you and the other missionaries can teach me how to read it someday. 🙄

A few of the staff came by to tell me I’m probably going to relapse. Blah blah blah, I know, I’m Disobedient so I’m going to DIE. Fuck you. You know when Judge Rutherford was going around in the 1800s with his “Millions Now Living Will Never Die” speeches, it was common for editors to quip “Millions Now Living Would Rather Die Than Hear Judge Rutherford Speak.”

I so love it when Christians share the Good News with me.

What, do you mean I won’t be a success story like the 20% of the people on the unit who have successfully completed your program one or more times and are back after a relapse? 😭

Another rehab scam that regurgitates BillShit and charges your insurance $3000+ a day for it.