By the time I dragged myself to detox following a three-year relapse -- and I did drag myself -- I could no longer take care of even my most basic needs. It was easily the best five days of my life for the three years prior to being admitted.
They shot me up with drugs all day long that knocked out my withdrawal symptoms and helped me to feel calm. I ate, meaning I actually ate real food, whenever it was pushed in front of me. And I slept soundly and peacefully all night. I practically begged them to let me stay a little longer. I remember little else about my time there.