My Demons Are Patient

(Spring 2009 to Spring 2010)

It was 5.5 years since Rich passed away.  The last thing I was looking for was a boyfriend. Yet, there he was - on my couch, (which he bought) - with his dog. 

He kind of just appeared.  He was my lawyer.  Then we became Facebook friends.  Then he was at my door in the middle of the night.

It was surreal.  Rich was 22 when we started dating in 1993.  He didn’t even have hair on his chest.  We grew into adulthood together.  This guy was already a man – with a really deep phone voice.  It freaked me out.

Over dinner and drinks on one of our first dates he was describing his relationship with his soon to be ex-wife.  The time and the places when they began dating (early 90s Oakland) were similar to when and where Rich and I met. 

Here is what was the polar opposite.  He described their relationship as people who were negative, judgmental, critical and entitled.  Rich and I were nothing like them.  Rich and I were kind.  I said out loud, “Rich and I would have never been friends with you.”

All I could think that entire evening was - Rich wouldn’t say that; Rich wouldn’t feel that; Rich wouldn’t think that; God, I miss Rich.  I knew it didn’t feel right.  I sensed this man’s spirit of malignity.  I wanted to leave, but I stayed.  I just pushed it down with another glass of wine. I choked down all of my apprehension until I couldn’t feel anything at all.  That’s the way I liked it.

Over the next few weeks, my nerves and emotions were so completely out of whack that I broke out horribly.  I was 39 years old!  I mean horribly.  It was the weirdest thing.  I had to see a bunch of dermatologists and try different medications including Accutane.  My already low self esteem took a nose dive.  I didn’t want to leave the house.  I was convinced the boyfriend was using some kind of product that I was having a reaction to.  One doctor even joked that I must be allergic to him. (To this day I have scars on my chin and forehead from it.)  No doctor was ever able to explain it.  It had to be the stress of the “relationship”.

The doctor warned me that if I consumed alcohol while on that drug it would most certainly damage my liver.  It was a risk I was willing to take.   

Sure, the boyfriend was wholly flawed, but so was I.  He knew about the DUIs, losing my job because of alcohol, rehab, losing my license and now my mutant appearance and he still wanted to be with me.  I think part of my appeal to him was that I was sicker than he was.

The guilt of being with someone that was not Rich was making me desperate to escape.  I mean escape from myself.  I wasn’t trying to get away from my children.  I wasn’t even trying to get away from the boyfriend.  It was me that I didn’t want to have anything to do with. 

I was drowning in my fears, shame, guilt.  We had drinks together every night at dinner in restaurants then we would continue late in to the evenings at my home or his.  My children became used to the routine.  His children were there half the time to keep them company.

We looked like a little family.  He liked to call us the mini Brady Bunch.  I was miserable.  I was in a relationship with someone I didn’t really like, but at the same time, I didn’t want to be out of if.  I think I thought that no one else would put up with a mess like me.  Meanwhile, I wasn’t looking for a relationship to begin with.  I guess I liked having a partner.  I’m not sure if I even noticed myself getting sicker.

I tortured myself daily with thoughts of failure and inadequacy.  Now that I was a criminal, I figured I wasn’t going to be employable.  Even if I got a job, how was I going to get there with no license? I would go round and round with thoughts of how horrible I was.  I could absolutely not see my situation getting any better.  I slowly became more and more dependent on this boyfriend.  My addiction told me this was as good as it was going to get.  My addiction caused me to forget who I was.  My ambition was gone.  My personality was gone.  My laugh was gone.

I was alone during the day.  I was trapped in my cave - trapped with my demons.  Each day I opened that first bottle of wine earlier and earlier.  I figured I could numb and then be alert enough to pretend to enjoy the evenings. 

Wrong.  My demons are patient.

On an early April morning in 2010, I drank until I passed out.  I didn’t go pick up my child from half day kindergarten.  I woke up to the phone ringing.  I immediately knew what I did.  I jumped in my car and flew up to the school.  I can’t imagine what I looked like or how I smelled.  I know my teeth were purple when I dashed into that school and grabbed my son out of the principal’s office.  I said, “Sorry”, and ran.

When we got home I lied to all my emergency contact folks that the school called.  I assured them everything was fine – it was just a misunderstanding. 

I managed to get myself and the house cleaned up before CYS knocked on my door that evening.  I had a feeling they were coming.  When they arrived we looked like a happy little family.  The boyfriend and his kids were there by then.  The house and kids were clean.  There was food in the refrigerator.  The water ran and the toilet flushed.  CYS spoke to each of my children separately.  They were “fine”.  In my peripheral I could see the boyfriend seething.      

The case worker said there must have been a mistake.  He saw no problems in my household.  There would be no report filed. 

One month later, I did the exact same thing.  This time when I ran into the principal’s office, my son wasn’t there.  

I sat down and started to cry and said, “I need help.” 

She said, “I’m so glad to hear you say that.”

Sickness Attracts Sickness

(October 2008 - April 2009)

The lawyer who was accidentally appointed to my case got the job done. He told me to cry and talk about my husband in front of the judge.  Easy.  That’s what I always did anyway.  My big line back then was, “It’s not my character it’s my circumstance.” 

The consequences were cut and dry.  No wiggle room or leniency in DUI cases.  My license was suspended for 18 months, $3000ish fine, 3 years probation and the worst part, 90 days house arrest.  But, hey, at least I didn’t have to worry about getting to work!  Plus, I deserved it.

The trial was in November and Lawyer Boy asked the judge if I could begin my house arrest after the holidays.  That was nice of him I guess.  After all was said and done in the courtroom, Lawyer Boy walked me down to the office where I had to register for probation.  He was nice and told me if I needed anything to let him know.  I was sure that would never be necessary and thought to myself – I never want to see you again.

Here is my favorite way to describe what happened next:

I’m charming.  On a good day, I’m charming.  However, that day in the courthouse, with 2 DUIs in one hand and my first inpatient discharge papers in other…?  Crying, no job, no car, no health care, no plans to change any of it -  Lawyer Boy must have thought to himself,

“That’s the girl for me!!”

During the next couple of months we became a couple.  A toxic couple.  I was still on house arrest for our first date.  He brought wine and flowers to my house.  It was lovely.

This was a huge green light for me to continue to be sick.  Now I had a partner – a drinking buddy with kids the same age as mine.  Perfect.  It was meant to be.  He knows all my “stuff” and loves me anyway.  He even read the police report.  I thought - I guess I’m not so bad after all. 

He became part of my disease.  I wanted him to take all the pain away.  I wanted to hide behind him.  I wanted him to save me.  I wanted the world to think he was just fine and therefor I was, too.  He was a giant bottle of wine.

On our first date that I was off house arrest we went to a nice restaurant in the East End.  There, he ordered a “Bombay Sapphire martini extra dry, up, with a twist and when I say extra dry, I mean extra dry.”  I ignored how pompous he was. 

As he sipped his second martini and his eyes began to glaze and squint, he told me he trusted that I would get myself together.  He went on to say he never had more than two martins at a time.  The next sentence he said was to waitress when he ordered a shot of whiskey and a glass of ice.

I could see what was happening.  I could see who he was.  I could see he had issues and hurts and hang-ups, too.  I didn’t care.  I ignored it.  I wanted to drink the way I wanted to drink and I figured this fellow certainly wasn’t going to judge me.  He was doing, too!

By the end of that evening, I suggested that maybe I should drive home.

Puzzled

In May of 2008 I had no job, no health insurance, no car, no self-esteem, no plans and no hope.  Plus, I was still facing charges from the car accident back in February.  So, we got a kitten and named him Phineas.  M loved him.  E wanted nothing to do with him.  He didn’t care for furry things that could move around by themselves.

We were actually ok.  No, not really.  That’s just a lie that addicts tell themselves. There was a hell in my head that oozed on to every part of my life and every person in my world that I held hostage in my grief and addiction.

At this point, I was pretty frightened, but not quite enough to do much about it.  I was attending some “support meetings”.  I had been in touch with my lawyer to let him know that I had done it again.  There are a few appearances one has to make in front of magistrates/judges when facing criminal charges.  My lawyer went to the initial arraignment with me.  I certainly wasn’t going to fight anything.  I was guilty.  It was a whole lot of hurry up and wait.

In the meantime, I met a woman who attended the same kind of meeting I half heartedly attended.  Turns out, her husband was a criminal defense attorney and she offered up his services to me.  Great! 

I politely fired my attorney and this other fellow went to the next couple of court appearances I had to make.  It was all fine on that end of things.  At least I knew I had a competent lawyer and I wasn’t going to get a bill.  Then I got a letter from the wife explaining to me that she over stepped her boundaries and her husband withdrew from my case.  Grrrr.

In retrospect, I’m sure she knew I wasn’t well.  I was still drinking and doing nothing to improve my mental health.  She had to separate from me to protect her own sobriety.

At this point, my pretrial conference was only a week or so away.  I hurried up to call the first lawyer to tell him I made a mistake and really did need his services!  Frustrated with me, he looked up my case to see what was coming up and what he had to do.  He called me back to tell me there was nothing he could do because another lawyer had been appointed to my case.

Appointed?  How?  I never contacted anyone.  I don’t qualify for a public defender. (Apparently, one has to be dirt poor to get one of those.)  Who?  First lawyer said it was PKN.  I never heard of him.  I never contacted him.  I never hired him, but he was the name of counsel on my case.

So, I called this PKN person and he doesn’t know me, never heard of me, never agreed to represent me.  We were both puzzled.  He told me he would not leave me hanging.  He did not represent me, but he would appear at the pretrial conference to clear up this obvious clerical error.

The morning I was to be in court this PKN person was a no show.  Great.  The prosecutor questioned me about my representation.  I explained what happened.  They sent me to the public defenders office where they told me the exact same thing.  PKN was my lawyer.  Grrrr.

Keep in mind – I’m in active addiction through all this.  So, I call PKN to tell him about himself and I used the f word a few times.  He maintained that he didn’t represent me.

In true alcoholic form, I went to my trial without a lawyer.  I sat there and cried as I heard verdicts and plea deals and victim impact statements, etc.  I heard the judge say my name to the clerk who said PKN back to him.  The judge got off the bench and went to his chambers, I guess.  About 15 minutes later this goofy guy with Muppet hair came bouncing up to me.  I was easy to find because I was the only one left!  He said, “Are you Denette Rust?”  Um, yes.  “Hi, I’m PKN, I’ve been officially appointed to represent you.” 

My thoughts – are you kidding me with this?  I hate you…

Things are about to go to a whole new level of crazy.

Addiction: You Tricky Bastard

Addiction is tricky.  It’s the only disease I know of that tries to convince me that I don’t have a disease.  It has no memory of pain.  It terrorized me and talked at me all day and all night.  Then it beat me up emotionally and physically when I would give in to it. Then I did exactly the same thing the next day, and the next, and the next. Before I knew it, I was right where I started – full of self hatred and shame. 

Work was tense.  I was overwhelmed with fear that everyone knew that I had a drinking problem.  One day I decided to ease my anxiety the only way I knew how.  I had a glass of wine at lunch.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Of course, I chose to do it the same day I had an EAP (Employee Assistance Program) meeting with the therapist that was totally on to me.  She immediately knew.  I was given a breathalyzer and it did not register a 0.  I was immediately suspended without pay for 30 days.  In order to keep my job, I had to agree to attend an intensive outpatient program while I was off.

I was already attending Gateway in Cranberry 3 nights a week.  It was totally lost on me.  I did nothing to change.  I would just wait for it to end each night and then go directly to the Cranberry Wine and Spirits store that was open until 10 pm. 

Immediately, I was able to step up to partial in-patient treatment – the folks at Gateway knew I wasn’t well.  Partial in-patient treatment is typically 5 days a week for 4 or 5 hours a day.  It consists of lots of group therapy, lots of raw sharing, and hopefully, lots of honesty.

Again, I was using fear to keep me sober.  I participated.  I read what they wanted me read.  I said what they wanted me to say.   I smiled and laughed and pretended.  I met my first “sponsor” there.  It was the day I reeked of alcohol and they called for outside supports to come get me out of there, drive me home and dump out all the wine in my house.  There was just nothing that could keep me sober.  The kids were still in Canada.  At least I knew they were safe.

I managed to get a few weeks of sobriety together and “graduate” from the program.  One by one people in my group wished me well and gave me a shiny coin.  I was headed back to work.  I drove up to Toronto and picked up M and E.  I was so happy so have them home!  They were singing, “Oh, Canada” and saying, “x,y, Zed”.

As part of my 2^nd last chance agreement with the corporation, I agreed to random drug testing.  At any given moment the nurse could call my supervisor and he would then send me to the medical department for a breathalyzer.  I was annoyed by it, but thankful I had a job.  

Not even 30 days later, I was having wine with dinner – which led to a bottle, then another.  I was so paranoid everyday.  I was always trying to calculate how much I could drink and when I had to stop and how much water it would take to dilute it based on how much I weighed and if there was a full moon that night, etc.– thinking I could beat the breathalyzer if need be.

One day my direct supervisor and his supervisor were both out of town.  The medical department called a co-worker of mine, a lateral co-worker,, to have them send me for the breathalyzer. My supervisor, his supervisor, HR and the medical staff were the only people who were supposed to know of this “arrangement”.  I was furious and embarrassed.  That was pretty much all it took for me to go ahead and throw that job away.

That evening I was so angry, I stayed up most of the night and drank the way I wanted to.  The next morning I was called down to medical.  The reading was not a 0.  I was done. Terminated. I left the building, went directly to the wine store and then unenrolled M and E from daycare.

It was easy to justify.  Corporate America wasn’t a good fit for me anyway…      

Fear Can Not Keep Me Sober

Trying to kill the pain of whatever it is that aches in you will eventually kill you. 

I woke up in the ER confused, dirty, bloody and connected to tubes with absolutely no memory of how I got there.  I immediately started to pull needles out of my arms and try to get up.  One of my sister’s was already there trying to calm me down.  Nurses were saying I needed to have an MRI.  Apparently, one of my pupils was dilated and one was not.  I didn’t know what happened, but I knew it was bad.  All I could think was I had to go pick up M and E.

It was bad.  Everyone knew.  I was terrified.  I was embarrassed.  I was ashamed.  I was sick.

The next morning I was on my way to a drug and alcohol treatment center in Wilkinsburg.  My sister came down from Canada and scooped M and E back with her, thankfully.  My work knew I was in an accident and needed to be hospitalized.  I hoped that was all they knew. 

I agreed to 28 days of inpatient treatment after they agreed I could call the kids everyday.  I knew they were safe, but I had to hear their voices.  (They were 3.5 and 6 at that point.)   

After about 3 days of a Librium detox for acute alcohol withdraw, I started the actual rehab. 

I actually said, “OMG.  Where am I?  I have been misplaced!”  The response from the staff was basically, have a seat – you are right where you belong.

All I wanted was out.  I felt I didn’t need that kind of prison like counseling.  I thought my only problem was that my husband died and I was sad.  I was smart, I was educated, I had a good job, I had great kids – this was not for me.

I was there because I was afraid.  I was afraid to lose M and E.  I was afraid to lose my job.  I was afraid of the legal consequences I was about to face.  So, I read what they told me to read.  I said what they wanted to hear, but I was there for the wrong reasons.

I talked my way into leaving a few days early.  I went back to work.  I agreed to go to out patient in the evenings.  I picked up the kids.

I did nothing to change.

I don’t think I got past 35 days before I had another drink and was right back in my pathetic pattern.

I would soon find out - what one puts in front of their recovery – one will lose.

What It Was Like

I owe my life to a power greater than myself I choose to call God.  I fell into a pit that I didn’t think I could get of.  I used to say it started when Rich died, but that’s not true. 

I always had a depressive and addictive personality.  I have memories of when I was a child watching myself in the bathroom mirror as I cried.  Maybe I had a reason.  Maybe I was born that way, but I always felt alone.  I remember daydreaming.  I would go off by myself and not want to be disturbed so I could live the other life I created in my mind.  I was a boy named Danny and I had a dad.  That’s really all I can remember about it.  I know now it was how the child me escaped.

I spent some tween years with anorexia.  This also was about escape.  When I was 10 I was diagnosed with scoliosis.  I started wearing the Milwaukie brace the summer before I began 6^th grade.  It was a solid piece of plastic that wrapped around my abdomen.  A thick bar stretched up to my chin and wrapped around my neck.  Two thinner bars went down my back to connect with the body of the brace.  I wore it until 9^th grade.  Talk about traumatizing…  I systematically stopped eating and started exercising an absurd amount of time.  I wanted to shrink and hide.  Isolating myself began.  I was addicted to starving.

After a lengthy stay at Children’s Hospital and my “secret” was revealed I was able to get through the physical damage it caused.  The emotional damage had never been addressed.

I had no sense of self as a teenager.  I was emotionally stunted.  I didn’t know how to make new friends in a high school that tripled in size from one school year to the next.  I certainly didn’t know how to maintain any sort of relationship on any level. 

My addictive personality and my wanting to escape from myself found the best thing ever – alcohol.  Drinking on the weekends became the norm.  I blacked out at the very first high school party I attended.  It was fruity, numbing bliss! I found the answer.  It didn’t matter how I felt because I couldn’t feel it.  Perfect.  College was even better.  Everyone was drinking every night!  At least I thought they were.

Then I met Rich.  He did not drink every night – hardly at all, in fact.  I calmed down a lot, but he knew there was something in me that could get quite ugly when mixed with alcohol. I knew it, too.  I finished college.  I finished graduate school.  I became a teacher of at risk youth.  I married the man I loved.  I had a beautiful daughter and was expecting a son.  Then Rich died.

All my untreated crazy erupted!  The easiest escape was to drink it away.  Slowly at first.  Soon my self-confidence, self-respect, self-worth, personality, laugher, career  and much more, but worst of all, my children were gone.

Stayed tuned for what happened.