The Smell

For some reason it was the smell. The smell! I can still actually conjure up the smell in my mind. It was the smell like that of a package of bandaids. That smell is typical of any hospital and was probably no stronger than the smell of anyother hospital but at that time and for those two days it was extremely intense.

I see my pants. I see my belt being removed. I see my shoe laces being taken. My wallet, my keys, my meds, all that was left underwear, shoes, socks, pants, and my Led Zeppelin T-shirth

I then feel the panic. I feel the confusion. I feel the intense burning regret. The shame I feel is beyond description.
Then I feel. . .

The anger and the hatred. The almighty powerful hatred. It makes my head tingle. I feel the tingling in my temples. I feel like my hair is raising on end. I feel the adrenalin. My hatred for her soars.

I never want to see her fucking wretched face again as long as I live.

The anger burns intense and it burns deep. It is the fire that fuels my recovery. It is also the fire that will hinder my recovery. More importantly it is the fire that will hinder my recovery. The best expression of anger and send her direction is to simply recover. Recover and be happy no matter how little I have now.

The smell, . . I can't forget that smell.