Thrive: Chapter 5

Jay

The rehab was a joke if you wanted it to be. Other celebrities were there and some were trying, sure. Most were on their phones, snapping selfies, talking to their friends, scrolling their social media accounts. At night, one of the women gave me the details on how to leave without them making a fuss or contacting the people who paid for you to be there.

My agency wouldn’t be contacted as long as I slid the night duty staff a couple hundred. Where do you get a couple hundred if you didn’t bring cash? They would drive you.

And then there were those that tried. I saw the loss of life in their eyes, like they knew their problem had taken over their life, consumed them, consumed their family, and still they were clawing at the edge of giving in as the addiction dragged them down.

I liked to think my partying with drugs and alcohol was a habit. I didn’t do it daily. I indulged and partied hard maybe twice a week. Other days, I took a bump here and there to maintain the personality and the charm.

On Day Four of my stay, my habit became somewhat of a nuisance. Why couldn’t I party if I wanted to? To prove a damn point to Mikka and the agency? I wasn’t telling my family like the doctor on site suggested because I didn’t need to worry anyone outside of the business.

And this was a business. They wanted me to have a clean ass bill of health and reputation before the movie released.

The movie was a step outside of rom-com, the one I’d been waiting for. I was the next Matthew McConaughey, sources were saying, I had the acting power but hadn’t been given the script. This was that script. Mikka and I both knew it and my agency did too. They didn’t want anything tainting that.

So, I would sit at this nice rehab center and take it as a vacation. They offered massages, had a gym, and were stacked to the nines in amenities.

On Day Five of my stay, my habit-turned-nuisance became a strong desire. The desire became a need—the addiction I’d dreaded. Frustration turned to rage. My obliviousness to my problem became an immediate terrifying reality.

My doctor pushed me to accept it. “You need to call the ones you love, Jay. They need to know what you’re going through.”

“Why? They don’t need to worry. It’s under control.”

“You screamed out in pain last night and begged for a hit of something. You think that’s control?”

“No. I realize there’s a problem. But I will overcome it,” I replied, full of belief in myself.

“You will.” The doctor looked down at his notepad. “I have no doubts you will, but your family will help you. And you need that help if you want to continue to pursue what’s important to you.”

“There will be other movies.” I brushed a non-existent crumb from the table that sat between us.

“Sure. But this is your movie, the one you said”—he rustled through his papers—“you believed in and had views that aligned directly with yours. You said, and I quote, ‘I practiced nailing this role because I was born for it. It’s the role of a lifetime and it isn’t one I will ever encounter again.’”

“So, I know I said that but—”

“Don’t downplay how you feel now in order to get what you want. It never works.” The doc closed his notepad. “Call your family.”

Those calls were the hardest to make. Something about their shock and then their support once I convinced them pushed my guilt to new heights.

My parents were together when I phoned them.

“Jay!” My mom yelled into the phone. “Your father and I are vacationing.”

“It’s not a vacation,” he grumbled.

“It is. I’m calling our home in Florida a vacation every time I’m here now. He keeps telling me it isn’t a vacation home but it is. Home is in Greenville.”

“We’re living here half of winter. That’s not a vacation.”

“It is. You worked without a vacation for most of Jay’s life. You want to talk about that? It’s why we’re here, vacationing for half the year. I get to call it a vacation if I want.”

I heard his sigh but knew he was smiling, that they both were.

I hesitated and considered whether I should even tell them. “Look, I’m calling with some news.”

Maybe my voice carried over the seriousness I felt but neither of them said a thing. They waited as if they knew the ball was about to drop.

“I’m in rehab.” I winced at my words, knowing that didn’t cover what I needed it to. “I’m struggling with some things, and I’ll lose the movie role I fought so hard to get if I don’t shape up.”

I cleared my throat to continue, but my mom drove our family. She’d always stepped up to take the steering wheel when we’d veered off the path and would yank on it to navigate us back onto the right road. “Oh, honey. You worked so hard to get that role. All the auditioning and practice you put in . . . are you okay?”

She didn’t ask why I was in rehab, what addiction had sent me there. She didn’t pry or say “I told you so.” That her first question was one of concern almost broke me. My chest hurt from the support she always gave rather than searching for a place to put the blame.

“I’ll be okay, Ma.” I didn’t admit that right then I wasn’t okay, that I wanted to break down, that it wasn’t easy and I was used to the easy road.

“What do you need from us, honey? We’ll help you overcome this in any way we can.”

Her complete acceptance and willingness to help relieved and frustrated me at the same time. I lashed out at her words. “Have you thought I had a problem this whole time?”

There was silence on the other end. I could picture them sharing a look. Then, she answered, “I’m trusting you if you admit to a problem, Jay. You wouldn’t give us this news unless it was serious. So, stop trying to find fault and focus on what you need from us to get better.”

She was our beacon of light to follow home, to follow back to the right place. I sighed, knowing my anger toward her, toward everyone and everything in that moment was misplaced. But the ball of frustration kept growing and burning a hole in my heart where my empathy was supposed to be. “I’m not sure. I just need time, I think.”

It was a clipped, vague response. She didn’t deserve it but she definitely didn’t deserve me blaming her for something.

There is something completely shameful about not having a reason for your addiction. When you’ve had the perfect life, the right friends, the good siblings that only razz you a little here and there; it is difficult to know that you fell a victim to drugs or addiction. The guilt piles on because you should have been able to work through it. I was given all the right tools growing up and still was letting everyone down.

The need to not put the blame on myself clawed its way up my throat. I wanted to scream at her and my father for never giving me bigger obstacles. I wanted to lay blame where it wasn’t warranted. But I’d been a man long enough to know better.

Instead, I called my brothers back home. I considered calling my sister in law too. She’d been my best friend in high school but she’d dealt with alcoholism in her father. I couldn’t burden her with more. She was someone I realized I had to apologize to as part of my therapy. Doing it over the phone felt much too difficult.

I took the rest of the time at the facility as seriously as I could. The director was able to film most of the scenes I wasn’t a part of during that time. They did send over contractual updates though and I was happy to see that they hadn’t included Mikka in all the details. They were cutting some of my pay, opting to have me drug tested, and pushing for more therapy. It was a stark reminder that other people had a good enough understanding of how bad my lifestyle had gotten.

So, I surrounded myself with the people that were there by choice, trying to change their lives. Those that were there as a part of their job, that cut corners, that offered me drugs and partying, I stayed away from. I attended meetings with the therapists and doctors.

I committed finally to one thing during my stay. It was getting healthy.

My therapists and doctors felt after sixty days that I was ready for outpatient care but that LA would be a toxic environment.

I called Mikka. I wanted her to pick me up, to see how much I’d changed, to see that I could be better. I wanted my friend to be proud.

When she did, I ended up not caring about any of those things at all.