The cool air of the Benoni highveld brushes against my skin as I step out of the uber, hesitantly dragging my feet towards the double doors that hold promises of salvation I’m not sure I deserve. The tranquility of the rehab center stands in stark contrast to the disarray raging within me. My hand trembles slightly, betraying the apprehension I feel entering this unfamiliar refuge.
I’m greeted with muted smiles and warm eyes that seem to understand the weight of the baggage I carry, not in my suitcase, but within the crevices of a weary heart. Within these walls, I am to embark on the most formidable journey I’ve ever faced—to find redemption and to make peace with a ghost.
They call you by your first initial, T, a habit I seem unable to break just yet. You’re so deeply etched into my being that even after all these years, even after the specter of death has claimed you, I find sanctuary in referring to you in the most intimate terms we once shared. Here, in this room that will be my home for a while, I am encouraged by my counselor to reconnect with you through letters, as a means of healing wounds still fresh and festering.
Dear T,
I’ll never forget your laughter, the way it would rise and cascade through our Johannesburg home, filling every corner with your vitality. I cringe when I think how often I drowned that sound with the clinking of ice in my whiskey glass, too absorbed in my own sorrow and addiction to see the light dimming in your eyes.
The guilt feels as potent as the last drops of alcohol that kissed my lips before I admitted defeat and agreed to find help. I’m scared, T. I’m here, surrounded by strangers, all of us grappling with the chains of demons that whisper sweet lies of escape. The road ahead feels insurmountable without you, without the woman who was my compass in a life I let fade into disarray.
I miss you more than I’ve ever let on. But my love for the bottle, as you used to bitterly jest, often came first. Now, without you, without the liquid crutch that kept me stumbling but never upright, I must learn to stand alone.
This place, with its gentle group sessions and earnest therapists, offers a path I’m uncertain I have the strength to walk. Yet, in their eyes—in the eyes of everyone working tirelessly to help rebuild broken souls—I see refracted pieces of your unwavering faith in me. It scares me, it gives me a fraction of hope, but mostly, it reminds me of all I’ve lost and all I’ve yet to reclaim.
Until tomorrow, Tony
I fold the letter, an origami conduit of pain and longing, and tuck it into the journal they’ve given me, its pages bare and waiting, like the days that stretch out before me. Tomorrow, the work begins, the excavation of a man buried under years of regret and amber liquid. Tomorrow, I will face you again, T, in lines of ink and whispered confessions to an absent ear.
But tonight, I’ll let the veld’s chill be my companion, my thoughts a silent vigil for what once was and what might yet be, in this corner of Gauteng that I pray will guide me back to life.
Step into a new chapter in Benoni’s serene highveld at our compassionate rehab center, where we understand the journey to recovery goes beyond the suitcase—it’s about the healing within. Surrender to the fresh start that awaits behind our welcoming doors, and find strength in our community of supportive counselors and fellow travelers on the path to sobriety. With personalized therapies and an environment conducive to self-reflection and growth, let us help you reclaim your life, confront past regrets, and build a future you deserve. It’s never too late for redemption and peace. Begin healing and reach out to us at [email protected], or call +27798378484 or +27828863996. For immediate support, contact us via our WhatsApp link.