I can admit now that I was wrong. I did not know my limitations and was foolish to head down such a dicey path with my eyes only half open. Addiction is a disease and while some may be able to use nip recreationally, it has become readily apparent that I am not one of them. Does this make me sad? Yes. Am I embarrassed? Yes. I am told that moving forward I must just accept this truth and not hang on to the mistakes I’ve already made. Evelyn insists I focus on the what next, but I’m still trying to process the rabbit hole I find myself in.
What happened to lead me to this realization is a humiliating whirlwind.
It took no time at all for me to return to my former rate of consumption before I went to rehab the first time. I was going through two sacks of nip a day before the week was out. While hallucinating that there was a Jumanji themed monsoon in the attic I hid under the bed and attacked Meowmy’s feet as she was walking past. She may scar. According to Dumbledore I fell out during Quidditch practice and rolled onto my back in a catatonic state for close to an hour while chewing on grass. When I came to I took off my collar and skipped around the stadium. It took the Slytherin seeker an hour to finally catch me. Regardless, I somehow escaped the infirmary on campus and was discovered two days later behind the dumpster at Petco with two calicos and a sack of expired nip.
My return to Hogwarts is dependent on my completion of this rehabilitation program. Meowmy says if I scar her feet again she’s signing me over to the state. Evelyn even threatened to refer me to a specialist.
It’s all on the line now.