In April 1969, I met Clark. He was tall, blonde, and handsome. He was a year older than I was and he went to a continuation high school. We met one morning before school and made a date to meet that afternoon.
We got into the back of his camper truck and each did a shot of heroin. He asked if I wanted to go for a walk along a path between the pine trees and the lake. It was foggy, too, so it was very "soft and romantic". We walked along holding hands and at one point we kissed. That was one very beautiful afternoon, and romantic, and I'll always remember it that way. The added attraction of perfection courtesy of heroin sealed the experience as one of my lifetime favorites.
That July on the night of the moonlanding, we got into a fight in his apartment and I remember that he slapped me for something. The TV was turned on to the historic event but we were only paying scarce attention. He slapped me a few times during that summer and one time it was more of a slug. I slugged him right back, my sharp ring scratching his face. He tried to make me feel guilty for it, but inside I felt damned good for returning the favor, at last. During that summer I also took an overdose of barbiturates in his apartment because I was sick of the way he treated me - giving me less dope than he got, or making me wait. Heroin addicts make horrible partners. I just slept off the barbiturates until the next morning when I learned that he was sitting by watching me all night long, thinking about how much he loved me, and having his friends come in to admire the messed up "sleeping beauty" of an addict in his bed. That was too bizarre, even for me.
By that September, he was pulling some risky illegal stunts to get money for dope. He was busted for trying to break into a car in a parking lot. A wallet was left on the seat and it was very tempting. It was a set up. I just sat in the car we drove that day while he tried to get the wallet. The undercover cop told me how smart I was to stay in the car. If I had set foot outside the car, I would have been busted, too. The detective drove me home to my parents' house. I knew it wasn't "smart"; it was just dumb luck. I don't think it was luck but just plain good sense that kept me from joining Clark when he asked me to elope to Las Vegas. He came knocking at my window one night, sandwiches and juice in his truck for the trip, because he couldn't live without me. He ended up doing time for the break-in and the last I heard he joined the army.
Eight years later, I had a call from one of my best friends. Darlene was staying in the penthouse of a hotel nearby with her boyfriend. He was a cocaine dealer. I agreed to go visit her although I was not comfortable with the way cocaine changed peoples' personalities to such a point of unpredictability and aggression.
I arrived around 7:00 p.m. The guy looked sleazy and I noticed a gun lying on a coffee table. Darlene asked me to come into the bathroom with her while she shot up some coke. I was offered but I never liked stimulants and opted out. I watched while Darlene took several shots and we talked about what had been going on in our lives.
The night quickly turned into a hellish scene. Darlene started to hallucinate. She thought police were walking around on the roof outside the bathroom window. Hallucinations and paranoia are the ever-present signs of someone not in control because of their cocaine abuse. Combine that with an addict's self-centered need to maintain their good relations with the drug supplier, and this is what you get.
Darlene flushed a quarter of a baggie of cocaine down the toilet in her drugged paranoia. Then she passed out. The boyfriend, his friend, and I were there to make sure Darlene regained consciousness. When she was asked by her boyfriend why the empty baggie was floating in the toilet, Darlene blamed the whole thing on me! I was shocked and at that point afraid for my safety. Darlene and I did some quick talking while we walked to the door. The boyfriend was now standing there with the gun in hand. I got home as the sun was beginning to rise to a beautiful new day. Before they left town, the deranged duo managed to rip off one of my friends at gunpoint for a police scanner he owned.
I consider it my good fortune that I never saw any of these people again.
A woman in a relationship with an addict is looking at a violent life. I have seen it happen over and over again. With the exception of plain marijuana use, someone using drugs will get violent. Heroin does not make someone violent but it goes along with the addict's lifestyle and maybe it is because of the anger the person feels at his powerlessness over the drug.
Cocaine and speed cause paranoia and violent aggression. I have seen it, too, time after time. If you add alcohol to the drugs, you have a psycho on your hands. Every few years I hear of a woman being murdered by her husband or partner who was on coke or speed and outraged at her for wanting to never see him again or get a divorce. From choking, to drowning, to knives, and baseball bats, those drugs release a monster. In a sickening dark world, that is the darkest place by far. It is so much better to not get involved or be involved with a partner who does those drugs.
If you know of someone in a relationship with a drug-user who is violent as I described above, you might have a tough choice to make. The person needs to get away from the user. It is a treacherous road to travel with a goal of getting away from an addict. It gets more dangerous, possibly, before it gets safer, if it ever does. A friend helped me years ago, God bless her soul, despite being pushed around while getting my things out of the house I shared with yet another psycho heroin addict boyfriend. If I were getting away from a speed or coke user, I'd go to a different state or country, change my name, and sever all ties to the old town. Police or sheriffs have to be involved. They will be the only ones able to exert influence or control. And this is why they hate family disturbance calls so much. Very, very dangerous.
It's not just men who get violent either. I saw a woman on cocaine actually rip a pay phone off the wall of a holding cell in a jail. Not just the cord; the entire machine. It's something about that adrenalin or the chemicals in stimulants. These things are truly a curse on our lives when in the hands of an abuser.
When I started high school, it was less than a month since I first fixed. It was still very cool to me at that time. It was hot so I wore a sundress every day with no thought to the little puncture mark in the crook of my elbow.
The very first time I used with my boyfriend, let's call him Tristan, it was in the mountain home of a trust fund heir. The homeowner was out of town but Tristan, 19, knew the house-sitter so we were able to go there.
We stood in the kitchen to get the white powder ready to use. After Tristan gave himself a hit, I turned my head the other way while he easily slid the sharp, gleaming silver needle into my virgin vein and delivered me to the sweetest little garden of delight, so good at blocking the view of the decaying burnt earth of the dark empty hole of addiction which was sure to follow. Once we were into the blissful state of heroin's domain, we relaxed on a lounger while listening to the latest Beatles record on a very good stereo. The twinkling lights of a city seemed to be at our feet, visible through the floor to ceiling windows across one end of the room.
We ended the night after moving on to the bedroom, a burgundy velvet bedspread covering a king size bed with a soft pile of pillows to match. I found that making love while on heroin was better than ever, at least for a girl or woman. It is tough for a guy to keep an erection on certain kinds of dope, especially heroin. I'm not sure if the best part for me was the sex or simply feeling the arms around me.
I used to wonder if I would have fallen so deeply into addiction if my first time had been in a rat-filled smelly garage using a dull horse-sized needle (a much more accurate picture of the daily reality of an addict) instead of the "pretty" way it was for me. Before Christmas, I shot up some dope myself in the bathroom at school, in my car, in my bedroom, my bathroom, my parent's bathroom, and in my enthusiasm I shared it with two of my girl friends who were strangers to heroin, too. We all ended up with hepatitis.
Tristan was busted for selling to a snitch. Five of us were in the room and we all testified in Tristan's defense, but it didn't help. Tristan left for Mexico in January. We said good-bye with tears and promises of future good times. I was then on my own. If I wanted to use, I had to learn to find my own stuff.
Within 2 years, I felt the first soul-numbing sting of abuse from an addicted boyfriend, and within another 5, my friends were turning tricks to get money for dope. One of my friends, though I was not the first to introduce her to junk, was busted in a prostitution crack-down and had her picture on the front page of the newspaper. The beautiful, petite green-eyed blonde definitely belonged in pictures, but not that kind. She died in 1982 of a heroin overdose. She left behind a 6 year old son. I miss her very much, and I will always remember her as my most loyal, protective friend. I was amazed at her being on a filthy street in a "cat-fight" with some guy's wife tearing at her clothes, and the next week keeping me out of harm's way as I nodded off in my car with a stranger next to me.
I have no idea what ever happened to my 2 other friends, the ones I convinced that they were missing out on so much by not shooting heroin. They both drifted off into the cocaine habit. I am curious but not quite enough to actually try to find either one because of the way they each turned on me, or our "friendship", during the years to follow high school. There were so many deaths to friends or acquaintances that I can't really remember how many there have been. They were all fun, talented young men or young women with so much going for them, just about everything, in fact.
When young, I was taught that an addict was an ugly, useless person. Some addicts are, some are not. There have been some very talented, very intelligent people who have been addicted to drugs (namely, opiates such as heroin, morphine, codeine, oxycontin, vicodin, hydrocodone, etc.). I assumed that old image of a dope fiend was valid and I see now that it is not.
After my post about the feeling of completion that I felt after using opiates, I would hope that might make someone wonder why. Investigation and education leads me to believe that why people get addicted to certain drugs is due to the imbalance of certain neurological substances in the brain.
I still am questioning how many people who have never taken such drugs would become addicted if they used them.
A serious challenge to my recovery was the temptation to give in to hedonistic desires. Drug court and twelve step meetings seemed to be teeming with some attractive, willing participants, too.
There was a young guy in his late 20s who stared at me a bit too much. Just before his graduation, we found ourselves alone. He gave me the smooth-talking come on of, "You know? You are really cute." I was flattered but not interested, so I simply said to him, "Ah, not bad for an old broad, eh? Thank you!" We both cracked up and the tension I'd felt around him was gone for good. I like to think of myself as a "broad". I'm no "dame", but I don't mind being a "broad".
Anyway, I think it is very risky for someone new to recovery or in the process of a twelve-step program to get into any relationship. I suppose for someone just looking for a purely physical one-night-stand sort of thing, it could work. But for someone who might have passions enflamed by the closeness and expectation of possible permanent partnerships, it leads to relapse in the event of disappointment.
This program has completely changed my life. I am grateful to those who saw the need for a program like this and had the vision and tenacity to make it a reality.
I truly appreciate the court system, the public defender's office, the probation department, the district attorney's office, and the hospital for having me and keeping me in this treatment program. When I started the program 26 months ago, I was facing the most severe challenges of my life: a 2 decade marriage crumbling, my health showing the signs of damage done by 3 decades of making bad choices, and of course, 2 felonies knocking at the door of any semblance of security and peace of mind I had left.
Thank you, (*my psychologist*), for guiding me through the darkness and shadows of my soul and helping me use the tools I was learning in *the program* to face memories, traumas, and loss without self-destructing.
Thank you to the staff of *the program*, my case managers, Sheryl, Ian, Sissy, and Kim for being incredibly supportive and always showing me unconditional love; and all the others who showed that spiritual gifts and recovery were there for us all.
Thank you a million times over to my sons, Tony and Kris, for believing in me and giving me a reason to try recovery in the first place until I realized it would be a good thing for me, too! I appreciate my mother- and sister-in-law for taking good care of my sons while I attended groups and meetings and not hesitating to give me some transportation when I needed it.
And to all other *program* clients who sat through groups, videos, and gave me encouragement during hard times - Thank You!
If you're a new client, I can tell you this - you'll be here graduating, too, if you can meet the staff 1/2 way, try to be open-minded about recovery, the twelve steps, and can believe you deserve a better life for yourself. I've seen *program* clients dealing with divorce, life-threatening illness, loss of a parent or other family member, the demons of past abuse, trauma, and victimization from violent crime. These are extremely painful things to deal with and these aren't peaceful times for us to attempt to recover and accept the damage we tossed around when we were active in our disease. But you can do it - forgive yourself and work to give your talents and gifts to the world.
I bless you all and I want to finish with these life-changing Promises from Alcoholics Anonymous' The Big Book:**
If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness (will disappear) and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and (We will) gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people (will leave us) and (fear) of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves. Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.
The Promises are on Page 83, a somewhat early place in the Alcoholic Anonymous Big Book. When I heard them for the first time, 2 months after I started the drug court program, I thought they sounded like the most beautiful words I'd heard. As someone who fought to end the misery of an addict's life for years, I was resigned to the fact that I couldn't do it by myself. My case manager, a recovering addict herself, read this part of the book at the close of one of the dozens of groups I would sit through. She sounded too real and sincere to think she was not being truthful. I trusted her.
The paragraphs before The Promises are the contents of the graduation speech I made. It was difficult to do this in front of 60 to 70 people. Tears of joy and a mix of other emotions I can't describe, as well as tears of relief were unavoidable but those people were pulling for me. I did manage to finish saying my heartfelt composition, not as poised as I could have wanted but the point was that I had graduated, this was the ceremony, and after my hard work, two felony counts were torn up - off my record.
THE GOD PART OF IT
Being a Catholic from birth until 13 years of age, I heard all about God. If you didn't notice the unlikely date of birth in my profile, I didn't mean any dishonesty: it's the date I used heroin for the first time. That was My Life Part 2. Life has been a 3 or 4 part production.
The first time I remember sincerely asking for God's help, from my heart truly wanting an answer that I wouldn't be providing, was when I asked in what direction I should turn, in 1989. I'd settled a Work Comp. case that had been ongoing since 1983 for repetitive stress injuries. I wasn't feeling fulfilled. Things felt stalled. After my prayer, hints and coincidences loudly said to consider having children. I was 37! I had never wanted children before then! I am blessed to have 2 sons, the only 2 babies I've ever conceived or given birth to. More astounding, those were the 2 times that my ex-husband and I deliberately avoided any type of birth control.
When I was finally in the hospital getting ready to have my second child, who was heading into this life in a very smooth, perfect way, and too quickly for any medication for pain, I was left alone for several minutes. It was around 4:00 a.m., my OB was with another patient giving birth, and the nurse had to leave. Once the door shut, I started to feel overwhelming fear suddenly erupt through the place of calm I had held since labor began. A contraction began to well up inside of me and I said a quiet little prayer asking for help from God. Within seconds, there was a "whoosh" of golden light-energy through the room - baby and I were unmistakably protected and safe. The potential panic ended as quickly as it began. I was not alone. That was the most powerful experience of my life, and I was sober. (Note: My maternal instinct kicked into overdrive at conception, I believe, and I never had any desire to smoke, drink, or take drugs while pregnant. I did not have one migraine headache while pregnant either! I tend to get those 2 or 3 times each month. As my OB said, I was very good at being pregnant and having a baby!)
There have been other times that I am certain were absolutely, positively experiences of intervention from God. Because of these blessed events or "miracles", I knew God would help me through that drug court program. Just as He had kept me alive a few times, He was with me on the road to recovery. I just had to do the work...
By the time I was 18 I was busted for forgery. Someone had his mother's checks and got me to write a few so he could get cash - we split what we bought. When I called mom and dad from the police station, I told them, "Come bail me outta here... or bring me a carton of cigarettes..." The next day the carton appeared and I was hurt and confused about being left to rot for a week in there. ("to see exactly what it's like").
There were methadone maintenance programs or residential rehab programs. First I tried the methadone program. I wasn't committed to getting away from the lifestyle so I didn't stay clean. After a few more years, I went on that program again. Gradually, I reduced the dosage and did get off of heroin. I don't think using methadone for pain control is a good idea and I'm not sure it makes sense to use one addictive drug to get off of another. Since methadone is legal and heroin isn't, at this point it's a reasonable choice.
I'd also been on a 90 day residential program which used behavioral modification techniques. One of the guys in there took up a collection and climbed down a tree to go score something and sneak back in. The only reason most of us stayed clean in there was because the door was locked. It got pretty weird because you had 30 young people whose instincts had been numbed down, all coming "alive" again under the same roof. Needless to say, a few couples were caught in the showers having sex! It was a great place to meet up with new dope fiends from other cities. Some friends from my hometown were in there when I arrived. When I went into the program they told me that I wouldn't make it because I was too sensitive and too much of a "people pleaser". A short time later, one of them, my close friend of 5 years, called her connection/boyfriend to come pick her up. He did. The next time I saw her was 2 years after that when she got out of prison.
Drug court was the most effective treatment program because of it's educational emphasis as well as the threat of a night in jail if you give a dirty test. One big problem is that the test results were not always correct. There are certain anti-biotics (for one example) which are in the quinalone family. About half of those will cause a dirty test positive for heroin. Drug testing is in it's infancy despite what someone tells you who sells for the industry which has blossomed recently. If we were to make drugs non-criminal, the government could tax them, and it would save so much trouble and expense, which come to think of it hasn't stopped the government yet.
The first time I walked into drug court, I couldn't believe those people were addicts. There was a line of "clients" waiting, with their little bottles to pee in. One beautiful redhead was wearing skin tight leather pants with a matching leather jacket and shoes. She was leaning back against the wall, smiling at the guys watching her toss the little plastic cup up about 10 inches in the air and then bounce it back up from the inside of her elbow to catch it in her hand, and then repeat. She didn't miss miss for what seemed like 5 minutes. There were around 100 clients on the program, many of whom had trust funds, were athletes, or were in rock 'n roll bands. One particular band had 2 people in that place, the leader/singer and the drummer. Another client said that walking in there while everyone was in the waiting room was like going into a candy store. (I'll take one of those, and one of those, and those 2 ...) There were some very striking people, male and female; not at all what society has told you an addict looks like.
The drug court program was 18 months of educational therapy, twelve step programs, and court appearances after which your felony charge(s) were torn up, on stage, during your graduation. The program was only for people facing felonies. Many of us had forged prescription blanks or called a pharmacy pretending to be a doctor or the office with a prescription for someone who would use an alias to claim the pills. (I had retrieved an average of 2 bottles of pills, the painkiller vicodin and tranquilizer librium, every 2 days for about a month and a half before I was caught.) It took me 26 months to graduate.
I am very sad to say that in the past 3 years, graduates, one very sweet heiress and one musician, have died since of overdose of heroin, the popular (but tortured by something from childhood) drummer from the punk band committed suicide, and the lead singer died in his sleep of heart failure while in a drug treatment center in Tijuana, Mexico. He was still trying to get "it" out of his system. He left behind his wife and their 3 children. At times, it's hard for me to reconcile these lives of gifted, beautiful, and intelligent people coming to that end. But considering what a hellish existence it can be, the non-stop scratching of this little monster inside that never gives you any peace, I know their suffering and pain in this life is over. It has to be considered a relief for someone in the struggle.
The pretty redhead doctor's daughter is working as a counsellor at a less intense drug program, and I am here.
