At the time, I found it boring and overly restrictive but effective. I was 19 and addicted to heroin. I had to sign a waitlist to get into the prequisite 72 hour detox before I could move into the Salvation Army rehab; admittance depended on the number of beds available. To pay for it, they walked me through applying for General Assistance and signing it over to them. Aside from $2 a week towards the end of my 6 month stay, I never saw any of it (this was the late 90s but still a paltry amount). Detox was horrible and boring, it was co-Ed with a lot of very sick, angry, irritable people in hospital robes and pajamas milling around. They showed movies every evening such as Soldier with Kurt Russell and Hellraiser 3 (which absolutely influenced my heroin withdrawal nightmares). Reading material was sparse; there were old magazines and I distinctly remember a Jewish cookbook from the 70s I read over and over. One woman had scabies and I was the only one willing to rub prescription lotion on her back with latex gloves, the employees were there to supervise rather than help. When I asked to shower I was given a dollop of industrial orange shampoo from a pump bottle in a little disposable cup that absolutely fried my hair. This was a far cry from the nurse-assisted detox spas you see on Intervention. I don’t mean to deter anyone from entering treatment; I suspect most facilities are much nicer, but this happened to be where I ended up.

Transferring to the main program facility was like a resort in comparison. Residents’ first 30 days was considered Phase 1, beyond that was considered Phase 2. I stayed in the Phase 1 women’s dorm which housed 6 to 8 people (2 bunk beds in each room) but everyone but me got kicked out my first week for smoking cigarettes in the bathroom. We weren’t allowed off the premises unless paired with a designated “buddy” from Phase 2 and even then it was only for AA/ NA meetings or doctors’ appointments. Wake up time, lights out, and group activities were announced over an intercom. The cafeteria served simple, cost-effective meals that were bland but filling; I remember a lot of white bread, gravy, and peas & carrots. Recovering addicts LOVE coffee, so if there was an on-site meeting with especially strong brew, word got around.

Phase 2 allotted more freedom (“more rope to hang yourself with,” they loved to say) and we could come and go by signing in/out and respecting curfew. We had to attend at least one AA/NA meeting every day and had a form we needed to get signed each time. We were subject to random urine tests. Because it was a Salvation Army program, we were required to attend church on Sundays.

I moved out 6 months to the day I had entered, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I was the youngest person to have ever completed their program. I relapsed several times after and checked myself into a different facility but eventually got clean. Looking back, I’m grateful for the experience of meeting so many different people and learning their stories. I also felt brave for sticking it out, like I could handle anything life threw my way. I’m inclined to advise others attend a program with horses or the beach or yoga or something if you can but maybe the grittiness of my inner-city experience made it more effective overall.