everything else. Bridgeway clients, having been through the requisite detoxing and 21-day treatment, are in the slippery emotional terrain between “treatment” and “recovery” whereby they haven’t yet learned the coping skills that will protect their sobriety. Therein lies our job: to give newly recovered clients something to hold onto as they make their way back into society without alcohol or drugs or fantasies of disappearing. Individual and group therapy, Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings and education groups are all a part of the effort we mount to bolster the newly sober addict’s ability to resist the pull of relapse. This is Bridgeway’s sole raison d'être. This is why Mr. Jenkins’s interview question--what did I know about relapse and was that knowledge spoken from experience--hung uncomfortably in the air until I answered satisfactorily. Because I looked, for all intents and purposes, like the greedy arms of addiction were still wrapped around my bony shoulders, like it was only a matter of time before I would be again be yanked (or go willingly) into that inglorious pit of self-destruction. Which would be (as the director of the eating disorders unit knew) very bad role modeling indeed.
“Good morning young lady,” Mr. Jenkins says when I walk in. He scans my outfit and I see his mouth working over words that he doesn’t say. He is seated at the desk where I had my interview just two weeks ago with a large mug of coffee and the newspaper. He points to the chair I sat in for my interview. “Take a load off.”