In My Life

Throughout my life there have been people along the way without whom I would not have survived. My beloved grandmother who took such good care of me always and who, I say with conviction because she told me so, loved me more than her other four grandchildren. I guess the main reason for that is that I was a sick baby and young child and she felt such great responsibility to take care of me, especially when my mother went back to work when I was 16 months old. To me, there was no one else in the world like my Mamaw and there never will be.

My mother instilled in me that there was nothing I couldn't do. I remember seeing her sitting on the couch while I watched television, cutting the sharp edges of the adhesive part of my ostomy bags and pleating the end opening and putting a rubber band around it. Until I finally said I was old enough to go to the bathroom by myself at probably the age of 9 or 10, she gave me an enema every other day. She was going to make sure my colon worked one way or another. Somehow I have managed to master that part of my bathroom situation. However, if I get a case of diarrhea I am pretty much home bound. All this to say that my mother made certain that I was as healthy as I could possibly be, always did things to the best of my ability and that I took advantage of every opportunity afforded me.

Friends have been a tremendously important part of my life. I still have some friends from childhood who are a wonderful part of my life today. Some of these friends knew about my condition and never treated me any differently than anyone else. These friends love me unconditionally. However there are always exceptions and not all my childhood friends were as loyal as I would have liked. One in particular slept with Blake while I was in treatment and my 15-year-old son walked in on them. How's that for friendship?

Speaking of my son, my life would have turned out very differently if not for him. He is a miracle, considering what all I went through while I was pregnant with him. His love has seen me through some very hard times and while we've had one particularly long period of his not letting me be a part of his life after I stole from my mother, our relationship has been restored and I am so grateful to God for that. He is my angel.

I really have to look at friendships like that and the relationships I've had with both men and women that were abusive as learning experiences. Even those that appear to be kind at first look can harbor a dark side that many times does not surface until you are so emotionally or legally invested in the relationship that it's hard to turn back. Again, I know that many of you are telling yourself that the first time your partner hit you or mistreated you in any way, you would be out the door and never look back. I'm certain there are people like that and I applaud that kind of strength. Unfortunately, I did not have such strength. But these relationships have taught me what I do not want and what I will not settle for.

Certainly there are many of you who disapprove of my relationships with women and there are those of you who cannot understand it. Granted I have made some very poor choices. But, again, I've learned from my mistakes.

It is my belief that I could not have appreciated the relationship I have now without having been through the bad times. It is also my belief that God had someone hand picked for me in Stacey. She and I have been together for more than 4 years now. She has seen me through my mother's Alzheimer's Disease, through terrible bouts of depression (which I still suffer from) and has loved me through it all. I don't believe there is another person in this world that could be more perfect for me. She is the kindest person I have ever met. Her intelligence astounds me. She loves my family and I love hers. She is one of 7 children and I am an only child. She loves me through that, too. I can be quite selfish and impatient and she is giving and patient with me. I love her with all my heart. We know this is the relationship God has blessed us with.

My life has been so much easier than some people's. It has also been very hard at times but I am nothing but grateful for every experience. Living through the good times and the pain and sometimes agony has made me who I am today - an open-minded, happy and grateful person because of what I have been through in these nearly 50 years.

Changing Places, Changing Times

Robert had been living with his boss in Brandon because it was so much easier than driving to his business in Brandon that making that long commute. We decided it would be a great idea to move to a nice apartment in Brandon. We rented the place and moved in over one weekend. Once we got to Brandon there was no missing Byram at all. Brandon is quiet, the sidewalks roll up at 10 PM, you know, that kind of place.

But Mother's Alzheimer's Disease seemed to be getting worse by the day. I know that sounds impossible but that is truly how it felt. She was quickly spiraling downward. She never understood the layout of the new apartment. The new apartment was much larger than the old one. We set the living room up identically to the living room in the old apartment believing that would make her more comfortable. We did the same with her bedroom, but she did not want to be in her bedroom at all. I believe she was afraid to be in there by herself. So, my mother lived on the couch. Yes, folks, she sat in the same spot all day. She took her meals there and slept on the couch at night. This went on for nearly 2 years.

Perhaps you have heard this before but it bears repeating. When an elderly parent is stricken with Alzheimer's Disease, the child becomes the parent and the parent becomes the child. The roles become completely reversed and it's not only weird, it's hard and it's sad. I bought a baby monitor and put it beside my bed and by the couch so that I could hear her during the night if she called out for me. It served another purpose, as well. Mother was a smoker so we would take her ashtray, cigarettes and lighter and hide them at night so that she wouldn't burn the house down. Someone always had to be sitting beside her while she smoked. You just never knew what she was going to do. One night Robert walked in and when she saw him come through the door she threw her cigarette right on the floor because she was so anxious to hug and kiss him. You would have thought Jesus walked through the door!

Stacey was writing the grants for Stewpot Community Services and God led her to a woman named Shirley. Shirley was a part-time house manager at a couple of the women's shelters. Turns out Shirley was looking for an elderly lady to sit with and we had just the elderly lady for her. Isn't it amazing how God suits up and shows up every single time? We had no idea what we were going to do for a sitter. Stacey's step-daughter had come several times but had children of her own so she could not commit to anything permanently. And then there was Shirley.

We hired her to take care of mother's needs while we were at work. But she did so much more than that. She cleaned our apartment, changed our beds, washed, folded and put away our clothes and had dinner ready when we got home from work! She would have mother bathed and fed. Sometimes she even put little barrettes in her hair. I'm not sure my mother ever knew or remembered Shirley's name but, oh, how she loved her! She would get the biggest smile on her face when Shirley would walk in the door every morning. They truly loved each other.

You would think that I would have been completely happy and worry free at this point in my life. I was clean, going to meetings, working my program, had a decent job, and, of course, Stacey and Robert. I could not have kept my mother at home as long as we were able to without her help. But I was wracked with guilt. Even though my mother and my son had forgiven me for the lying and stealing I had done while I was using, I had not yet forgiven myself. I have done research and read countless articles linking the progression of Alzheimer's disease to stressful situations, just like I had put my mother through. Had I done this to my mother?

I became short-tempered and sometimes I would just go on crying jags. It didn't help that I had a big critic that was constantly circling like a gnat around your ear. Mother had a friend, we'll call her Debra. She was a neighbor and they had been friends with my mother since Robert was born and her grand daughter, who was born a few weeks later. Debra had heard about my mother long before she ever met her. Mother was always perfectly dressed, coiffed and elegant. She sold Mary Kay cosmetics and another neighbor had told Debra what a stylish woman and fine person my mother was. I think, to put it mildly, that Debra had a crush on my mom, if you will. The sort of crush that women sometimes get on other women the deeply admire. Nothing sexual but just sort of worshiping my mother from afar and when she finally did meet her it was on after that. Debra made sure she was at mom's house all the time, letting the kids play together, taking them to the playground at McDonald's, etc. I don't, and never will pretend to be a psychiatrist, but there was something not quite right with the way Debra felt about my mother.

Debra was also one of these people that would act so sweet to your face and then trash you to other people. I honestly think she was jealous of mine and my mother's relationship. She is about 20 years younger than my mom so I'm not sure if it was a mother fixation and she was jealous of me as a “sibling” or exactly what it was. There's no other way I can describe it but the relationship just never felt right to me.

When my drug addiction manifested itself, Debra had a field day with it. Of course, she had made sure to make all my mother's circle of friends her own. She called everyone they both knew and I'm sure many others and told them what a sorry piece of trash I was. She even called my uncle, my mother's older brother who lived in Texas, about my problems and how I had done my mother wrong. What Debra was stupid enough not to realize was that my mother was a very, very private person. She didn't want all our family troubles broadcast all the way from here to Texas and even to Florida where some of my mother's high school friends lived.

I had no way to defend myself nor did I have the time and energy. I was a drug addict and, while it made me furious, I was more interested in getting and using drugs than what she was doing. But when I got sober and realized the extent of what she had done I just absolutely could not believe it! If you are a Jacksonian, Texan or Floridian and did not here about my horrible deeds then you are probably one of few. She did everything but hang up posters with a list of my bad act on every light pole and tree in the tri-county area.

She and I got into several verbal altercations after we moved to Brandon. For some unknown reason she didn't believe I was clean even though I had been clean for more than 2 years at that point. One morning I was sick with my sinuses and did not go to work. The phone rang and I answered it. It was Debra. She asked me what I was doing home and I told her I was sick. She stated she didn't believe I was sick and I said something I've never said to anyone in my life. I told her to go to Hell and hung up in her face.

We dealt with her and her actions to the best of our abilities and decided to not let anything she said bothers us. There were many more important things to take care of and make decisions about. For instance, we would fix mother's breakfast, lunch or dinner plate according to the time of day it was. She would finish eating it and I would take the plate from her. I would not have made it around the corner into the kitchen before she asked me if I was going to feed her anything or not, usually in a rather accusatory or angry tone. Even showing her the empty plate would not satisfy her that she had just eaten. I couldn't feed her more because she had a sensitive stomach and the last thing I wanted to do was make her sick.

One morning while I was getting ready for work Stacey noticed mother getting up off the couch and immediately sitting down in one of our green armchairs. Upon closer investigation we say that she had urinated through her clothes and on to the chair.  Things just kept getting worse. Her temper became worse and that was very hard to deal with all the time. She was very demanding and became more difficult to deal with. In addition, Stacey and I had become virtual prisoners in our own home. Of course, we were blessed to have Shirley with mother during the day while we worked but she was totally our responsibility every evening and every weekend. Someone had to be with her at all times as she could never be left alone. We were at our wits end.

We made the extremely hard decision to put her in a nursing home. She was very angry at first so we gave her a couple of weeks to let her get settled in and to allow the medical team to get her medication regulated. In addition to her other medications, they added and anti-depressant and a mild sedative. It made a world of difference and by the time we visited again, she was a happy, pleasant person who was glad to see us but did not beg to go home. Our spirits were lifted greatly by that visit.

Unfortunately my mother's health deteriorated. Alzheimer's Disease, like the disease of addiction, is one of the most horrible things that can happen to a family. You lose your loved one before you actually lose your loved one. 

I actually lost my mother on October 11, 2012.

The Mama Saga

Now then, obviously I did not die from alcohol poisoning so let's get back to my new life at New Life, shall we? In October I moved into a transition apartment with a wonderful girl named Allison. I thought she was one of the neatest people I had ever met. She worked at the Jackson Zoo, loved all animals and was in recovery from heroin addiction. She had been in transition for several months so she showed me the ropes.

We were expected to have a job and, thank the good Lord, I was temping in the office of a box manufacturing plant instead of sorting dirty panties at Goodwill. But, as I said, my stint at Goodwill was a humbling experience and it made me much more appreciative of an inside job with air conditioning. We had group 2 nights per week and they could go on for hours. Nothing like a bunch of women trying to get and stay clean living together! I've always wondered if mens treatment centers had the “hen fights” like I've seen in every womens treatment center I've ever been in. If you had taken away our coffee and cigarettes it would probably have gotten pretty ugly pretty quick. Somebody would have left “tow up from the flow up”!

But group nights were also extremely beneficial to us as clients trying to live a real life as sober women. Hearing the stories recounted by our counselors and more experienced peers helped me avoid a lot of pitfalls. The road to recovery is made of broken, uneven pieces of stone where, if you are not very careful and aware of your surroundings, you will fall every time. I used to hate to see clients leave treatment early thinking they had it all figured out. With extremely few exceptions they wound right back in treatment again. Maybe not at New Life but somewhere, IF they were lucky. Some never made it back. While we are in recovery our disease of addiction is out there going to the gym every day, doing push-ups, lifting weights, going to spin classes and if you relapse it comes back to you a much stronger addiction than ever before. Yes, if you relapsed you were considered fortunate and blessed to make it back to treatment.

During my days in transition I was able to get passes every other weekend and I was able to go and stay with my mother. What a blessing that our relationship was fully restored. Only God could have done that. But I began to notice on my weekends home with Mom that she would tell me a story about something that had happened or someone who had experienced something. Then a minute or two later she would retell the story as if it were the first time she told it. I also noticed that when she would make a grocery list out for me to go shopping for her that her handwriting had become very messy and she often misspelled words. This progressed to having to play what I called “grocery charades”. She would not remember the name of an item or even what it was used for. I would start guessing from the clues she was giving. Sometimes we figured it out and sometimes we didn't. No longer could I deny that something was going on mentally with my mother.

I took off work one day to take her to her physician. He asked a series of questions. He did some other tests and confirmed my worst nightmare. Mom was in the early stages of late-onset Alzheimer's Disease. She had just turned 80.

At about this same time I was offered the job of executive assistant at New Life. Of course I jumped at the chance to work in a place that was really like my home. There was no weirdness about my counselors suddenly becoming my co-workers. It was a dream come true for me! The only problem was that it went against regulations that I live in transitional housing as an employee of New Life. The apartments are HUD funded and have strict guidelines about who can live there. I was really anxious about what I was going to do. Getting an apartment on my own would be expensive, I didn't really have anyone I could ask to move in as a roommate and I knew that I could not move back in with my mom in that apartment. I had used drugs in that apartment. The couple of days I would spend with her on pass when I was in transition I could get through. But the thought of living there on a permanent basis scared the hell out of me! And, to make matters worse, I used to buy pills from the girl who lived upstairs and she still lived there. No, moving back there was not an option

Things went from bad to worse very quickly. She would argue with me about a simple 3 ingredient recipe for a pie we had both made for years. It was Roberts favorite so we made it often. She insisted that you put shredded cheese in the pie instead of the cream cheese in the recipe. The repetition of stories or requests were much more frequent.

Mother had also been a smoker since she was 14 years old and suffered from COPD. She had a terrible bout with it which caused her to faint. Thank goodness I was there when it happened. I immediately called an ambulance and she was admitted with a very serious case of bronchitis. By this time we were seeing a geriatric specialist who made sure we were not admitted through the emergency room but were taken directly to admission. With breathing treatments every 2 – 3 hours and IV antibiotics we were able to go home in a couple of days.

It became apparent that my mother was not going to be able to live alone anymore. I still could not see myself moving back in with her at that apartment. Too many ghosts of my past still. Stacey and I talked about it and we decided to get a 3 bedroom apartment so that we could all live under one roof. The house Stacey and I were in was too small really and we were ready for a change. And, believe me, changes were ahead.

Put It in Reverse a Second!

I must apologize to my readers. Please forgive the fact that I started my last post with one scenario of the restoration of my relationship with my mother in September 2007 then ended it up telling you about Robert stranding me on Elton Road in February 2007. My long term memory is well intact, however my short term memory is getting seriously worse. That is one reason it took me nearly a week to get my last post written. I'll get all this tied up in a bow before too much longer.

So let's go back to February 2007, shall we? This was after jail but before treatment occurred. I so badly wanted to go home. I wanted my mama and I wanted my baby. More than anything else I wanted to be forgiven for all the horrible things I had done. Looking back on that, it seemed pretty darn selfish of me to want to be forgiven when I had made absolutely no changes in my life.

I won't repeat the being kicked out part from the last post but there I was walking in the 30 degree weather towards Terry Road. There was a convenience store there and a pay phone. I didn't have a penny on me but I picked up enough change in the parking lot to make one phone call to Blake. I recounted my story to him and told him I was on foot on Terry Road and had no where to go. He hung up on me. It's funny but I couldn't cry. I was too scared to cry I suppose.

Certainly the way I looked couldn't have made anyone want to help me. My hair was long and stringy, crack hair, as I like to call it. I hadn't bathed in days. Of course, no make up. Carrying around a duffel bag I am sure I was the last person anyone would want to try to help. This is just another example of how drugs can completely ruin a person's life. When there is only 1 person you can call when you are stranded on foot in a bad part of town and that person refuses to help you, you can pretty much bet you have hit bottom.

Within a few minutes a truck pulled up driven by Blake's sister and her girlfriend. They told me Blake had called them and was worried I would get raped or killed and asked them to come pick me up and take me home with them. The feeling of relief I felt when I sat down in that warm truck is indescribable. Ann and her girlfriend were my saviors. And they already had a tall cocktail waiting for me in the truck. Going without alcohol for even 24 hours when you are an alcoholic can give you the shakes, hallucinations, etc.

We got to their house and they put me up in their spare bedroom with the stipulation that it was only for a couple of days and that if I had not found a place to go by then they would have to take me to a shelter. I had enough forethought during my brief period at my mom's that night to go through my mail and pick up my W-2 forms from the couple of different jobs I had worked the previous year. Ann agreed to take me to Jackson-Hewitt the next day to file my taxes and get a refund anticipation loan.

Robert was not yet 18 so I filed head of household and was very pleasantly surprised to get almost $4,000 back. This allowed me to get a motel room so I could get out of Ann and her girlfriend's hair. Ann took me to the grocery store for some food and to the place where I bought my appliances so that I could stock up.

At the time I wasn't sure what motel I should go to. I wanted to be relatively safe but knew my money would not go very far in a more expensive place. Why did I choose E.Com? I have no earthly idea! But I did. It was close to Ann so I thought maybe if I needed more food or liquor she could help me with that. And, oh, yes, the most important stop we made was the liquor store where I bought 3 gallons of vodka and enough orange juice to sink a battle ship. I figured that would last me a few days.

We said our goodbyes as Ann left and I thanked her for saving me from Terry Road and taking me in when no one else would. As soon as she was gone I mixed myself a large screwdriver, kicked back on the bed and started channel surfing. I felt like I was in my own place and not depending on the kindness of others just to eat and have a roof over my head. For just a little while I was able to forget what I had done, that I had hurt my family and that I was homeless, because, in fact, a motel is not a home. But I hadn't drunk so much that I couldn't hear a distinct scratching noise behind my bed. What could it be, I wondered? I turned down the television and listed more closely. The scratching sounds was growing louder. That's when I saw it! It poked its snout out from behind the headboard, ran out, ACROSS MY FOOT, and back under the bed! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it was a RAT! You guys are probably thinking it was just a mouse but believe me I know the difference. I lived in Belhaven and Fondren long enough to know a mouse from a rat! I literally ran screaming from the room with my cocktail clutched tightly in my hand. I ran to the office and insisted they move me to another, preferably rat free, room. It scared the buzz right out of me so I had to start all the way back over again! Dang it!

There was always about a 2 hour window that I truly enjoyed drinking. You know that point where your lips start getting a little numb and for the next couple of hours I had a great time even alone! The only thing I enjoyed that I couldn't do was drunk dial. I had left my dead cell phone at my friend's place in Ridgeland so no drunk dialing for me. Probably for the best because I wouldn't have had anything very nice to say to anyone anyway. After that two hour window out popped the pity party! I would think of all the horrible things I had done to my family and my friends, the jobs I'd lost because of using, why I hadn't finished college the first time around, why I hadn't married a good Christian man, you name it, I cried and cried over it!

For those of you who know, and I'm sure many of you do not, once you start drinking daily for a long period of time, instead of being able to pass out and sleep 7 or 8 hours, you start sleeping for only an hour or 2. Then I'd have to start drinking again for those next 2 hours of sleep. I felt as if I was about to have some sort of psychotic break because I was not getting the proper sleep and trying to pickle my brain at the same time.

I was slowly trying my best to commit suicide.

One Telephone Call

 

I was studying in my room one afternoon at New Life when I was called downstairs. The secretary had eada phone message for me. It was a message for my mother. I stood there in shock for must have been a minute. I had no idea she even knew where I was. She and I had not seen each other since I had left in January when I left the house during my breakdown This was in September.

Nervously I went upstairs to the client phone to call her. My mother and I have always had an almost eerily close relationship. Perhaps it came from the close bond we formed over my childhood illnesses. Maybe we became so close all those years we felt as the victims of Walter's cruelties and abuse. I knew when I got her on the telephone that I could tell by the first syllable out of her mouth if this was going to be a good call or an incredibly bad call.

I was afraid when I picked up the telephone. My hands shook as I dialed the number. Had something bad happened to her or Robert? “Bad” is a relative term considering what I had done to them myself. Stealing from your own family, at least in my eyes, was unforgivable.

I shook even harder as the phone began to ring. But when she answer and I told her it was me she said “Hey baby!”, I knew everything was going to be all right. A warm feeling came over me and tears started to well up in my eyes. Mom told me all was forgiven and she missed me terribly. Waves of joy and relief flowed through my tears.

Mom asked me how I had been getting to work and I told her that I had been riding the bus. After what I sensed was an initial shock on her part she asked what I thought was a most unusual question. She wanted to know if my drivers license was still valid. I told her that it was, of course. It's not as if I had a vehicle to have an accident in or to possibly get a DUI in while driving. She said that she was no longer driving and then offered me her car to get around in. The incredible happiness I felt was tempered by her statement that she no longer drove. I asked why she was not driving any longer and she admitted that she had become lost one day while driving to the grocery store that was literally around the corner from her house. I was very confused by this but didn't ask any more questions.

She wanted me to come and see her. I told her that I was eligible for a weekend pass that coming weekend and she asked me to come and stay with her. I had to ask her to repeat herself because I could not believe what I was hearing. The thought of sitting in my mother's presence was an indescribable feeling. When we finished our telephone conversation I immediately went downstairs and filled out a 48 hour pass request for the following weekend.

One of my friends drove me over to Mom's apartment on Friday and agreed to pick me up in time to get back for curfew on Sunday. I nervously knocked on the door that for so many years I opened and walked in. Still not completely sure where my boundaries were with my mom I didn't want to assume anything. She opened the door and hugged me so tightly that I thought I might not be able to breathe and I hugged back just as hard. There was no weirdness between us, no awkwardness, only heartfelt apologies.

Once before, after I got out of jail a month or so prior and was staying at my friends apartment I really had an incredible urge to go home. He dropped me off at the door. I nervously knocked at the door and when my mother answered I walked in and begged her to let me stay. She acted as if she was going to have a nervous breakdown. She told me to get out as I begged to stay and told her I had no place else to go. She got on the telephone to get Robert to come home, I assumed so he could throw me out. No matter how much I begged and pleaded she continued to refuse to let me stay. I could certainly understand why she didn't want me there. I had stolen money from her, I was still addicted and I would probably steal again. I was the same person who had left 2 months before.

When Robert arrived I barely recognized his face it was so full of anger and disgust. I would not have been surprised if he had punched me in the face. I had never seen him look like that. But he had every right to be angry. I had left him and Mom in such a horrible financial and emotional situation. Mom told Robert to take me somewhere, anywhere, away from her house. She gave him $20.00 for gas to take me back to my friend's apartment in Ridgeland. Not one word was spoken until I tried to apologize to him and he told me if I opened my mouth again he was going to knock my teeth out. He then turned off at the Elton Road exit, and, with nothing but a small duffel bag and not even a penny to my name, he pushed me out of the truck and onto the road. His tires screeched off as he drove off and left me on the side of Elton Road on a dark, cold February night.

New Life for Women

New Life for Women is a drug and alcohol treatment center for homeless women and that's what I was – homeless. It is located on a tree-lined street close to the Mississippi State Capitol. It was a former residence for retired Catholic priests. The building has great character on the outside. The inside leaves a little to be desired but it was warm, inviting and I felt loved immediately by the staff there. It is an approximately 15 bed facility and usually stays at capacity.

I arrived in August 2007 on a Wednesday afternoon. While my bags were still in the lobby waiting to be gone through by the house manager – standard procedure to be certain there are no drugs, weapons or cell phones hidden in the bags – I was whisked away to the kitchen to cook dinner for 15 women. Seems the girl scheduled to cook that night couldn't do it so they got the new girl to do it. Chores were assigned weekly similar to the other treatment centers I had been in. Each cook had a helper so my helper and I rustled up some pork chops, mashed potatoes and salad for the clients. We did a pretty darn good job even if I do say so myself.

After dinner some of the girls helped me carry my bags up the stairs to my bedroom. When I got to Harbor House I literally had the clothes on my back and one other pair of pants. By the time I left I had been given so many clothes that I had 6 bags to be hauled up the stairs of New Life. God is good and so are His people. The outpouring of love and generosity I had received was humbling.

I'll just go ahead and say it. My new roommate was crazy. She had no filter between her brain and her mouth but I adjusted myself to accommodate her personality as I had done with others all my life. We had twin trundle beds, night stands and lamps for reading. It was carpeted and comfortable. There were as many different stories as their were women at this facility. Some were as young as 18 with some as old as 50. Some were alcoholics, some addicted to marijuana, some crack, some methamphetamine and some heroin. These women, including myself, all had their own mental crosses to bare. You name the disorder, there was a woman that had it. From depression to panic attacks to bi-polar to schizophrenia (mild), all were represented. I made several dear friends while there who were just like me and only wanted, well, a new life.  Relapse has taken the lives of 4 of them in the past 5 years.  We were family and many of us still are.

One of my best friends from Harbor House was already there. She had actually entered Harbor House the day after I did. The way things worked there you sat in the order you came in for everything – at mealtime, group, lecture, etc. She and I became fast friends right away. It's a good thing because if you had to spend that much time in such close proximity to someone you couldn't stand you would have had big problems in addition to the problems you were in treatment for. It was a comfort having her in the bedroom next to mine.

Regarding drug and alcohol treatment in general, if you are not willing to accept it you might as well not be there. You are wasting your own time, the time of the staff and you're taking up bed space from someone who really wants treatment. I cannot say I got sober at Harbor House. I was not using but I never really got to the heart of the matter. Never did I talk about the emotional and physical abuse I had experienced. I stayed under the radar, doing what I was expected to do but I never truly opened up to pierce the core of the reasons I was an addict. New Life is where I got sober.

The lectures were so interesting and gave me great insight into why I was an addict. You can use the excuse that somebody was mean to me all day long but that is only one part of why one becomes an addict. It has been proven that heredity is a factor and I have to think of my dear biological father who drank his 6-pack of beer every night. There may have been others in my family tree that I am not aware of. Walter was an alcoholic so being brought up around his drinking could have had an affect on my addiction. Many are born addicts as I have mentioned in an earlier post. My addiction was a combination of many of these factors. My brutal insecurity about my physical condition, the abuse, physical, emotional and mental, and heredity all played a part.

Where I really got to the core of my problems was in group therapy. Many times we would have peer group where clients told one client what they saw them doing that was wrong and detrimental to their goal of getting sober. Forgive the pun, but that could be a very sobering experience. We also role played where we would be seated face to face with a counselor or another client and pretend they were a person that had hurt us deeply in our past and tell them how much damage they had done to our psyches. I felt especially bad for the clients who had experienced sexual abuse. Hearing the recounting of what that had done to them psychologically was heart wrenching.

New Life is the only treatment center in the central Mississippi area that offers women a way out of homelessness. I entered their secondary program for a month and then moved into a transition apartment. New Life had a federally funded HUD grant that allowed them to rent approximately 10 apartments for transition clients to live in. Each two bedroom, one bath apartment was occupied by 2 clients. Clients must have a job and were required to pay the electric bill and give 30% of their paycheck to New Life to be held in savings for them. Whenever they decided they were ready to get their own place every dime of their savings was given back to them for deposits, furniture, rent, etc. The program was designed to end their homelessness and it did that for many, many women, including myself.

Mentioning jobs in the previous paragraph reminded me to tell you about my transportation to work. Still working at Good Will, I would catch the 7:00 AM bus on State Street for the 50 minute ride to the Good Will location near Metrocenter. I had never been on a city bus in my life much less depend on one as my only mode of transportation! You can meet some very interesting people on a bus, let me just tell you. There was a mentally challenged older man that sort of adopted me as his girlfriend. We sat next to each other on my way to work and on his way to his adult daycare. He would bring me little gifts every day like a pen or a purse sized packet of tissues. He was so very sweet and I think of him every day hoping he is doing well in his child-like world.

I came. I came to. I came to believe.

"If You Want Me To"

Ginny Owens

One night as I sat alone drinking with my demons all around, God showed up. I remembered my friend who had married one of my very closest friends but had since divorced her. He had been sober for 20 years. I had hope that he could help me.

Not only did he help me his church paid for me to go to Harbor House, a treatment center in Byram. These people had never even met me but loved me enough to see that I got the help I needed. My friend bought my ostomy appliances the entire time as well as keeping me supplied in cigarettes. I told him what a blessing he was to me but he told me he would be the one blessed. I entered Harbor House on April 9, 2007. I had started detoxing my self from alcohol on April 5 so that I would be a little bit sharper and less sick when I got there.

I was welcomed with open arms and hugs from complete strangers. Suddenly I felt safe, mostly from myself. Harbor House was a God send. The staff were friendly but firm. I always obeyed every rule and never got inro trouble because I was so grateful to be there, plus that's just not my style. We had more free time on our hands there. We had lecture every day, group every day and Big Book Study. There was a volley ball court we could use. We could do our laundry for free and there were soft drink machines and coffee made all day long. We all had a different chore every week. Mopping, keeping coffee made, cleaning the restrooms outside the unit, cleaning the smoking patio, etc. Of course we were responsible for cleaning our rooms and making our beds on a daily basis. What treatment really tries to teach you are the basics of taking care of yourself when you leave treatment. Considering most of us spent all of our time when we were using looking for drugs and using drugs things like bathing and dusting your house were not even on our agendas.

I went through 8 weeks of primary treatment and was accepted into their transition program. There were two fairly new duplex apartments on the Harbor House grounds where the transition girls lived. Each side was identical with 2 bedrooms containing 3 beds on each side of the living room with a bath on each side. The living room was furnished beautifully with a large television that we were only allowed to watch after 5:00 PM. Each side also had a large well appointed kitchen where we prepared our own meals as a group. Lights out was at 10:30. We were required to go to meditation at 6:00 AM. The most significant difference in the primary program is that we were required to get a daytime job but we only allowed to work no later than 6:00 PM. This was so we could go to group at night 2 times per week and attend outside AA or NA meetings.

The only job I could find was at Good Will Industries. I could write a book on just that experience alone. I was one of several folks who sat outside a covered area and sorted bags of donations by clothing, household, appliances, toys, etc. Who knew people would put their childrens soiled underwear in a donation bag for Good Will? It was also August so the temperatures were actually close to or more than 100 degrees. I worked there for 2 months. It was a humbling experience for me and I needed that.

It came time time to make a decision after the 2 months in transition had flown by. I could go on to another facility called New Life for Women or try to make it out in the real world again and this frightened me terribly. And there was still no car which would make it hard to get to work. We were transported by van to our jobs while at Harbor House. I decided to continue my treatment at New Life.

Jail Bird Redux

"Zoo Station"

Quite appropriate for this post

As I heard the voice of the Sheriffs Department on the other side of the door my heart dropped into my stomach. I swallowed hard and opened the door to two plain clothes officers. My mother had signed an affidavit against me for pawning my own jewelry! Yes, you read that right. My mother had signed an affidavit against me for pawning my own jewelry! You can't make this shit up!

The officers were very nice to me. I think they felt the whole thing was laughable but they had to do their jobs. I gathered up my ostomy supplies of which I had enough to last 2 days. The officers assured me that I would receive the best medical care I could get anywhere. PLEASE DO NOT BELIEVE THAT LIE! I did.

I was taken first to the downtown Hinds County Jail, then sent out to the Raymond Hinds County Jail, in handcuffs, with another girl who had been picked up for writing bad checks. We were two VERY dangerous criminals! We were processed in Raymond, mug shots were taken, fingerprints made and then we were sent back downtown to the jail. Could that get any more convoluted? All the while being transported in gas guzzling SUVs. There are your tax dollars at work, folks!

We were made to disrobe completely, shower, and wash our hair. We were then given a plastic mattress not much thicker than children's mats they take naps on in kindergarten and a rough wool blanket. Then we were escorted upstairs to our cells. There was a day room/common area with 6 pod “bedrooms” consisting of a steel slab to put our mattresses on and a metal desk/shelf. That was it. There were two bathrooms one on each side of the day room with a small sink right above the toilet. I believe the same water that went into the toilet was the same water that came out of the faucet. Nice and sanitary. There was also one shower that all six of us used and believe me there were people in my cell that you wouldn't want to sit next to much less go to the bathroom or shower behind. In a word it was just nasty. All the girls were friendly enough. I somehow manage to get along with everyone with the exception of husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends. I'm funny like that.

This happened on a Friday in late January meaning I was there until Monday at least when I went before the judge. Little did I know I would be there for 3 weeks! During those three weeks I was unable to get the ostomy appliances the officers that arrested me told me I could get. Don't get put in the Hinds County Jail if you have something wrong with you physically. The nurse looked at me like I was crazy when I told her what I needed. She had no idea what an ostomy was! She was a truly brilliant scholar, let me tell you! I was sent to Raymond on a couple of occasions to get treatment for the uric acid burns I got during those three weeks because of the urine I stayed soaked in. They managed to come up with 10 colostomy bags with no opening at the end to drain my urine. However, there was a small square charcoal opening at the top for colostomy gasses to pass through. This only allowed more urine to seep out.

I was finally released ROR because of my medical issues. My friend that I had been staying with came to pick me up and had a big bottle of white wine he had picked up for me. He had also stopped and bought me 2 boxes of my ostomy supplies. He was nothing if not kind to me and if it had not been for him I would have literally been living on the streets.

The grand jury did not indict me on what was such a ridiculous charge. But I still had no direction other than to sit on that balcony and smoke and drink. Until I made a call to an old friend that would ultimately save my life.

And Now It's Time for a Breakdown!

"Tuesday's Gone"

But it seemed like a good day for a breakdown!

No job, no money for dope, no money for anything. I began to do the unthinkable. I began stealing money from my mother and my son for drugs. That was the worst, most horrible feeling in the world but drugs will make you do anything and not even your family is off limits to your appetite for destruction. This added to my depression, anxiety and the need for more drugs to cover the pain.

The one thing I never did was prostitute myself for drugs. I would have committed suicide before doing that. I even pawned 2 large diamond rings that my mother had given me when I was a teenager. My life consisted of putting gas in my car, buying crack and riding around town smoking crack which any person who has ever smoked crack will tell you is nearly logistically impossible. You've got to load your pipe, hold your pipe up, light your pipe, all the while attempting to keep your car in the road. It was awful but at the time necessary.

In January of 2006 my breakdown came. I could no longer juggle mom's books so that she would not find out about the stolen money. I made sure I always got the mail. I disposed of her bank statements for 3 or 4 months. She never seemed to notice. There had been a bottle of wine that had been saved for a special occasion that I opened on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon while mom was taking a nap. I drank most of it, packed a small bag and left to go to a friend's apartment to stay. I knew he would want a sexual relationship in return for letting me stay there, feeding me and buying me cigarettes and booze. He was a highly functioning alcohol who drank a huge bottle of wine at night. But, somehow, I don't know how, I managed to keep the sexual relationship at bay. I dodge that bullet, so to speak.

My friend had a job that required he wake up at 3:30 AM, prepare for his job (he worked in radio), shower, dress and be at work by 6:00 AM. This meant he went to bed at 8:30 PM without fail. I would watch television from the time he went to be until went to bed and passed out from the liquor until 3:30 when he got up. Then I would go get in his bed, sleep for a very few fitful hours only to awaken with that familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach remembering what dire straits I was in and that I had left my mother and son in. I would drink all night and go out on his balcony to smoke. It was easier to be on that balcony at night because during the day I saw people leave their apartments for their jobs, taking their kids to school, bringing in groceries. The bank had repossessed my car by this time so I never left the apartment. I didn't have a job, never saw my child and had no money for groceries. Never in my life had I felt so worthless. I had no idea how I was going to get out of this situation either. I was hopeless.

Sometimes when I would smoke on the balcony at night I would feel demons all around me. I felt the urge to jump off the balcony but it was only on the 2^nd floor so I would probably just have paralyzed myself! I couldn't shake the feeling that something was after me. Needless to say my anxiety level was higher than it had ever been.

One day I got up, showered, which I rarely did, washed my hair and got dressed. Then there was a knock at the door. No one, I mean no one, ever came to this guy's apartment. I asked who was there and a male voice called out “Hinds County looking for Sheryl Denise Wall.”

Jail Bird

Things were not easy at home. Especially since Blake would not even sleep in our bed with me. Oh, he would come in there for sex occasionally but as far as sleeping went, he slept in his recliner. I wondered what kind of message he was trying to send. Yeah, right!

I was given a prescription for Ambien for sleep. Did I like it? Of course! It was a pill that changed the way I felt! I loved it! I also found that if you took 3 you could hallucinate – what a funky concept. The designs in my wallpaper would dance around. If you looked at a picture of 2 faces long enough there would be 3. It was, in a word, a trip! Ambien did everything but help me sleep. I figured since no one was sleeping with me I might as well do something fun.

During the next year I did not work. I smoked more crack because the only pills I could get were Ambien from my psychiatrist. During our visits I was very careful not to tell her about my addictions or anything more than just scratching the surface about my childhood or the rest of my life. I had gone through some of that in treatment but the thought of telling anyone, especially a group of people I barely knew, absolutely repelled me!

Problems began to come to the surface when I decided I would be fun to trip on Ambien during the day. I was leaving the house to get away from one of Blake's tirades barely able to walk straight and nearly took out the stop sign at the end of our cul-de-sac. All the while Blake just let me go, knowing I was messed up and knowing, perhaps hoping, something bad would happen to me. It did.

I hit a car on Highway 49 at Highway 80. Yes, in Rankin County. I still had my act together well enough to convince the cop I was sober so he asked me to just move my car out of the lane of traffic which I promptly did and then backed into the front of his cruiser. Out came the cuffs, the reading of the rights and then a blackout. I do remember bits and pieces of them trying to print me and me giving them lots of trouble.

The next thing I remember is waking up to bright lights being turned on lying under a scratchy, wool blanket. Upon further examination I was wearing a bright orange outfit with stylish orange rubber sandals. Quite the ensemble! I didn't know exactly where I was but I knew I was in jail. Ambien causes terrible amnesia and that was probably a blessing. I opened the door to me cell into a large common area where girls were walking, exercising, talking, etc. There was a Styrofoam plate of breakfast at my door the smell of which sent me reeling. A girl came of up me and much like the quote from the movie “Life”, “You gon eat yo cownbread?” she asked “You gon eat yo brefass?”. I gave it to her and was glad to be rid of it.

Soon they called my name over a loud speaker to come “up front”. The girls pointed me in the right direction. Blake's dad had come to bail me out. He truly is the sweetest man I have ever met. He took me back to their house and we discussed treatment again. I agreed to go back to Clarksdale.

Clarksdale was just a repeat of my first stay there. Nothing new, still not willing to tell everything that tortured my mind and my life. Getting clean requires “rigorous honesty”. No one was ever going to get that out of me. I pulled from my theatre days, told them what they wanted to hear and was out again in 3 months. After I had been there about a month, Blake served me with divorce papers. And by the way, that is about the most horrible thing you can do to a person in treatment but I didn't expect any better from him.  Even though I knew divorce was inevitable and I knew, in my heart of hearts that it was the best thing, I was devastated  Also, serving someone with divorce papers while they are in alcohol and drug treatment is one of the most hateful things a person can do.

Prior to my leaving treatment a headhunter who was a friend of Peggy's tracked me down. She was looking for a top-notch assistant for a former high ranking public official who was going into private practice with a prestigious law firm in Jackson. I went back home, aced the interview and got the job. I would be doing lots of marketing and PR in the job so I finally could justify the stiff student loans I was still paying each month and actually afford to pay.

The job lasted about 2 years which is amazing considering I was smoking crack and still taking Ambien from time to time. My work suffered tremendously and it's amazing that I kept the job that long.

The downward spiral was beginning to spiral with the speed of sound.

Getting the Treatment

You may be asking yourself why I didn't mention going to any kind of treatment. Oh, I went to treatment, treatment, treatment and more treatment. I actually went to 4 treatment centers. The first was a hospital detox program for 1 week.

I got there after an intervention of sorts by my mother. She picked me up from work where I had taken the last 3 pills I had. By the time I was checked in and went upstairs to wait for my room, those last pills were starting to wear off. I noticed the girl that came in before me was already being taken to her room. After about 45 minutes they came to get me after more than an hour of pacing back and forth in the hallway, already hurting and needing another pill. I was brought into the room with the girl who got there before me. When I walked in the girl was snoring louder than anyone I had ever heard in my life. I told the nurse that either she was going to have to move me or give me exactly what she had given her! I got my meds as soon as I was unpacked, and yes, they were the same detox meds my roommate had received and, yes, I am sure I was snoring as loudly as she was within the next few minutes.  It was 8:00 and I slept for 14 hours.

Several months earlier the supplier I had used for 35 years stopped carrying the bags I had used. I was wearing a new type of appliance that was not as large and by the time I woke up the next morning I was completely soaked! Welcome to my world! I quickly changed myself and my sheets.

Detoxing for a week with no real treatment is a bit like taking off the cast of someone with a broken leg after one week. I was using again within 24 hours after I was released. Three months later, I overdosed on Soma, a potent muscle relaxer.  Blake called an ambulance and I was rushed to a hospital where my stomach was pumped.  That was one of the most barbaric treatments I had ever experienced, I went to a treatment center right outside of Clarksdale, MS. I was there for 3 months.

Before I left for treatment I signed temporary guardianship of Robert over to my mother and my friends I had the falling out with about leaving a load of towels drying when I cleaned their house, remember them? We had long since let by gones be by gones. Her brother's second child, a baby girl, died from SIDS. Of course I reached out to her and it was as if nothing ever happened between us. They agreed to let Robert live with them most of the time, visiting my mom frequently and seeing Blake every once in a while. He was not necessarily the greatest father material but Robert did have a certain affection for him so he spent some time with him and Blake's parents who felt Robert was their one and only grandchild, which he in fact was.

Treatment in Clarksdale was very, very different than a week in a detox center. It was not a hospital-based facility so they sent you to a doctor in town for detox medications, any anti-depressants you might be on already or that he felt were needed and also, in my case, a non-narcotic sleep aid, Trazodone. It worked well.

They kept us very busy. Breakfast at 6:00, cleaning room at 6:30, exercise at 7:15, mediation at 7:30 where we would read inspirational AA/NA literature, lecture on the physical aspects of addiction at 9:00, 10:00 free time, 11:00 Big Book lecture, 12:00 Noon lunch, 12:30 free time, 1:30 group, 2:00 women's group, 5:30 dinner, 6:30 study, free time, etc., lights out at 10:00. Full day!

Graduation day came! I felt I was ready to take on the world as a sober person. My husband and in-laws came to my graduation and then took me home. This is when the real test was to begin.

The Crack in My World

"Times Square"
Marianne Faithfull
No truer words have been spoken!

Who is an addict?

Most of us do not have to think twice about this question. We know! Our whole life and thinking was centered in drugs in one form or another—the getting and using and finding ways and means to get more. We lived to use and used to live. Very simply, an addict is a man or woman whose life is controlled by drugs. We are people in the grip of a continuing and progressive illness whose ends are always the same: jails, institutions, and death.

~ Narcotics Anonymous

This was my life. Once you slip over it's impossible to come back without help. When I couldn't get pills from doctors, I started buying them off the street. Believe me they cost three times as much buying them that way so I could never get enough to last longer than a day or two. Again, I was on the phone, going to people's homes I did not know, waiting for the dealer who hadn't showed up yet. Dealers NEVER show up with product on time. It's always waiting, waiting and waiting. And sometime the pills never show up.

Would you like to hear about withdrawals from opiates? There is a gnawing in your stomach that will not go away. Your muscles ache like you have the flu. Your head hurts as if it will pop off and roll around on the floor. You cannot think clearly. It's nearly impossible to function. All you can do is lie in your bed and suffer for two days, sometimes longer. You are dope sick.

By this time I had already lost my job with a very well-known former public official at a prestigious law firm. I was calling in sick and on the days I did go in my work was shoddy at best. I mean could you make travel arrangements, type up legal documents

What do you do when you are an opiate addict and can no longer get your dope? What do you do when you cannot stand being in your own skin? What do you do when you cannot stand the feeling of being yourself any longer and you think of a implementing a permanent solution to a temporary problem? You find the first, most available drug that will take you out of yourself and the horrible way you feel. You smoke crack. Just typing those words brings back horrible memories and a chill just ran up my spine.

We had a beloved housekeeper who had unfortunately had gone down the horrible road of crack addiction. But even then she only became undependable. We NEVER worried about her stealing anything and she NEVER did. I knew she could hook me up. She fought with me over it not wanting me to start something that could very well lead to my own self-destruction. But I can be very, very persuasive. She relented and I smoked my first rock with her. She had an old piece of a car antenna with a round piece of rubber at the end that could be moved from one end of the pipe to the other in order to keep from burning your lips on the hot metal end you had just lit and smoked the rock from She taught me how to do it well.

Did you know that crack makes you paranoid in an almost schizophrenic sort of way. I never heard voices but I became extremely paranoid from the time I bought the dope in her neighborhood, to the store I stopped into to buy the “rose pipe” which are the glass pipes with a miniature fake rose in them that you've probably all seen a the convenience store and the copper Brillo pad used to to stuff in the pipe to keep the rock in place and act as a filter, all the way home I sweated bullets. Knowing a cop saw me buy the sip, saw me buy the paraphernalia and was going to burst through the door as soon as I lit my first rock. The whole time I was smoking I was peeking out the blinds because I was certain there was someone outside watching me. Any crack addict will tell you the exact same thing.

I had done it. I had become not only a statistic but also that person people would jokingly (or not jokingly) tell someone “Ya mama's a crackhead!”. The only other butt of a joke I had been was “Ya mama wears combat boots!” because I also did that on occasion. Yes, I had done it.