AA

I dragged along one of my friends to my first AA meeting.  By this time, I'd begun to share with a few of my closest of friends.  The non-judgemental ones.  Added in the rest of my small group members Responses were surprisingly supportive.  In fact, my honesty seemed to create a certain respect and understanding with those I told.  Though none of them had resorted to illegal drug use, my frustrations as a stay-at-home mom were well known to them.  Coping skills come in a multitude of forms - many of us not embracing the healthiest of them.

My good friend was not in need of giving up alcohol - she was a closet smoker.  And like my street drug usage, she felt the same shame.  She'd been secretly attending a 12 step progam - Smoker's Anonymous - but had not yet been able to gain the strength to put the sticks down.  She said she'd be more than honored to attend my first meeting with me.

I still remember walking into that goverment building basement where the meeting was held.  Friday night girls meeting.  I didn't know what to expect.  Were they all a bunch of losers?  A bunch of liars and criminals and washed out drunks?  Would I find any commonality there?

To this day, I call them my party gals.  My wild child(s).  They were of varying ages, but mostly younger.  Little rebels.  Crazy, rockin' hair and clothes.  Some of them open lesbians.  They spoke honestly.  They said FUCK.  They were living life as I'd hoped to live one day- boldly.  Without excuses.  Caring, open and loving....but a daringness to be who they were.  They even had a group that went down to the local bar and grill after the meeting - to drink soda and order up appetizers!  I was stunned people could be that "on the edge" and have fun - but without a drink or drug!

I'm not sure I'd seen that on my first night there....but that is my memory of them.   How awesome for that to have been my first introduction to AA.

It was November, so the meeting centered around the 11th step - prayer and meditation.  I raised my hand to introduce myself and share.  Listening to others do the same, I wasn't sure how I'd introduce myself to them.  I wasn't an alcoholic.  What was I?  Why was I here?

"Hi, I'm Lauren.  I'm an meth amphetamine addict and am choosing not to drink right now."  Guess that covers it.

I told them a short version of what I felt in my heart.  I could see God's work and presence in my life.  Even when I was resisting Him - He's always been there.  when I'd been most resistant in my past, it's been the people that He's placed in my life that have helped me open my eyes.(as I squeezed my friend's hand).  Even to the extent of Mary (my supplier); of course He didn't will my meth use, but I know that befriending her specifically helped me to see.  The spiraling down of my usage, the dynamics of our friendship through her neediness, and my feelings of commonality with her, were the BILLBOARD I needed to help me see/understand.  I was sure then that there had been numerous times that He'd knocked on my door, perhaps even LEANED on the doorbell!  With my own busy-ness going on in my head, however, and the denial of all my negative feelings, I was able to block out the incessant nuisance at the front door.

I'd been able to recount a number of miracles that I was sure had occured over the past month:

• just 4 days after turning up empty handed, the topic in our small group being temptation.  Reading words about secrets harming you and needing to open up to someone you can be accountable to.
• The group being held at our house - comfort in a very uncomfortable situation
• Jeanette's monopolization of the meeting with my very own story.  Needing that monopolization to identify it in myself.
• Dana's seemingly intuitive action of lining up the chain on the cross
• My brother's family visiting for the first time in over 4 years THAT very WEEK - and this timing allowing me to be able to see the commonality between us.  How we cater to our spouses and deny feelings of unhappiness.
• The doc just happening to have Sherry's card when we were discussing his fears of my relapsing.
• Sherry just happening to be exactly the person I'd been looking for.  That strange immediate connection and genuine mutual fondness.  The immediate feeling of support and forgiveness even though she was harping on the same theme of giving up alcohol.
• Fleet just happening to be flexible enough with his schedule that he could allow my busy husband a later appointment.  And that even though he was a recovering alcohol/drug addict, (a failed soul in Jim's eyes) was someone who was intelligent enough - yet frank and warm enough - to capture not only Jim's "doctor" side, but my own needs as well.
• In the short amount of time that I'd met Sherry and took the evaluation - going from an attitude of NO FUCKING WAY would I give up alcohol when it wasn't the problem to acknowledging that it was a problem NOW and being able to actually visualize what my life would look like without it in the future.
• That, by opening up to a dear friend, she could surprisingly open up about her own issues with addiction and attend my very first AA meeting with me, giving me support in a scary "first" situation, while giving continued support back to her with her own issues.
• That that first meeting was full of these bold rebels, speaking with garingly harsh reality.  Exactly what I admired in a person.  And people from all walks of life.  One of them was a female doctor.  
• In the meditation book that I'd picked up from Central Services just the other day, there was a page folded down when I'd brought it home. "An element of recovery", it said, "is learning that we deserve success, the good things that come to us, and also that pain is a reality.  We have the strength to deal with that pain without medicating, and it will pass."  What I most needed to hear in starting out this journey: I was worthy of uncompromising happiness and that all pain was temporary.
• On the day that I first recognized my anger with Jim, at the time for making me feel like I HAD to give up alcohol, the meditation book read, "Because society would rather we always wore a pretty face, women have been trained to cut off anger."  Yes!  Affirmation!
• In my first full day of complete sobriety, both clean AND sober - feeling the acceptance and sadness of it all, the reading on that day read, "Life has got to be LIVED - that's all there is to it.  In recovery, I would say the advantage is that you take time more calmly.  You know that, this too shall pass."  Affirmation that I had a full life to live - with all of its joy and sorrows.  That the pain I'd go through to get there would be over soon.
• That despite Jim's worst fears of betrayal from his most beloved, he'd overcome his disgust in having a street drug abuser as his wife, his feelings that I was the problem, and performed a complete 180 to be supportive and go into treatment with me.

There was no doubt in my mind that all of this was divine.  How could it not be?  All this in such a short time?  All those variables coming together at one time.  Like I said, He may knock many a time in our lives - surely He had in mine.  But I needed all of this TOGETHER - like the sledgehammer to the side of my head - in order for me to answer the door.

Perhaps its also a miracle I did.

Some never do.

Meth - The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

One of the things Sherry first wanted me to look at was what I got from meth amphetamine.  What did it serve me....and what was it's lie?


On both occasions of first using cocaine, back in my college days, then meth on the Girl's trip, there was an immediate feeling of everyting being right with the world, an extreme feeling of love for everything in it.  Both times, I have a distinct memory of those firsts, looking at the trees and the sky, and seeing with such clarity and wonder over God's creation.  The beauty that it held.


I'd label myself as "high" on the drug, but I'd never felt that way, at least not in the way that a high might suggest to someone; being spaced out, loopy, and unfocused.  Just the opposite: in the beginning there was a very strong sense of calm clarity with a ton of extra energy.  At the beginning, I felt I was so much better when using, because I could think so much clearer, remember a multitude of details, and have the energy to carry out more than my share of tasks.


On a number of occasions, however, there were episodes of a "bad" high.  A bad dose, I'd wonder?  (A foreshadowing.) Jittery hands, a knot in my stomach, sometimes feeling the blood rushing behind my ears with a strong undercurrent of panic and worry.  Who knows about me?  Am I dying?  What am I forgetting to do?  On those occasions, I'd lie on the couch with my eyes closed, willing those feelings to pass.  On those occasions, I'd drink.


It killed my appetite and taste buds.   I mean killed it.  I had no desire to eat anything  -nothing looked good. And that was confirmed when I forced myself to eat-everything tasted like cardboard.  It was hard to swallow.  I was intelligent an person though. I knew that I had to eat in order to maintain my secrecy. I couldn't get sick!  So, the drug helped me to make wise choices, ironically speaking, I had better eat the good stuff that might provide me with the most vitamins so that I look as healthy as possible.  I'd seen those pictures of meth addicts online.  Their gaunt bodies,hair falling out,losing their teeth.  I wouldn't be one of them.  So I ate my vegetables,got a rounded meal(on the smallest plate possible).


I marveled once again that I felt SO normal on this drug, with such increased energy and clarity, that the only negative was it being illegal, making it impossible to live openly while using it.  Shouldering that guilt and shame was overpowering....but the benefits it provided at the time overshadowed guilt by a longhaul. 


Towards the end of my usage, the drug began to reveal it's lie to me.    I was completely hooked at this point, so meth could reveal itself a bit more clearly to me.  Almost like heading to bed with the guy of your dreams, only to wake in the morning, turn your head for a kiss and recognize you'd bedded this horrible monster.


My blood pressure was really racing.  I could feel it pounding behind my ears.  I was fearful of working out anymore.  For the past 8 years, I was a regular at our local gym in aerobic classes and weight training.  No longer.  I was sure I'd stroke out.  Though meth was supposed to make a person sexually stimulated,  I kept my distance from Jim.  I was worried our sexual escapades might make me have a heart attack.  Too, I didn't want him to hold me and feel my racing heart.  Look lovingly into my eyes and recognize a rim of residual white powder ringing my nostrils.


My fingers were so often in the crevice behind my earlobe feeling for my pulse, I began to fear that the part of my skull that framed this area was filling in.  There was bone structure there that I'd not recognized before.


I felt my heart skipping beats.  At one time I was completely convinced there was something wrong with my heart so that I'd be dead within the year.  I'd lie in bed and think of my children: Ian finally starting to have an interest in girls, Mariah's adoration of her 4th grade teacher.  I lay there and accepted that I was probably not going to see them grown up.  Life wasn't so wonderful.


But I kept using.


I realized towards the end that it wasn't curbing my apetite as it had.  And now, I'd resorted to sugar.  Forget vitamin fulfillment.  I could at least count on sugar to always have a great taste.


I'd become convinced there was a hole straight through the back of my nostril to my brain.  That it was frying right though the grey matter.


And I knew that it was my usage that was making my mind so foggy, it's machinery feeling as if it were covered in some sticky glue.  I couldn't remember SHIT!  My brain seemed to react SO slowly to put together information from various sources.    I was embarrassed to talk to friends and extended family members in any kind of intellectual conversation because I couldn't put two rational thoughts together.  And I was extremely paranoid of their humor thinking that I was being laughed at - my stupidity.  I became highly defensive.


Fear of dying, of stroking out, of someone finding out - checking my nostrils a gazillion times a day, of being forgetful and stupid, of my brain disintegrating.  Pure isolation from all but my supplier and resulting lonliness.  This was the ugly truth I lived with after meth took off it's beauty mask.  This was the monster I awakened to after falling head over heels with its beauty.


But damn....that was a great drug.

Agreement

Within the following week, I decided to give up alcohol.

Equally as much of a shock, my husband agreed to go into counseling.

It was partially that first visit with our counselor that pushed me the final mile of making the decision to give it up.  I'd found this counselor, Fleet; male, a family counselor in the 12 step network, through Sherry, the drug/alcohol counselor that gave me the evaluation.  I'd since dropped the doc, as well, given my focus now on substance abuse (what I'd told him) and my strong emotional connection to Sherry (what I felt in my heart).

Fleet shared with the two of us the outcome of that evaluation.  Moderate to Severe.  Recommended inpatient treatment. I told him how frustrated I was with the parameters of the test - that most of the answers would be a "no" if I answered specifically about drinking.  My husband, sitting at the far end of the couch from me, supported me somewhat in saying that as long as he'd known me I'd had a glass of wine with dinner - and that was it.  But as well, he was shocked in my attitude.  I felt as though he looked at me like a child through a parent's disapproving eyes.  "If it's not an issue to you, why not just give it up and show them it's really not.  What's the big deal?"

We'd listened to a great CD by Dr. Kevin McCauley (www.addictiondoctor.com) who is one of the leading doctors in the nation that is scientifically affirming the debate that addiction is a disease.  Dr.  McCauley's lecture, "The Disease Model of Addiction" stated that scientific studies showed that upon using a drug, recordable change occurred in the midbrain, the subconscious (without *conscience*) part of the brain.  With abuse, your ability to experience pleasure or joy was greatly decreased, causing the addict to use more often and frequently, without regard to their moral principles.  Following that framework, my husband argued, it would make sense that giving up the substance for a period of time could return that "pleasure center" to a normal state for the person that was not an alcoholic.  Jim argued that were I to give up alcohol for a period of time, that it was quite likely that I could drink again in the future if I, in fact, were not an alcoholic.

Fleet agreed it was possible.  He wasn't a doctor.  I think he was just anxious to have me quit.

I felt like a child.  Small.  The bad person.  I'd put myself in the hands of the professionals, open, honest and willing.  And they sat there, Fleet and my husband, with expectation in their eyes asking me to give up my last crutch.  I was still feeling highly emotional, uncovering more about myself on a daily basis, and they looked at me....expectant....disapproving of anything but *their* solution, waiting for me to make the obvious decision.

So there it was.... a challenge of sorts held out to me.  If it's not a problem, give it up.

In that instant, I understood.  I was incredibly scared about that option because I could acknowledge in that moment that it was a problem.  I could see how much I was white knuckling that alcohol bottle, depending on it, using it strongly because of all the emotional upheaval I was feeling.  Aha moment right there in Fleet's office, sitting on his couch with those expectant eyes waiting on me.

*Progressive doesn't mean you progress to the point of being the stereotypical drunk, homeless person under the bridge with a filled, wrinkled paper bag.  It means that your dependency on some kind of chemical becomes stronger so that if it's not available, you'll just switch chemicals to have some kind of relief or satisfaction.

I got it.

And I hated it.  It was almost if, I thought, that in that decision in April of '04 on that girl's weekend to use meth, I'd forever give up alcohol.  I wish I could have foreseen the future.  I wish, I wish...

But it was obvious to me that I needed to stop drinking.  Stop using any substances that helped my brain continue a connection of substance = relief.

And I wanted to learn as much as I could about alcoholism and substance abuse so that I could wield myself with knowledge - not only for myself but for my kids as well.  Quickly leaving the tween stage, my soon-to-be teens needed me to be beefed up with any knowledge I could get my hands on about alcoholism.  Make them aware of the dangers ahead for themselves if this were genetic in our family.  Besides my grandfather, I was still not willing (and still hold out judgement) to label anyone else in the family- including myself - an alcoholic. But knowledge was power.

I'm willing.  I will, I'd answered those expectant eyes.

What are you willing to do, Fleet asked.

Stop drinking for at least a period of three months.  Attend 3 meetings a week, continue couple's counseling with you once a week, and individual therapy with Sherry.

Deal.

In for a penny, in for a pound.   Here we go.

Substance Abuse

During that week of isolation, I was still seeing my therapist.  He identified one concern:  if Jim would ever agree to come to counseling, he couldn't continue to see me individually.  Ethically, he couldn't focus on the union of the marriage, and still support me as an individual on the side.  And if those couple's sessions were to increase my stress level, he was concerned even more about my drinking.  He gave me the name of a drug/alcohol counselor and asked that I would at least have an evaluation done to make sure he'd covered all his bases.  That I wasn't the ticking time bomb he suspected.

Just as when he'd suggested it the first time, I was more than willing to go.  Let's get to the bottom of everything and move forward.  In for a penny in for a pound.

I'm sure you've met a handful of people in your life that you know, within the second of meeting them, that there is a special connection between the two of you.  They might not even have had to open their mouth, but perhaps it's their eye gaze or some chemical liason between the two of you, but you just know.  There's something mysteriously....connected....between the two of you.

That's exactly the way I felt when I met my alcohol/drug counselor.  Or maybe I was just so in tune with God's will, that I could feel that this was exactly where I needed to be.  And I was directed to her, specifically, because God knew we'd connect on a spiritual, emotional level.  My doc hadn't even known her very well when he'd sent me to her.  They happened to be at the same meeting the week before and they'd networked together.  She gave him her card, and it happened to be sitting on the top of his desk as we were talking about about a substance abuse evaluation.

I opened up easily, talking with her.  Sharing my substance abuse history.   Alcohol always in the home; my parents were the typical "cocktail drinkers" that was widely popular in the 50's.  Our family was traditional and boring, though.  No drunken stupors.  No chaos.  No abuse.  I had a grandfather - my dad's dad- that was your stereotypical drunk.  I didn't know him well; he died when I was young.  From what I understand, however, he'd disappear often, couldn't hold a job, and was somewhat (verbally?) abusive.  None of his kids showed any signs of alcoholism.

I started drinking in high school to be part of the crowd.  There was often a party happening every weekend.  Smoking cigarettes was a habit I'd also picked up during that time.  I felt the drinking/smoking combo made me appear more "cool" - more one of the crowd.  I'd also experimented with marijuana in my last few years of high school as well, but never enjoyed that feeling.  I was always too mellow and hyper-self conscious. That was my type of personality anyway, I didn't need anything to magnify it.

In college, I was a "party-girl", starting the weekends on Thursdays.  Loved the bars, dancing, and staying out late.  I felt more comfortable with a drink and a smoke in my hand.  Hangovers were common, black outs less so.  I never missed work, however, and remained a good student.  By my senior year, I'd discovered cocaine.  Largely a weekend escapade, it made me feel like the life of the party.  I was confident, beautiful and loving life.  I think it's possible that could have gotten out of hand, but I was a student with little cash.  An attractive young lady, I could also get it free a lot, but thankfully all of this happened at the end of my college years, just before I'd met my husband.

My husband and I shared a short drug/alcohol life.  I was shocked the first time I'd seen him dip his head to snort coke with me - he looked like such a straight arrow kinda guy.  We might have shared that experience 4-5 times.  But we met literally the last two weeks before I left UK to do my social work internship before graduation.  It was time to grow up and start acting like adults.  By the time we were married, the "party life" was a thing of the past.  He was an officer in the military and in residency; I had a 9 to 5 job.   That party time became one more memory of just another college kid's carefree lifestyle before the responsibilities of adulthood took over.

She then issued the substance abuse questionaire.  I was to answer the questions without regard to the substance.  If it was a "yes" to one substance, then the answer to the question was a "yes" to all.   It began to frustrate the heck out of me, because many of my questions that I responded "yes" were purely because of the meth, not alcohol.

Have you ever hidden your usage?  -   Alcohol, no.  Meth, hell yes, it was illegal.

Have you felt that it takes you more to get a feeling of high.  Alcohol, never enjoyed getting drunk, so it wasn't the goal when drinking.  Meth, yes.

Do you ever feel you need it to get going in the morning.  Alcohol, no.  Meth, yes.

Do you feel guilty about your usage?  Alcohol, no.  Meth, yes.

I've often felt that I needed to cut back on my usage.  Alcohol, no.  Meth, yes.

Have you ever not followed through with what you were supposed to because of your usage?  Alcohol, no.  Meth, yes.

The conclusion?  I had a moderate-severe level of alcoholism and immediate treatment was strongly recommended.

I was pissed.

Here I was, being open....honest, sharing my alcohol history and current use with her, and for that, for THAT, they were going to send me away, lock me up, and make me give up alcohol?!  I was no more a drinker than the majority of the population.  Happy hours.  Can't wait for the weekend.  Hearing about someone's bad day - the suggestion, "You need a drink!"  Cheers, a celebration.  Shoot....everyone drank!  Me no more than any of them.    Sheesh, it was the one *accepted* chemical in my life!  My husband, my family of origin, my friends.....not one single one of them had ever suggested to me that my drinking was a problem.  SURE, I'd used it to address pain, but who in this world had NOT?  Why am *I* being singled out?!

I was pissed.

I had heard that it was a major concern to me because if it was true that chemical dependency was a progressive disease, which they'd said it was, holding onto any chemical allows the disease to progress.

But *any* addictive behavior was going to do that if I didn't address the issues that cause the behavior to be a problem.  I mean, a person could be addicted to anything - the internet, food, sex, shopping - we wouldn't be asking those people to give up those behaviors completely.  They'd have to learn how to control their addictive satisfaction by addressing the issues that caused them to abuse it.

But you don't need alcohol to live your life.

But substance was substance, right?  Internet, food, sex, shopping.  Any of those things would cause the disease to progress if you didn't address the problem, right?

Besides,I don't have a problem with alcohol!  It's never been a problem in my life!

There was no way I was going to be stripped of everything, I said.

Yet, a growing concern was forming in the back of my mind.  I didn't want to voice it because I didn't want anyone to think I was going to go along with this stupid idea.

If alcoholism is hereditary, then what if my kids had it?  What if the doc was right and we were teaching them that alcohol, used for "medicinal purposes" was ok?  They'd already been passed the depression gene, what if I'm also passing down the "substances can fix it" gene?

How much had alcohol affected our marital relationship that I hadn't looked at?

How much of my current memory loss, which was a growing concern, had to do with alcohol usage or the combination of meth/alcohol?  Surely, I'd always been a forgetful person; adding age and multi-task parenting - forget it.  But how much was because of chemical abuse?  Was it repairable?

Yea....those were concerns, but damn it.  I'm just not going to give up something that's not a problem - for me or anyone else is my life.

Isolation

We separated after that - and having just written that, I'd meant to reiterate, that we both went our separate ways to grieve.  However, I can see that we did, in actuality, separate for a good week.  Have a literal "marital separation".  We just continued to live in the same house together.

He kept wondering "How could I?", reinforcing that I needed major help.  I'd been right in his anger about Mary - "No wonder you tried to get me to like her - she was your supplier!  And you allowed me to help her out (monetarily)!  He just "didn't get it", he's said.  How would my dissatisfaction and anger lead to drugs?

I suggested again that we go together for therapy so that the doc could help him understand that connection and help him with these feelings of hurt and betrayal, he focused once again on my being the bad one.  The person that needed help was me.  And if I thought for one instant that after working 60 hours a week that he'd be coming home to do housework, I was sadly mistaken.  Again, he reassured me that if it weren't for the kids, he wouldn't stick around.

I told him to go.  Leave now.  Go to the lake house.  He wasn't leaving the kids, he said.  (Not with a sicko.)  I suggested I could leave.  Stay somewhere else.

"I couldn't care less what you do."

For the following week, we lived together - but around each other.  Not speaking.  I'd come to bed and find the pillows stacked down the middle of the bed.  No possible opportunity for skin contact during our sleeping hours.   He'd talk to the kids while I stood next to them, doing his best to ignore me.  I was really unsure where we were.  Where this would go.  How long we'd keep this charade up.

If like any other blowout - though of course, none nearly as serious as this one - it would go unresolved or undiscussed.  It was typical for him to either do a complete 180 and say he was sorry, he was a "bad husband", buy me flowers OR we'd just never revisit the argument again.  I wouldn't bring it up later because it was such a big deal for me to confront it in the first place; we'd just keep on keeping on.

In pure co-dependent style, if I wasn't complaining, our marriage was great.  No arguments.  Living life "in harmony".  It was easiest not to confront any issues and just make myself happy in what ever way I could.  Sidestep the roadblocks.  And Jim, he never had many complaints.  Either I was good at guessing his needs and melding to them or with the slightest hint of perceived criticism, I'd be on my feet to guess, assume, and do more.  Maybe he was truly happy with me - with everything that I did.  Understanding what I do now, though, I don't think that's rational.  No one, even the best of couples or friends, lives in complete harmony with each other.  We're two separate people with different backgrounds, philosophies in life, perceptions about the world around us - there's no way two people can be without conflict for 18 years. (the length of our marriage by that time)  There's going to be conflict, differences of opinion, needs that go unmet, compromises that need to occur on both sides - what matters more is how you voice it and come to resolution.  Voicing it, though, before it becomes some perceived catastrophe of misunderstood (non)communication.

I think part of the reason I kept my feelings/thoughts hidden was because I'd felt that his love/our marriage was very conditional.  Though, now, I can see that I'd just replaced my mother and my fear of her displeasure with my husband.  That substitution was simple; he, like my mom, holds himself and others to such high standards.  When he's wronged, the majority of his immediate reaction is in response to the confirmation that people are bound to hurt or take advantage of him, wanting at first to retaliate.  Then rid them from his life.  On more occasions than not,  he'd rather cut off the diseased part than fix the problem. There had been many references, especially the more successful he'd gotten, though admittedly said in jest, about alimony (he'd fight giving me half) or that he'd find a newer prettier model.  I'd always treated them with humor, responding with a joke right back (that I'd have no difficulty finding the newer prettier stud myself).  I truly believe however, that many threatening jokes have a subtle hint of honesty.  There was no doubt in my mind that he could just sever the diseased limb, cauterize and move on.  He'd hurt, certainly, but that would be the preferred solution.

Isolation.....it seems like a simple "punishment".  Each of you merely stay clear of the other.  How can a NON action be that painful, really?  Worse in many ways than the opposite, though.  There's no way to know where the other person stands.  The fear and anxiety of the unknown was worse than hearing his anger.  The ache was more than just emotional, it hurt deep within the smallest bone of my body.  Looking at him, I know he felt the same way.  For me, there was guilt for my silence that allowed our marriage to get this far down into the pit, an intense sadness for what we'd become, disappointment in myself and surely, him, for not being the compassionate, understanding, supportive husband I needed.   Even anger, seeing his actions as immature in his inability to understand how my state of mind could lead to drugs, refusing to seek professional help to save our marriage.  I was uneasy and anxious for what would happen, but surprised too that our marriage wouldn't be able to survive this.  Maybe another form of denial, but I thought our marriage was stronger than that.

Underneath it all, if I allowed myself a moment's thought in health,  I recognized a growing bud of hope.  For me, at least.  That no matter what, I was becoming stronger, every day a better version of myself the day before.  That this awful thing that I'd done to myself and our family would be painful, yes - but no matter what happened, good or bad - it'd be the major turning point in my life.  I was ready to dig in and learn - with him or without him.  It would be a lesson of all lessons that gave me opportunity to open my eyes and grow.  Like God's metaphorical sledge hammer to the head that I apparently needed to wake up out of my co-dependent slumber.  I was 41.  It was time.

Disgusting and Naked

This is an ugly memory.  Thankfully, we've moved far beyond it.   But it's not for the timid.

I'd come from such a high that weekend with my church ladies.  They'd pumped me up and helped me to face doing what was inevitable.  The other biggest co-dependent relationship in my life was with my husband.  I needed to come clean if I was ever to start anew.  There was little we could do together if he wasn't aware of what we were dealing with.  My doc suggested that we could tell him together - but I knew him.  Knew he was an untrusting soul anyway.  He'd feel ganged up on if I dragged him into a meeting without having a reason for being there in the first place.  I knew he was a reactionary person - quick to react, sometimes scary in that reaction.....but that he'd always came around.  Plus, he'd used cocaine in college too.  We'd used together a few times.  His older sisters were flower children of the 70's - drugs weren't taboo from his own history.  Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible thing to reveal.

I'd set out a goal to tell him that coming weekend.  And it was strange how the day seemed to be opening itself up to give us the alone time to be able to share this deep, hidden secret.  My kids, Ian and Mariah, were out with friends.  I could see that there were going to be several hours ahead of us that we'd be alone.

My heart was slowing in trepidation...but I was ready.  I knew what I needed to do.  I could do this.

But of course, he had other plans on his mind.  We were alone.  For several hours.

We could have sex.

It'd been a long time.

(sigh)

What to do.  We really hadn't had sex in a while.  Maybe by making love, it'd put him in a better frame of mind to hear what I needed to tell him.  Sex always had a way of making us feel intimate, close and loving for days afterward.  Too, if I told him ahead of time, there's no way he'd ever get to wanting it later.  Maybe it'd be best to satisfy that itch now.

So says the well-trained co-dependent that I was.  Satisfy his needs first.

And so....there we were, satiated and spent.  Holding each other, spooning.   Full of satisfied togetherness.

My heart beating.

Do it.

Say it.

I need to tell you something.

What.

I've been a meth amphetamine addict

for

a year and a half.

Silence.



More silence.



WHAT?!

He sits up to look at me.

He has this pulsing vein between his eyebrows.  This crevice between his eyes.  This look about his face when he's angry with you that makes you feel like you're nothing.  You're absolute scum.

I couldn't have been more naked.

More alone.

More ugly.

I gathered the large, king sized pillows to me, trying to cover my nakedness.

For a fleeting second, I thought, why in the hell did I ever think this would be a good idea?  To tell him when I was at my most vulnerable?  Most...visible.  How could I ever believe that he'd take this even remotely....ok?

You're sick, he said.

I know.  I'm getting help.  I want us to go together.

Me?   Me?!  You're the sick one!  I can't believe you!

Tears flowed down my face as I tried everything to make myself not feel so exposed, so naked.  Gathering the bedsheets, the pillows.

You don't know.  You don't know how ashamed I've felt......please......please don't....

I should think so!  I hope so!  What'd you expect me to think?  What'd you expect?!

You disgust me.  If I could leave, I would.  If we didn't have kids, I'd be outta here.  I could you know.  I could take them and leave.  You wouldn't be left with a penny.  They don't look highly on drug addicts who are mothers.

You're sick.

So sick.

I'd forgotten how untrusting he was of others.  That the one person he most trusted in his life, hiding this lie - any lie - would be a betrayal.....tenfold.

I gathered my clothes in the empty room he'd left and felt sure it was over.

I was a sick, ugly, horribly shameful person.....but there were no more secrets.  It was out.

Peeling the Onion

I realized how important it was to cut Mary from my life.  How little she was motivated to quit.  And despite how much I realized our friendship was completely wrong for me, how trapped I felt.  It was a relief in thinking about letting go, but at the same time, I agonized over what it might do to her.


And realized that, damn it, the doc was probably right.


I'd been in therapy for probably about 4-6 weeks before I'd started becoming frustrated with him.  I was understanding so much about myself, and yet he always just sat there like a bump on a log.


"Uh-huh."  "Okay."


"I'm wondering why I'm not getting more affirmation from you, " I said at the end of one of our sessions.


"Just what exactly is it that you'd like me to affirm?" he said with his dead, flatline mouth.


How much I'm uncovering!  My insight!  My willingness to look within!


"I think you're incredibly in denial.  I'd be more willing to affirm you if you got rid of Mary, stopped drinking, and told your husband."


.........
.........
.........


WHAT THE FUCK?!  Look at all I'm doing!  He felt to me like a disapproving parent.  He said he was worried about me.  A ticking time bomb. He thought it was dangerous that I was still drinking while going through such an emotional time in my life when I'd already told him that I'd used alcohol and drugs to escape pain in the past.  He wanted me to see my brother and mom as alcoholics and how I was living the same patterns of behavior - not only damaging myself, but in turn, setting my children up to see the use of alcohol as an acceptable mode for comfort.  And that Mary was keeping me within my co-dependent thinking, and waiting in the sidelines with the "comfort" supply.  He wasn't a drug/alcohol counselor - he wanted me to visit one to figure out if I was in as much trouble as he thought I might be.


Okay.  In for a penny, in for a pound.  Let's go.


But first, Mary.  I decided to write to her.  I wanted her to be able to fall back on my written word after she got over hearing that I wasn't going to be there for her anymore.  I knew she'd be shocked.  Devastated.  And I didn't want her to have to trust her memory about what I really said.


In part, I wrote, "As painful as I know this will be to hear, I need to make a complete break from you.  I can't be your friend and I can't be your employer.  After you receive this letter, I would appreciate it if you'd respect my wishes and not contact me or my family in the future.  I've struggled wih our friendship since quitting, knowing how much I caretake of you/worry about you/want to help you, and realizing within my life that this is a harmful issue with me.  It's been so hard for me to think about you not being a part of my life - not only because I *like* you - but because I've been so overly concerned about what my not being an emotional support might do to you in your life.  I worry about how alone, how overwhelmed you feel.  Even knowing or beginning to understand my own co-dependencies and how much it affected my relationship with you in trying to be there for you/shoulder your trials/pain, I kept on because I knew that you needed me. But when I realized that you don't have the strength or motivation right now to quit as I do, nor the motivation or concern for my own sobriety, I understood clearly that it was important to let you go....no matter the consequences to you.  Even if I only kept you as an employee, your lifelong attachment to (your supplier - a family member) is a temptation I can't risk.
....if you care about me and my life at all, please think about me and respect my wishes by not contacting me.  This has been a very painful decision - but one that was crucial for me in my recovery and health.  I'd urge you to think about yours, and not push that boundary."


(Aside: an update on Mary - she did fairly well in respecting my boundaries.  I've only heard from her a handful of times through text messages.  She left town for awhile to live with her "previously" cocaine addicted brother in CA, leaving behind her two children and the puppy I helped her to buy with her parents.  She's since returned, working a couple different jobs, but neither cleaning or painting.  She swears she's always been clean.  I've not talked with her or seen her in person since this letter.)


Thankfully, immediately following this, our small group had planned on going to our lake house for a "church lady retreat".  A "CLR" as they've come to be known: we started taking them annually and for one night only, but now it's increased to bi-annually and two nights.


The church ladies.  Tongue-in-cheek because we most certainly are NOT.  Imagine to yourself the "church ladies" of old.  The blue hairs of the church, standing behind the luncheon line, casserole bearing, Bible weilding, tongue wagging, shaking their fingers at all those sinners.  Ready to save the world with their Bible in tow.

What we were, however, was a small group of nine women that gathered together - some reluctantly at first, but dutifully - to study various religious group workbooks that are widely available now.  What started off slowly in study became something more magical and unexplainable in our hearts.  We found that we were able to question and ponder and doubt, but moreso, we had learned to trust each other enough to learn that we were all broken souls.  That we could laugh, cry and lift each other up in His spirit.  No judgement.  But holding each other accountable, encouraging one another to live in His image. Simple....but indescribable in its power within all of our hearts.

Maybe through Divine intervention, but it turned out that just three of us could go.  Me, Dana, and my good friend, Louise.  Dana already knew.  And Louise and I- we'd been friends long before small group.  We shared alto voices, a laugh during choir practices, and seemingly a love of the Lord, but as well, a reluctance to fully let go into a full Christian spirit.


My husband and I had been blessed to find and acquire this little slice of heaven.  It was a 3 bedroom home on 5 acres.  We refinished the basement, adding another guestroom and living area, and purchased another 10 acres of wooded and meadowed land for 4-wheeling, hiking, and (intended) paintball wars.  My parents also left us with the canoe that I'd practically been born and raised in.  Along with the skiboat and a couple waverunners, we also purchased a couple of kayaks.  So...it's a resort just a short hour and a half away from home that allows both of us to get away from it all.  Or share with friends.


I can remember the drive because I was scared shitless to tell Louise.  She sat behind me, Dana sitting in the passenger seat as support.  I was ashamed of myself because I'd been lying to her.  I'd told her that I'd lost all my weight through The South Beach Diet. Sure, it'd started that way, but add meth to the DIEt plan and I'd stepped into an accelerated program to wipe away the pounds.  I'd never really needed to lose that much - most people having more serious weight issues wouldn't have called me over-weight or even chubby.  I'd just had that middle aged "puffiness".....and a lifelong inaccurate self image about my weight.


So, I can remember my spilling it all out in a bluster of words.  Scared of her reaction.  Glad I was sitting in front of her and was unable to see her reaction.  I was fearful of her hurt that I'd told Dana and not her first.  And moreso, that I was a liar AND street scum.


Her reaction?  "I'm really glad it was that and not The South Beach Diet."


WHAT?!  Are you kidding me?


"I'm so glad because I kept trying that diet and working out like mad, and I just couldn't dump the weight.....all the while you were shrinking before my eyes."


I was afraid of looking like a loser and she was glad she wasn't a failure.  


And that was it.  No judgement.  We spent the weekend laughing at ourselves, riding the waverunners, and talking about addiction.  How her mother had issues with alcohol.  Her anger and how she'd have to deal with the repercussions of it.  And how she was teaching her kids about it so they knew what a danger it was to them as well.


On many CLR's, it's been a tradition for us to write each one, sharing what their affect on us has been, what a blessing they have been in our lives.  I share, in part, what these two angels wrote to me that weekend, because it was the culmination of what became a weekend filled with strength, encouraging me to move forward and do what I truly needed in order to become emotionally and spiritually whole.


First, tell my husband...then get into alcohol/drug rehab.


Their letters to me:


(from Louise)
"I don't make friends easily and I'm not good at keeping them.  Not sure if part of it is the friends I made were not right for me...?  Anyway, you are a big part of why I stayed in choir.  When you joined, you were the epitomy of everything I wanted in my life.  A wonderful caring friend, mother and wife.  Your sense of humor has gotten me through many a rough night when I used choir as escape from the problems in my life.  Your ability to find resolutions to problems and your strength of will power was all I inspired to have.  You've been my role model, and that has not changed, nor will it ever no matter what happens in the future.  When you asked me to join a small group, I was scared......   You've taught me that it's ok to question God's purpose, and helped me understand it's ok to have problems.  I admire your strength and resolve to make your life in a way that is best for you and your family and God.  Your friendship means more to me than you'll ever realize, and I hope you know I'm always here for you, I as I know you'll be there for me.  I truly believe that God brought us together, first using our passion for music, then slowly inching us together by resolving problems.  Putting us together in times of trouble to get to know each other and finally to be able to love and trust each other.  Small group has come to mean so much more to me than just "Bible" study.  You have such a strength in you that you haven't seen in yourself, and in the last few weeks I think you started seeing it yourself.  Your ability to be a caring person is a wonderful trait, and something I know God has instilled in you as one of your missions in service.  I think you've started realizing this based on Boards and committees you've jointed, writing and questioning the "Gospels" or "thinking" of Jesus' time is something we've done often in small group and I often wonder if writing isn't another passion given to you?  Music is one of your best "God given" abilities and I know this is one ministry God has chosen for you.  I wonder if Stephen Ministry or Youth Ministry is where God wants you.  I think you could be one of God's chosen people to bring others to Christ, through your own experiences.  I love you lots - your strength and kindness show in all you do!"


(from Dana)
I am so proud of you!  You have come to a point at which your choice could have easily been to keep going a different direction.  I can't imagine my life without you in it.  I am so thankful that God helped to bring you back to us - those who love you so much.  You have displayed faith and courage well beyond anything you give yourself credit for.  Just keep looking.  Put yourself and your needs FIRST - especially before others who don't love themselves enough to survive on their own and thrive on pulling you to their level.  You are a wonderful mother, wife, friend and have so much to offer.  Thank you for your friendship which I cherish and am so blessed to have.  I love you - our souls are one.