Thursday, May 7, 2015

Foxhole Prayers

February 2011

Gateway Rehab!  “Hope has a home”.  This was my 3rd visit to inpatient rehab, but the first time that I didn’t have to medically detox.  I had about 10 sober days upon arrival.  This was important to me because my 14 days there would count immediately. Time doesn’t count until you are out of detox and participating with other clients. (My mind was only on getting out.) 

I liked this one better than the others because we could use the phones when there was a break in the schedule.  I could call the bf everyday and the kids every night.  Plus, there was a gift shop.  Yes, a gift shop.  I still have a Gateway Rehab mug and hoodie.

I was there out of fear – fear of losing Madi and Ethan.  So, I sat through all the lectures.  I participated in all the groups.  Again, I wrote out my chemical history.  I wrote a good-bye letter to alcohol.  I wrote my own obituary.  I thought I was getting honest with myself, but I still couldn’t breathe.  There was a cold, throbbing hole inside of me.

On the schedule a couple times a week was a group session with a pastor, Pastor Rich.  I liked him.  There was something about him that made me want to believe things could get better.  He spoke of a God that I had never been introduced to, but not in an off-putting, preachy way.

I made an appointment to meet with Pastor Rich privately.  I told him my sad story and I cried for my Rich Rust.  I told him I didn’t understand why all of this was happening.  Rich and I didn’t do anything wrong. Why did this happen?   

He told me to imagine a beautiful tapestry.  Turn it over and look at the underside.  That’s what we see in our lives sometimes.  We see a mess of random and frayed strings going every which way and not leading anywhere – senseless.  But, God sees the other side.  He sees the beauty and perfection that every single stitch came together to create.  It’s His work and it’s a masterpiece. One day, we will see it, too.

Again, I completed the program successfully.

The bf picked me up when I was discharged.  He seemed happy to see me.  I was relieved.  My emotional dependence on him was greater than ever.  It wasn’t love.  It was fear and dependence.  We went out to dinner on our way home.  He had two martinis and told me he hoped my drinking was behind me.  I just told myself it was ok.  I had a problem - he didn’t. He could drink and I could accept it and handle it. I could do this.

My cats and I stayed with him for the next few days.  I tagged along to his office and we would go to the JCC to work out.  I complied with CYS rules until my next court date for the kids.  I was randomly drug tested and breathalyzed.  I reported every time they asked me to.

When I would get the call to go in for the testing, I would have a few hours to actually go do it.  One morning the bf wanted me to go with him to visit an incarcerated client in Ohio.  I had to report for testing by 5 o’clock.  He assured me we would be back on time. 

The time was getting late.  It took way longer to get in and out of the jail.  On the way back he realized he forgot his id.  We had to turn around to get it.  I was going to be late!!  I was panicked!  The bf was so flippant and said “call to see if you can do it tomorrow.”  Are you kidding me?!?!  We are talking about what I’m ordered to do to get my kids back home!  He did not care.  Not one bit - not one bit...

I ended up making it to the court just in time.  I was horrified and flustered.  I was irate with the bf.  Apparently, I still did not have enough recovery in me to deal with my feelings rationally.  I took a bus from downtown to Sq. Hill.  I went to Murray Ave. Café.  I ordered a glass of wine - then another and another. I didn’t even make it to 30 days sober.

I woke up at the bf’s filled with dread.  I really, really screwed up.  He was screaming. He told me we were done.  He never wanted to see me again.  He was finished helping me.  He said, “Good luck getting your kids back”.  Obviously, I was not surprised by his reaction, but I was terrified because he was acting as my attorney to regain custody of the kids.  Now what?

I felt completely alone.  How can this situation keep getting worse?  I started to think about Pastor Rich.  He said God was a gentleman.  He said God would knock on my door, but I had to invite him in.  He would not intrude or force himself on me.  

On my knees in my living room, “Please!!  God, help me!!”

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