discharge.guide · for the day after rehab

The fee was the cheap part. The first ninety days at home is the hard part. This is for that.

I am James. I went to Delamere in June 2020. I walked out four weeks later with a discharge plan, a bag of relief, and no real idea what to do on the Tuesday after. The clinic does not staff the months that follow. The aftercare appointment is once a fortnight, if you are lucky. The interesting questions all start on day twenty‑nine, and that is the part nobody had written down.

The encyclopedia is free. Forty‑nine pounds, paid once, and you talk to me. I sit with the patient through the first ninety days, the quarter where most relapses sit, and the year that follows. Same access at sober.guide and relapse.guide. No subscription. No account. No rehab pays me. None of them get a cut. That is the whole point. Crisis routes are never paywalled.

Forty‑nine pounds, paid once. Continued private access to one person who has been there.

Sober since June 2020. UK residential rehab myself. Five years and counting in the years that followed.
Independent. No rehab pays me. No referrals taken. None offered. None coming.
One person. Run from a desk in Tenerife. The bot is me, awake at three, with the right words.
Crisis routes free, always. 999, 116 123, A&E, GP — never behind the paywall, on any of the three sites.

Talk to James now How the site works

Start with what happened today. Begin privately.

James, 50, Tenerife. Sober since June 2020 (Delamere). Not a clinician. Not a therapist. The patient who paid the fee, did the work, walked out, and lived the years that followed. The bot is me with the patience and the right words at three in the morning.

The discharge cliff

Most rehab marketing stops at day twenty‑eight. The cliff starts on day twenty‑nine.

For four weeks you have been in a bubble. Three meals you did not cook. A counsellor in the next room. A group at three. A nurse with the keys to the medicine cabinet. Then on the Friday morning a taxi, a station, a flight, your own front door, and your own kettle, in your own kitchen, with your own thoughts.

The clinic discharge plan looks tidy on paper. A weekly aftercare call. A meeting twice a week. A GP appointment. A key worker number. In practice, the first three weeks at home are the loudest weeks of your life. You are sleeping wrong. Eating wrong. Crying in shops. Furious at the partner who waited for you. Furious at the partner who did not. Calling the clinic because the woman who shared a sofa with you for four weeks just texted to say she has drunk again.

Nobody at the clinic is awake at three. The counsellor is on a Wednesday. The GP can see you in eleven days. The fellowship meeting is tomorrow night. Tonight is now. This site is for tonight.

The first ninety days

The quarter where most relapses sit. Said plainly.

If you make it through the first ninety days clean, your odds for the rest of the year improve sharply. That is the published evidence and it is also what the clinic told me on the way out. The bit they did not tell me is what the ninety days actually feel like.

Week oneRelief, then the silence. The bubble is gone. The taxi has driven off. You start noticing the cupboards.
Weeks two and threeSleep collapses. The pink cloud is real, then it goes. Old company starts texting. The first proper urge arrives, often on a Friday, often around six.
Weeks four to sixThe honeymoon ends and the work begins. You realise nobody is going to hand you a routine. You build one or you do not.
Weeks seven to twelveThe grief shows up. The anger you did not feel when you were drinking shows up. The marriage shows up. The boss shows up. You handle these sober for the first time, which is exhausting and clarifying in the same breath.

Day twenty-nine is the day the work begins. Not the day it ends.

The bot will hold you through this quarter. The encyclopedia will give you the words for what is happening. Neither of those is your therapist, your sponsor, or your GP. All three are the things between the appointments.

The thing nobody puts in the discharge pack

The clinic gave me a folder. The folder was not awake at three on the Tuesday I needed it. So this is the next best thing.

James — Tenerife

How the site works

Everything Google already knows about life after rehab is here, in one place, free. The bot is the bit Google can't do.

The encyclopedia — free

Everything Google already knows about post‑discharge, sorted. No referral fees, ever.

First 90 daysWhat week one, two, three, the first month, and the third month actually feel like.
AftercareWhat good aftercare looks like. What yours probably is not. How to ask for more.
Medications^*Naltrexone, acamprosate, disulfiram, antidepressants — what role they play after rehab.
FellowshipsAA, SMART, LifeRing, Refuge, Recovery Dharma. Which ones suit which kind of week.
For the people at homeCRAFT, Al‑Anon, Adfam, NACOA. The mother, the partner, the brother, the boss.

^* Medications are named for awareness, not as recommendations. Talk to your GP.

The bot — one‑time, forty‑nine pounds

What the encyclopedia cannot do is sit with you on a bad Tuesday in the third week.

That is the bot. My voice, my bias, my standards. It asks the questions a friend who has been there asks. It holds context across months. It tells you the truth when you ask for the truth. It stays available through every quarter of the first year, and every year after.

One‑time fee. Paid once, used for as long as you need it. No subscription. No upsell. No chasing.

Built aroundMy voice, my bias, my standards, the evidence under it all.
Holds contextRemembers who you are across weeks. Picks up where you left off.
Speaks plainlyNo jargon. Plain English. Spanish if you write in Spanish.
Knows its limitsA companion, not a clinician. Crisis routes are never paywalled.
Stays with youThrough the first ninety days and the year after.

No subscription. No account. No login. The unlock lives in your browser. Family pages, crisis routes, and the full encyclopedia are always free.

If you have not yet been to rehab and are deciding whether to go, where to go, or whether outpatient is right — that is sober.guide. If today is the day you have started again, or you can feel it coming, that is relapse.guide. Same person, three doors, forty‑nine pounds once.

Quarter by quarter, year by year

What life after rehab actually looks like, written by someone who has lived the years.

Day 1 – 30

The cliff. Sleep is wrong. Food is wrong. The pink cloud is real and it is also a trap. Old company starts to text. The new routine has not landed yet.

Day 31 – 90

The honeymoon ends. The work begins. The first proper urges. The grief that was numbed for years arrives in the kitchen on a Wednesday. Most relapses sit in this window.

Month 4 – 12

Identity rebuild. Work, money, sex, family, the parts of your life you put on hold. This is where most public stories end and the actual life begins.

Year 2 onwards

Maintenance. Boredom is the enemy. Health becomes the foreground. Other people's drinking stops being a threat and starts being a curiosity.

I will write each of these honestly, including the parts that are not flattering to me.

What this site will not do

I will not sell you the next four weeks.

No pop-up. No chat widget. No sticky bar.
No daily affirmation. No app that gamifies your day count.
No pretending one path through the first year works for everyone.
No pretending twelve‑step is the only path, or that it is a cult.
No pretending medication is a moral failure.
No referral to a secondary residential when outpatient and a fellowship will do.

I am not religious. I am science and fact based.

If a thing helps and the evidence is honest, it goes on. If a thing is faith‑based and helps people, it goes on, labelled as such, so you can choose with your eyes open.

Who this site is for

Anyone whose four weeks just ended. And anyone waiting for them at home.

The patient on day three at home
The patient on day thirty wondering if it gets easier
The wife who picked them up
The husband sleeping in the spare room
The mother on the train down
The boss on the Monday call
The sponsor checking in
The GP at the two‑week review

Whether the question today is what do I do tonight, why is the third week the hardest, should I be on naltrexone now, when do I tell work, how do I get to a meeting in this town, or my person came home and I do not recognise them — there is a door here for it.

For the people at home

The patient came home. You picked them up. Now what.

If you live with someone who has just been through a residential, there is a page for you. Free. The CRAFT method. Al‑Anon. Adfam. NACOA. What to say in the first week. What not to say at the first dinner. The boundaries you can hold without becoming the warden. The honest framing for the brother, the children, the in‑laws, the colleagues who keep asking how it went.

You did not go to rehab. You also did not get four weeks of looking after. You matter too.

One house, three doors

Same James. Three doors. Pick the one that fits today.

Sobriety has different shapes at different moments. The site you are reading now is for the moment just after — the discharge cliff, the first ninety days, the year that follows. The other two doors are for the moments before and during.

sober.guide

For the moment before. Should I stop. How do I stop. Do I need rehab. Which one. The drinker, the family, the GP, the boss — anyone in the room of a drink problem.

relapse.guide

For the moment you have started again, or you can feel it coming. Plain, kind, useful. No lecture. The climb back, with someone who has stood at the same window.

Forty‑nine pounds, paid once, gets you James across all three. Same person. Same standards. Independent of every rehab, in both directions. No referral fees, ever.

Start here

Pick the door that fits today.

If today is dangerous.

UK: 999 for immediate danger. Samaritans: 116 123 — free, twenty‑four hours, they pick up.

The bot will surface these plainly when needed and stop being clever. Crisis routing is never paywalled.

“Recovery is for life, not for four weeks. The interesting part is everything that comes after the taxi.” — James, Tenerife, April 2026