Early Sobriety

What is early sobriety like? It’s rainbows and unicorns and soft kittens and sweet pug puppies that love you for days. It’s being scared and anxious all the time. It’s fingernails on a chalkboard for what feels like hours at a time. It’s the choice between sliding down a hundred foot razor blade and fighting Russell Crow as the “Gladiator” It’s emotions so deep and painful that, even though you begin to feel a little better physically, you just want to use again to get away from yourself. But you can never get away from yourself. And your brain, that won’t stop thinking of what it could be like, telling you, in your own voice, it won’t be so bad this time. (Or you won’t get arrested.) Your brain that lies to you and is always there, ready with another reason to use just one more time. And that’s just the first hour or so. And there are many hours, in many days. And, sometimes, it’s many seconds, in many minutes in those hours. That anyone can remain sober in those first, painful months is a miracle.

I’ve had a couple of bad days so this may come off negative. I got scammed by a total lying stranger. (Not badly but it made me feel like the entire human race sucks.)  My best friend has (very treatable) cancer. I read the news which depresses me. And I listen to people share things in meetings that are sometimes so heartbreaking I want to cry. I passed a guy a note today as he looked so sad. They say addicts feel too much which might be true. I feel empathy for everyone’s story. But when we’re in our addiction, we are selfish, thoughtless, irresponsible human beings.

One of the harder parts is life goes on for everyone else. My brothers who, aren’t speaking to me, are doing so much. I want to ask, “How was the wedding?” “How did my nephews do in X-Country and Football?” “How are the dogs? “Have you moved into the new house yet?” “Will you ever send me a funny text again?” I don’t know if I’ll ever find out those things from them.

Sometimes I feel sorry for myself. Why did this happen to me? I rarely did drugs before becoming an addict at age thirty. I didn’t even smoke pot! I wasn’t a goody good but I wasn’t horrible either. What did I ever do that badly for this to happen to me? (Okay, there was the 80’s where I wore bad clothes and too much make up.)

So I spend my time hanging with sober women, going to meetings, sometimes going to court and praying in between. My sober girls mean so much to me. It says in AA’s Big Book “we are not a glum lot”. So fricking true. Often, I’m the one being laughed out as I am so gullible and I don’t know this area at all. (I am resistant to learning the suburbs as I’m a city girl.) I just get in the car and they take me wherever they want and regularly lie about it. (But it’s always fun.) And sometimes, at my lowest, I think of using or, more pleasantly, a knight on a white steed (black works, too) taking me away from this life I’ve made for myself. But then I cowboy up and realize I must make my own life. One where I can depend on myself, think things through, be honest and be happy. But I still wish for unicorns and pug puppies.

Addiction sucks. But if you’re touched by it, I urge compassion and understanding. Intervene. Demand treatment. But do something. Our lives depend on it.

Actually, Red Is the New Black

King County (Seattle area) has two jails for their inmate population; the main facility in downtown Seattle (KCCF) and the Regional Justice Center (RJC) in Kent. Having been a prescription drug addict on and off for a number of years, I had been housed in the downtown facility for a night or perhaps two, a couple of times. However, in March 2014, I had failed out of drug court for relapsing and was faced with a total of 180 days. I had already spent about 30 days in KCCF awaiting the hearing when I was given this sentence. (In King County. if you have no major infractions, you only do 2/3 of the sentence which includes “Good Time”) With time served, I was looking at three months total. I was terrified.

I had to go directly to jail from the courtroom. After I was strip-searched and booked, I was led through a maze of cement blocks. I was handed a plastic cup and told to grab a bed roll and a mat. If you’ve been to jail before, you know to grab the blue mat as it has a built-in headrest; there are no pillows in jail. The bed roll consists of a blanket, two flat sheets, a towel not much bigger than a hand towel, a small bar of soap (marked “luxury bar”), comb, short-handled toothbrush and toothpaste. (And the blankets are exactly like the ones on “Orange is the New Black”.) Once you get to your cell, you are instructed to make your bed. Your bed must be made properly whenever you’re not in it. If you’ve never been to jail, making your bed is difficult. The polyester sheets slip off the vinyl mat. If you’re cellmate is not puffing herself up, she’ll tell you to tie together the two corners at each end to help hold the sheet in place.

I had spent about a week in KCCF when I spoke to someone who had been housed at RJC. She raved about how different it was from downtown. She made it sound like Disneyland and, walking in, I absolutely felt the same way. While KCCF is dark and dirty, RJC is bright and clean. You have a cell to yourself, which is a blessing. (I had two very scary roommates at KCCF.) In the “day room” there is a two-story atrium which lets the sun in with a courtyard directly off the unit. There are two separate areas in the day room; the carpeted “quiet side” where one can watch TV quietly. And a tiled area with another TV and tables and chairs where you can talk freely, play cards or games and generally hang out. There are also vending machines with soda, food items and actually decent coffee along with a microwave.

The days in jail are spent on a strict schedule that is essentially two hours out of your cell (rack out) and two hours in your cell (rack in). If you’re out you’re out; you cannot go back and forth into your cell. (Though the guards will let you in pretty freely.) You can also been “racked in” for various offenses such as not making your bed or arguing with another inmate. While I was terrified for my safety downtown, I never thought twice about it at RJC.

Lights come on at 6:30 and breakfast is at 6:45. Breakfast includes cold cereal or oatmeal, milk, two pieces of bread with margarine and an envelope of “milk substitute” which is basically Kool-Aid. After you eat, you go back to your cell until 8. You are racked in at 10:30 where a bag lunch is served at 11. It consists of a piece of fruit, bologna or salami sandwich, crackers and cookies. And “milk substitute”. Dinner is served at 4:30PM in the day room. After dinner, you are racked in until 6 or 7PM depending on whether the guards have “training”. In my 90 days at RJC, I got up for breakfast exactly twice. I am not a morning person and decided it was simply too irritating to have people asking if they could have my food. I couldn’t stomach the bologna and not once ate lunch except some Wednesdays when we had PB&J. Rack in is at 8:30PM with lights out at 10PM.

One of the benefits at RJC are the worker programs. For 50 cents per day, you can work as a Trustee, in the Laundry or as a Baker. There are six Trustees for the unit and they do most of the cleaning, organizing, helping the guards, etc. They also can stay out of their cells nearly all the time. There are multiple laundry workers who go to work at 3PM, return at 8:30 and can stay out of their cells until 10pm or so. The best job, and the one I did, was baker, of which there are only three. We went to work at 9PM, finished up around 1AM, came back to the unit, showered and then we could stay up for an hour or so. We were also the only people allowed to turn off the lights in our cells until noon or so. Super bonus.

If your only exposure to living with a bunch of women is in a college dorm, you’re in for a big surprise. There are some really funny things you learn but it takes awhile... For one, just like in “Orange is the New Black”, maxi pads are used for all kinds of cleaning. You can also pull out the narrow string that holds a tampon string in place and use it for dental floss or for threading your eyebrows. You definitely want a friend to work in the Laundry so they can bring you back brand new skivvies and bras. And the most coveted of jail uniforms are the soft, old-style, cotton ones that have a V-neck instead of the stiff crew necks. Since you’re in a uniform basically all the time, these comfort factors are important. I had new skivvies, white socks, soft pants and two V-necks by the time I left. (Thank you Maria Apodaca!) Yes, I was a Princess even in jail.

There are also some really silly things that go on in jail. Bakers and Trustees don’t get their cells searched very often but I got caught with too many books, extra clothing and once a sugar packet that I swear wasn’t mine. Lots of women get in trouble for keeping food in their rooms which I never did. (Why save something that’s bad anyway?) The “training” the guards did some evenings consisted of going into a dorm and randomly choosing six rooms to search. (“Toss” is a more accurate term.)

Commissary is probably the most important process that exists in jail. Once a week, you place an order for food, hygiene items and, most importantly at RJC, coffee. People would get so excited for commissary delivery. Plus, there is a huge commerce opportunity with commissary. One woman sold items for double the price towards the end of the week when everyone had run out. Some people could never catch up and get ahead with commissary.

There were some funny times in jail that I will get into next time. Please feel free to comment and ask questions. The time spent there really was fascinating in a bizarre way.

The Beginning of the End

I wish I could explain addiction to people who don’t understand it. It’s not a simple matter of willpower or just saying no. It is a disease that causes damage to your brain. Your brain actually needs to heal once you’ve stopped using. And I’ve seen many people heal but I’m not yet one of them.

I first began abusing prescription drugs perhaps fifteen or twenty years ago. I had never done many drugs at all. I was prescribed Vicodin for stubborn migraine headaches and used it responsibly for months. . It had never occurred to me to take meds when I didn’t have a headache until my friend suggested it. That friend and his partner were both sick with AIDS and the partner happened to be a pharmacist. They had access to all kinds of drugs and the pharmacist would refill my prescription any time I ran out. That’s when it started. I also worked for doctors and knew how to call in prescriptions which I did once my friends started to get worried. That led to legal trouble, successfully completing Drug Court and doing really well for a while.

When I went to a new doctor, I informed her I had been addicted to Vicodin, which she put in my chart. The next time I used pain meds was for a cracked rib and I did just fine. Then, I was in a car accident. It wasn’t horrible but I my leg was pretty bunged up. Again, I did fine, taking the meds responsibly. But then my leg failed to heal and developed an infection that wouldn’t respond to antibiotics. My lower right leg swelled so much and so quickly, the skin was peeling off. I went on several different antibiotics, went to a surgeon, who, surprisingly, wanted to do surgery and finally a dermatologist. At the worst, my husband had to perform debridement which meant cleaning it out by packing cloth tape into the wound and pulling it back out to remove the infected cells. This was really painful. I would wake up an hour beforehand and take a Vicodin just to prepare for the debridement. It took a couple months to finally heal and during that time, my doctor was prescribing Vicodin for the pain. She had forgotten by then I was an addict and the chart note was way in the back. Of course, I didn’t remind her as I was too deeply into it. By the end of a couple of months, I was back to calling in prescriptions and, again, legal trouble.

This pattern went on for years. Get clean, something would happen and I would use again. This disease has cost me jobs, my self-respect, my reputation, my lovely husband, (who has eight years of sobriety), the love of my family and so much more. I’ve embarrassed my family horribly. Do non-addicts really think we addicts choose this way of life? That, if we had a choice, this is what it would be? (And I’m not trying to avoid personal responsibility; there’s just so much more to it than that.)

The last year has been the lowest point of my life. I’ve spent five months in jail. You would think that would stop me. I started thinking my life was over, I was going to prison. So I got a serious case of the “fuck its” and used again. This cost me two of my beloved brothers and my father, none of whom are speaking to me.

And it happened so quickly. I saw it all happening and couldn’t stop it. Once the idea of using is in my mind, it is an obsession that will not stop. There are ways to stop it but my brain, which is damaged, doesn’t always have the strength or wisdom to do it. I’ve tried to explain it like this: I cannot trust my inner voice, the voice I hear all day, everyday. It tells me things like, “just one more time won’t hurt” or “no one will ever know”. And I believe those things because it’s me telling me those things. It’s mystifying once I gain some clarity. Why would I ever believe those things?

In these postings, I hope to share with others what it is like to be an addict, how I think and how everything has unfolded for me. I hope to be as honest and open as possible. I hope the reader will gain perspective and insight on what drives a person like me. I welcome all comments and questions. I hope if you have a friend or loved one who has this disease, something I write may help your understanding of addiction.