Excerpt from Killing Willis
"I want to go to rehab," I said.
"Okay, well, you need to show up there by eight o'clock tonight," he said. "If you do not show up there, I will put a bench warrant out for your arrest."
"Oh, no, I'll be there," I said.
I turned around and looked at my mom. I knew that she was behind the rehab deal, and I was angry at her for doing this to me. She had set it all up with the guy sitting next to her. He worked over at this rehab called CPC Westwood, and he made deals with the court system so people like me, who needed help getting sober, could go to rehab instead of jail. I should have been glad that I didn't have to go to jail. I should have felt lucky that my mom hadn't given up on me, even though I'd put her through hell for the past seven years. But I didn't want to kick. I had done it before; I had sweated it out and been sick with diarrhea and the shakes and the worst cravings I'd ever known in my life. I did not want to do it again. I did not want to go to rehab. Being sober allowed me to feel way more pain than I could bear. And I hadn't been taught anything to help me manage my pain during those five other times I had gone to rehab. I couldn't believe it would be any different now.
But at the same time, I was already turning away from my old ways. I didn't want to continue being nothing but an addict and a dealer. I knew I had to get over the anguish that tormented me from my childhood and dig my way out of this hole.