Happy Easter to all.

Having spent the last three major holidays in Rehab-sanctioned AA meetings, (does Valentines Day actually count as a major holiday by the way? I might be exaggerating a bit for writer’s purposes) I figure why not continue the trend.

Given that this is my first holiday ”back on my own”- Which yes, I do have half my family coyly trying to make ”check in” calls to- I guess- make sure i’m not binge eating chocolate easter eggs-  I’m lying here with my roommate  searching for Overeaters Anonymous meetings tonight.

Do I really want to go?

No.

I don’t.

In fact, as I write this I’m debating ways I can shirk around it and then still post later that I did go- to which none would be the wiser.

I’m clever, I’m lying here thinking. I can end up just not going- drink some wine with my friends on a balcony- and then praise myself in the morning for being a committed “recoverer” via a post.

Whatta load of bullshit, right?

This is what happens. You lie for so long, you just automatically have a backup tale written for you by your head.

It’s unfortunate- but it’s another side truth.

I am going to go tonight, though I suppose it’s not like anyone will know.

I’m gonna go- and sit in that room full of people that I attended once before.

Same place, same time- a few days before rehab.

I went and cried with my beanie pulled down over my face and I didn’t speak.

I wasn’t ashamed, I just didn’t feel like I belonged. Didn’t feel like I had made myself sick enough to be there-

“I’m not even skinny anymore,” I cried looking at the thinner girls in the room. “You didn’t even do it right.”

I left the meeting that night,  a man finding me in the crowd.

Trim, fit, adorning a business suit- he stopped me as I walked out and stuck out his hand.

“First time?” he asked, as I pulled out my headphones.

I smiled at him in my southern way.

“Scott,” he said. “Always glad to see a new face.”

“Lindsey,” I said, wiping snot from my nose. “Thanks.”

“Keep coming,” he smiled, finding my eyes. “It’ll grow on you.”

Right, I’d thought then as I pushed open the door. Going to rehab bud, and then I won’t ever need any of this again.

Ah- to be young and silly.

Perhaps when I go tonight- I’ll talk.

And perhaps afterward, I’ll find Scott, tap him on the shoulder- and shake his hand first.

Who knows?

This is Rehab: Truth 3.5