Saved by the waiter (possible trigger, mention of drugs)

I am on a work trip visiting a town where I used to live. And party. Everything is a trigger. These streets, that bottle shop, those martini lounges, I see you.

At this point I’m not triggered or tempted, just slightly spooked. Why is memory doing this to me? I sense it’s time to dust off my tools, don my armour, and summon my dragon: “Fire up, bud, we might need you!”

The prudent choice is to avoid the tawdry, enticing streets, so I opt for dinner in the safety of the hotel. I’m seated, I ask for the mocktail menu, and water is poured. I look around. Gosh, he looks familiar. Hmmm, I think I know that person. Uh-oh! There’s an event in the lounge and it’s full of the party posse. Then, almost predictably, I see my nose pal and my brain short circuits: “just one line thick maybe two cash on hand eight ball gin all night no one will know”.

The waiter interrupts my reverie, and I order a main and, very deliberately, a mocktail. Then, I guess because I’m panicking, I tell him: “I’m sober like two years and I know those guys and we partied together and my dealer is there and everything is a trigger and I don’t know …”

He does not fake smile at me, his eyes show compassion, and he says: “No, it’s good. I’ll get your order started. Drink your water. You’re good.”

And that was it. My mind was released, I was back in my calm body, and I could start writing this story.

Let us never underestimate the monster’s depravity and speed, and let us always remember the power in kindness.