Seth L.

Seth is eighteen years old. I don’t remember where he’s from. When I first started working at the clinic, he was community leader running the community meetings and the 12-Step Meeting (an Intro to AA/NA type environment). By all accounts, he was the model patient.

The first time I talked to him I was in his apartment over at PHP, which stands for Partial Hospitalization and is the final step before entering a halfway house or the real world. His roommate was Charles, a patient about my age from Chicago with my same major – only on the opposite end of the political spectrum, but respectfully so. I had promised to bring him a Russell Kirk book, but I was later told not to by staff.

I had just gotten done making my final rounds at the main men’s apartment building. All the men were lounging around in their apartments watching a Michelle Pfeiffer movie before lights out. Then I got to Seth and Charles’s apartment, which was in another building that was halfway renovated. Theirs was a little different from the rest.

Seth and Charles were sitting across from each other silently reading with the TV off. The smell of something cooking in the oven was strong.

“Would you like some cake?”

It took me a moment to respond back, “sure…”

In my short time at the clinic, it was always me running around doing favors for the patients – warming up meals, finding silverware, finding out what nurses want, when can they get their extra cash, more cigarette’s etc..

Seth fixed me a slice and I sat down and talked to both of them. Charles and I had a mini-debate-type thing a couple days before that poli-sci major’s do that isn’t so much confrontational as exploratory. Never negative feelings attached… it’s more or less a checklist. We walked away mutually impressed – that’s when I offered to loan him the Russell Kirk book. Kirk is a fine conservative writer that most conservatives have never heard of. I hadn’t had a chance to speak with Seth.

I joked with them that I felt that I had just stepped into my grandparent’s house, which turned into a nickname that stayed. I found out that Seth was in for Oxy’s, common for the younger people at the clinic.

I didn’t see him again till two days later. I was assigned to take him back to his apartment after dinner so he could get his things and come back to the main facility. He was on “watch.”

I helped him get his things at his apartment. He had a new roommate who was asking him what was up. “The changed my meds and want me over at the main facility,” he lied.

On the drive over he told me he was on suicide watch. We talked for a little bit about depression and suicidal thoughts. I told him my take on it, how I’ve coped with strong depression in earlier years. He told me how be bottled everything inside. He asked me what the cost of living was in Jacksonville. He wanted out of his hometown so he could start over. It was his own sister that got him hooked on Oxy’s.

Back at the facility he slept. I didn’t see him again until the next day. I was outside by the lake with a bunch of the smokers and was walking to peek around on the side of building where some other smokers congregate to make sure a tech was there. There was. But there was also Seth. I hadn’t seen him since him awake since he’d been transferred.

He looked horrible. He was sitting by himself in the parking lot staring at the ground. I started walking his way.

Just as I sat down next to him another tech walked up to us and said, “time to go." They’re free time was coming to an end and they had to choose between doing homework – largely writing their autobiographies and reading 12-Step books – and doing meditation

“I’ll get him inside, can you give me a couple minutes?”

“No,” the other tech said. I gave her a look to let her know I was serious. Seth looked like he needed to talk to someone, not go sit in a room while a therapist read calming words. He needed to get some things out and no someone gave a damn, not spend more time in silence.

The other tech went for my boss. They immediately dispatched with Seth. They laid in on me for what seemed fifteen minutes. They told me I was being manipulated by Seth. “All addicts are the same, they lie and manipulate.” That offended me on two levels, the first being the lumping together of everyone with a drug problem as treacherous sociopaths and the second being them ignoring that I had made an informed decision without his immediate input. I saw him from across the parking lot and made the decision to talk to him.

I did tell them right away that I would do as they say. I’m on their payroll hired to institute their program. They were in positions of authority and I do as I’m told when on the clock.

That wasn’t good enough. I had to believe them that taking three minutes to talk to him was deleterious to his progress. I couldn’t though. Not right then at least. I knew the success rate of any rehab clinic is something between five and thirty percent. Two thirds of the patients will wind up abusing again. Who the hell were they to override common sense to stay within the guidelines of a failed program?

Something caught my boss’s attention and she had to leave the conversation. I walked off. I cried. I can’t even say exactly why. I can't remember the last I cried... but there I was on the dock out by the lake trying to stop the tears.

I went to her office today and told her it was because I empathize. Seth is a kid I could easily see hanging around my friends and I. He’s not just a random abuser, he’s a smart kid caught up in some bad stuff and wanting to get better. He’s scared as hell. My protective instincts and natural response to someone in that situation were completely overridden without even a moment’s consideration to confirm to a pretty ridiculous standard of timeliness and order that no staff member exercises in their own life.

It hurt though. That was very unexpected. I didn’t realize I was being as emotionally drawn into the patients as I had become.