Suppose to be my day

My birthday is coming up soon.  Birthdays are suppose to be celebrations of life.  When we celebrate my kids' birthdays we try hard to let them know how special they are to us, how much they enrich our lives.  My birthday feels like a big void.  All I can think about is my sister.  She could OD any day and I find myself praying that she doesn't do it on my day.  I don't want an addict to take my day away.  My life is so overshadowed by the addicts in the family, I don't know how to respond to the question, "How are you?"  A simple question, but so hard to answer.  So of course my response, "I'm good."  Next topic of conversation...the spotlight is off of me.  The times I have tried to share me with the addicts, I was quickly labeled as self-centered.  I was horrified.  I have made great efforts to listen to people, to let them know I'm all ears.

 So now as I approach my birthday, I find myself sad and depressed.  Why can't I get her out of my head?  This is sick!  I have a wonderful family- a husband and four beautiful children.  They love me dearly and show me their love on a daily basis.  Why am I consumed with thoughts of her?

I am trying so hard to shut the door on her, lay some boundaries.  I have very clearly let her know that I will not be used any more.  She has stopped calling, she knows that I am done dealing with her mess.  But why oh why is she still in my head?  My heart aches and my stomach churns with worry.  I guess I wonder can she really do this?  Can she want her life back bad enough so that she will climb out of her hole?  I'm fearful that she doesn't.  I feel that part of me is trying to reconcile that she could very well leave this life...soon.  However, I have that little thing called hope that doesn't want to completely give up.  So that leaves me a jumbled mess trying to pretend everything is A-Okay.

My pot is brewing

Life has been busy lately.  How can it not be while raising four kids?  I love my life as a wife and mother, so much that I find it hard to take time to work on myself.  It is very easy to put off what's brewing inside to read a book out loud to waiting little ears or to help my daughter make cookies.  However, I also know that I need to make time to deal with my inner brewings.  I want to be able to articulate in an appropriate way to my children what life is like with an addict in due time.  I need to be able to answer questions in an honest, yet compassionate way.  So here goes...a little more of what's been brewing inside lately.

My sister is leaving rehab this week.  She has chosen not to stay and complete the program.  I have so many emotions stirring inside.  I am angry that she is denying the help that she herself asked for.  She asked for someone to come up to help her sober up and take her back to rehab.  She took time and resources from our parents, who were willingly to help her back to sobriety.  However once she gets to rehab she decides, "This is stupid, I already know all this stuff."  She's been through it all. I am angry.  She is essentially flipping off the people who had compassion on her, took her at her word that she was sincere in her cry for help.

I am sad.  I am sad that the disease is taking her away.  I feel like I have been morning the loss of my sister, but with a small ray of hope that she will return one day.  It's confusing to mourn this way.  When I think of mourning, I think of saying goodbye to one in our earthly life, with the hope of meeting again in heaven.  However, with an addict I mourn the person lost to the addiction with a continued hope of a reemergence.  Mourning a living person creates guilt.  I feel guilty for mourning her when she is still here, living and breathing.  It is a constant battle in my heart: to mourn and to hope.

I feel rejected.  For the first time ever, my sister has stopped talking to me.  She has made no efforts to contact me.  This is a new one.  She has consistently kept me in her life.  I am constantly wondering if I have done something to become a trigger to her binges or if in some way I am an enabler.  I try to listen to her and support her concerns.  I try to say very little and to encourage as much as possible.  Rejection hurts, my heart aches.  Although I am struggling with feeling rejected, I am also experiencing relief.  I am relieved that I have not had to directly deal with her for a few weeks.  I am relieved that I have not had to verbally outline my new boundaries with her.  I want to carefully lay these boundaries.  I do not want her to feel rejected, but I do want to stand for myself in this mess too.  I want her to feel my love, but to recognize my limits.  This may be wishful thinking on my part. 

I came across this writing on a support group last week.  It is so fitting for my sister.  It is my hope to share it with my family. 


"Let Me Fall All By Myself"




If you love me let me fall all by myself.
Don't try to spread a net out to catch me.
Don't throw a pillow under my ass to cushion the pain so I don't have to feel it. Don’t stand in the place I am going to land so that you can break the fall (allowing yourself to get hurt instead of me) ... 


Let me fall as far down as my addiction is going to take me, let me walk the valley alone all by myself, let me reach the bottom of the pit ...
trust that there is a bottom there somewhere even if you can't see it.
The sooner you stop saving me from myself, stop rescuing me, trying to fix my broken-ness, trying to understand me to a fault, enabling me ... 


The sooner you allow me to feel the loss and consequences, the burden of my addiction on my shoulders and not yours ... the sooner I will arrive ... and on time ... just right where I need to be ... me, alone, all by myself in the rubble of the lifestyle I lead ...
resist the urge to pull me out because that will only put me back at square one ...
If I am allowed to stay at the bottom and live there for awhile ... I am free to get sick of it on my own, free to begin to want out, free to look for a way out, and free to plan how I will climb back up to the top. 


In the beginning as I start to climb out .. I just might slide back down, but don't worry I might have to hit bottom a couple more times before I make it out safe and sound ... 


Don't you see ??
Don't you know ??



You can't do this for me ... I have to do it for myself, but if you are always breaking the fall how am I ever suppose to feel the pain that is part of the driving force to want to get well. It is my burden to carry, not yours ... 


I know you love me and that you mean well and a lot of what you do is because you don't know what to do and you act from your heart not from knowledge of what is best for me ... but if you truly love me let me go my own way, make my own choices be they bad or good ... don't clip my wings before I can learn to fly ... 


Nudge me out of your safety net ... trust the process and pray for me ... that one day I will not only fly, but maybe even soar."


Well said.  I hope that my family can let her go, hope for her to soar.  We have done everything possible, except to let her fall.  It is time to let her fall all by herself.

Setting boundaries...here we go again

Boundaries.  That is what I said I need to create, but where do I start?  I have tried several times before to set boundaries, but I somehow get sucked back in to this addictive lifestyle.  I'm consumed with worries, fears, and images that I have a hard time shaking.  I think, "If I could just hear her voice...at least I'd know if she's alive, still ticking."  The problem with this is once I answer the phone during one of her binges all else gets forgotten by her as well as myself.  My so called boundaries disappear.

The other issue I have to overcome is the guilt she puts on me for setting these boundaries.  She claims that I am abandoning her.  A month or so before she entered her third rehab facility, she landed herself in the ICU.  Her blood alcohol levels were so high, they considered it a suicide attempt.  Her boss is the one that had called the paramedics on her.  She gave him some sob story about her boyfriend.  She told him that she took a bottle of pills and then drank.  Naturally, being completely unaware of her addiction, he freaked.  She stuck with her story, until blood tests came back revealing she didn't have other drugs in her system.  But since her levels were so high, they admitted her to the ICU for constant supervision.  The phone call I received from my dad with just the first details (not knowing about the lie yet), flipped a switch in my body.  I was so stressed out, I had physical pain.  I have always heard how stress can not only affect your mind, but your body as well.  I now know exactly what that means.  At that moment I decided I needed a break from her craziness.

I thought a lot about what to say to her.  Finally, the right words came together.  I decided to write her an email. I wanted her to be able to read, digest, and reread what I had to say.  Here's what I said:

K,

Sorry I have missed your calls, but the truth is I am broken and am having a hard time putting myself back together. Last week when Dad called and told me you had overdosed on Vicadin and Vodka, momentarily I really thought we may have lost you for good. I could physically feel my heart ache. It was pounding so hard I felt as if it were going to jump right out of me. My hands were shaking, my voice was quivering as I called D to let him know that you were in the ER. This is what happens every time you drink. I fear for your life so much that it physically, mentally and spiritually affects mine. And no your life is not my life, so why get so stressed and worked up? Because the fear of losing you for good is so very real. And ironically I have not yet learned how to take a step back and let this be your problem. I find myself wanting so bad for you to get through this, my only prayer in church being for you. I wonder when is your luck going to run out? I can't imagine having to come to your funeral, but I do. When your world turns up side down, I allow mine to as well. I cannot do this anymore. I need to learn to support you without this taking over my mind and heart. I need to get off your roller coaster and get back on mine. I just don't know how to do that. I feel like I'm so deeply connected to you that I can't separate myself, but if I don't my life is going to pass me by before I know it.

This past week I have found myself desperately clinging to memories of us as children. I think of your beautiful curly snow white hair, dancing blue eyes, and mischievous smile. I think of the depth that lies within you, of which you only give the world glimpses. I think of your ambition, your bravery, your carefree style that captures people, drawing them closer to you. People want to know you, want to be close to you. You knock the socks off people with your wits and humor. However, inside remains a broken little girl, whom no one can see. I wish so much that I could have been there for you as a child, understood more about what was going on with you. But I can't go back, I can only go forward. I have tried to be there for you, listen to you, cheer for you. I feel like I have failed as a sister and as a friend.

This disease has robbed you of many precious memories that could have been made, replacing them with ones wanting to be forgotten. I am sad, sad for you. I know an amazing person lies within you...I'm not the only one who sees her.

It is time for me to take a step back, breathe, take in the fresh air and figure out how to go from here. My heart cries out for you...I am so, so sorry for us. I can remember you told me you feared this coming between us someday and I shook off that thought, thinking I am stronger than that. Well, I'm not...I am weak in my pain. Pain is an interesting emotion. It rears its ugly head when you least expect it. It eats at you, leaving a feeling of emptiness. It cannot be wished away, only managed.

K, don't think for one minute that I have or will quit on you...I will always route for you. I just need to change cheering sections. I need to route from a different place.

I love you so much more than you could ever imagine.

She replied with this:

Lu,

Don't think for a second I am mad at you or that I don't understand where you are coming from, I do. It hurts, but I understand. I love you as my sister and best friend and always will.

I know I will get past this time in my life, and need to surround myself with people that know that as well. You have believed in me all along, and I love and appreciate you for that. I have found many ways that do not work, and I am dead set on finding a way that works. Going to the psychiatrist was a big step, I am on medication now, and am going to continue down that path. This has been hard Lu, hard for me, hard for you, hard for the family. I understand anyone who needs to distance themselves from me at this time. Going to C was a big deal, and being there really made me realize that if things do not change that I will end up back there or 6 feet under. But it did not only change me in that way, something changed on the inside. I am not going to let myself or anyone else around me make me feel like a failure. I believe I can succeed and I am going to distance myself from anyone who does not believe that. It is not ok for me to continue to feel not good enough, or to feel like what I am doing is not good enough, I just need to do what is right for me, and stay strong in that.

This letter has been hard to write, because I do not blame you, I understand where you are coming from, and I don't want to sound defensive. On the other hand, I really want to stay strong this time and stick up for myself, not just cower and let myself feel bad for all the ways I have messed up. Feeling bad and feeling guilt and shame over my past has not gotten me further, but has set me back time and time again. I have to, have to forgive myself and start moving on.

I am sorry for the hurt I have caused you. Through this, you have been the person closest to me, and therefore, probably the one that has hurt the most. I am sorry Lu.

I love you. When time has healed your pain I will be here, always have been, always will be.

Love,

K

As I read this I was filled with mixed emotions.  Does she really understand why I'm pulling away?

Several months later, well into her third rehab, she was telling me about making amends with people she's hurt.  She told me that the program required to write down all her wrong doings, or how her actions have affected other people, hurt them.  Then she was suppose to call or write them and express her remorse.  Of all the people she called or wrote, not one of them was a family member, a bit puzzling.  Rather than calling to apologize, I answered the phone one day to her ready to nail me to a wall with accusations. "Why did you stop talking to me?  When you decided you weren't talking to me, I took that as you couldn't accept me the way I am.  If you love someone, you are suppose to love them through the good and the bad."  I was dumbfounded.  I couldn't believe well into her rehab, sober minded, she called to accuse me of abandonment.  Couldn't she recognize the pain her addiction had caused, the chaos she had created? She understands the need for space.  Our own mother was an addict, she knows. This was about her, she simply could not understand.

I'm at those crossroads again.  I need boundaries, regardless of what she thinks of me.  After reading a book about having an addict in the family, I recognize the need for me to recover.  I can no longer be addicted to the addict.  It is okay for me to have happy days in the midst of her crisis.  Her life is not mine.  I am choosing to no longer be part of her addictive behaviors.  I will no longer participate in her drama-filled manipulative games that she plays on the family.  I am out!  She needs to find it in herself to care enough about life to pull herself from the depths of her pit.

However when it comes to being supportive in her recovery, I am in.  I will pray for her, listen to her and be happy for her.  When she chooses to live life once again, I will be there. 

I have a hole in my heart

I have a hole in my heart.  It aches. I miss my sister, deeply.  We were very close growing up and quite honestly probably closer because of our alcoholic mother.  We depended on one another.  We looked out for each other.  We were best friends. However, alcohol and other drugs have taken my friend away.  She's not there and hasn't been for a long time.  I'm beginning to wonder if she's ever coming back.

I think I've been trying to fill this hole, rather than acknowledge its existence and the pain from it.  I keep looking for that friend or person to take her place, but the simple truth is that no one can fill this hole. I am blessed with wonderful people in my life, but my sister is my sister.  I can no longer share my heart with her.  She has become a stranger, whom I do not trust.  I so badly want to trust her, confide in her, let her know what's really going on in my life.  But I can't.  I've recently learned some hard lessons. I shared something with her in confidentiality.  It didn't stay confidential.  She was six months sober and seeming to come around to her old self.  I had begun to trust her again. That was my mistake.  I've had to shut her out to protect myself and my family.  That is hard, much harder than just the thought of it.  Actually shutting her out, closing her off...hurts.  It goes against every grain in my being, but then again that person is not my sister. 

I'm at battle with myself.  Part of me wants to pick up the phone and call her, pretend everything is okay, the way it used to be.  The other part of me wants nothing to do with her.  I don't want this stranger in my life or my family's.  I struggle in conversation with her because I simply do no relate to her in any way, shape or form.  I don't know what to say to her.

The reality:  she's not okay and I'm not either.  I'm trying to be, but I'm constantly consumed with thoughts of her.  That's not healthy.  I have too many other things I should be thinking about, devoting my energy to.  I'm addicted to the addict.

There's hope.  I know I need to change.  I want to be healthy for me, my family, my sister.  I'm beginning with boundaries.  They need to be set.  They need to be respected.  They need to exist. I'm relieved that she's in rehab.  It gives me a chance to breath and figure out how to move forward from here.  I didn't name my blog Always Hopeful for nothing!

Fried Eggs

Back when I was in high school, I vividly remember a commercial that would air quite regularly.  It would start by introducing your brain by holding up an egg.  Then they would crack the egg over a frying pan.  The viewer could clearly hear the sizzling sound follow by a man saying, "This is your brain on drugs."  For some reason this image has stuck in my mind all these years.

This is how I envision my sister's brain, fried.  Her brain is not the same any more.  It hasn't been for a long time.  When she found her third rehab, I thought that maybe she would come back to us, that is her full mind.  Since she could stay at this place for such a long time, I was hopeful it would give her body, soul, and mind a chance to come back around.  Well we got a glimpse of the old sister, but that was all.  For some reason, I have struggled with her speech the most.  It's probably because this is my only real connection with her for the past 2 1/2 years.  I live across the country and do not see her, so I have become very in tune with my family members voices, speech patterns, and dialects.  It gives me comfort to recognize a person's voice.  That has all changed with her, even when she's 7 months sober.  My sister used to have an incredibly peppy, happy voice.  When she had something to tell you, she spoke so fast it was hard to keep up.  I could picture her face, her hands, her body language, all from listening to her voice.  Like I said, it gave me comfort.  Being so far away, I still felt like I knew her, like she was right next to me.  I can't do this anymore.  Sometimes I hardly recognize her voice at all.  Without caller id I wouldn't.  She has lost all evidence of being happy or cheerful.  Her zest for life is gone.  She's broken.  Her speech is s...l....o....w and drawn out.  Sometimes she as sober as day, but I have that little question in my head, has she been drinking, all because of slurred words.  And what's worse, I can't picture her.  I can't figure out what mannerisms she might be using or expressions she has on her face.  I can't even picture her face.  Bottom line:  I don't know this person.  My beloved sister is a stranger, completely unfamiliar.

Although her body at times is an unexplainable force, her mind clearly shows the evidence.  We all know that there will be a last time if she continues to abuse her body in this way.  Her body will one day give out.  This brings me back to the fried egg commercial.  Her brain is partly fried.  I continue to hope and pray that she can climb out of this mess before her "egg" is completely fried.

Dead Easter Bunny

My earliest memory of how addiction impacted my life happened to be on Easter morning.  My mom was typically great with holidays.  She played along with the Santa thing, but Easter was my favorite.  We would wake up with evidence of the Easter Bunny all over the house: jelly bean trails, colorful eggs, and sweet chocolate surprises.  My sister and I would race to find the eggs, often getting very competitive.  We always had new beautiful Easter dresses to wear and our hair would be in curls.  I can remember the beautiful bright sunlight on these mornings, a sign that spring was in the air.

Then it all changed one Easter morning.  My sister and I, as usual, woke up bright-eyed and bushy tailed ready to find some eggs.  We quietly walked out to the living room to see just what the dear bunny had left behind.  Nothing, absolutely nothing...we were in shock.  Naturally, at that point, we ran into my mom's room screaming "Mom, the Easter Bunny didn't come!"

With groggy eyes, Mom rolled over and mumbled, "The Easter Bunny died."

We couldn't believe our ears.  He died, what?  We were way too young to understand her adult problems and had no clue what drinking could do to a person.  All we knew was that Easter would never be the same.

It took years for us to connect the dots and realize what had really happened.  We knew she had forgotten, but just couldn't understand why, especially because other kids' Easter Bunny hadn't died. That afternoon we went over to our grandparents house where the Easter Bunny had clearly not died.  We were elated, but devastated all in the same moment.  We had no idea of what was to come with our mother's addiction.  We had no way of knowing that one day we would be at her bedside, trying to prepare to let her go.  And for me, it all started with the Easter Bunny.

Lack of understanding

I can't pretend I understand addiction.  I don't.  I've lived with one for a good part of my life. There has been an addict consistently in my life as long as I can remember.  It is a life that is all too familiar, however I'm such a stranger all in the same. 

My family is in the middle of an addiction crisis, yet I still struggle with the grasp addiction can have over a person.  My sister just left her third rehab facility.  She found a place that would let her stay until she was ready to leave.  We all thought this was it, she finally found help.  She pitched the idea to the family that this place was for her.  It was holistic and would accommodate her dietary choices.  She of course needed money for this place and expected asked the family to shell out the 30 grand so she could recover. She stayed almost 7 months.  She let the family know she was ready to move on, reclaim her life. We were excited and hopeful as well as nervous.  It's been four years since she has been able to function as a self supporting adult.  She picked a city by the ocean that she loved and even had a job lined up.  She appeared to be on the right track.  She chose to leave rehab with a new boyfriend she met at rehab.  They were in this together. 

After 7 months of sobriety, having a clear head, she relapsed the first night after rehab.  However, she kept this fact hidden for awhile and was seemingly doing well the first few days.  Then she hit a big bump.  They went on a week long bender.  We (her family) remained hopeful that she had encountered just a little hiccup in her recovery.  We chose to believe she could pull herself out of this.  After all, she had the tools to deal with this beast, she was where she wanted to be, and had the chance right before her to start building her life once again.  Well, she did pull herself up and came back around, that is, for a few days.  Then she fell even harder.  Now this city of hers was thousands of miles away from any family.  We felt helpless and desperate.  I had a pit in my stomach for two weeks.  I would go to bed wondering if she would OD or wind up dead on the streets with no ID, no way for anyone to know who she was. A phone call from her was simply a sight of relief that she was still alive.

For a week straight I talked to my parents about what we should do if anything at all.  We wanted her to take responsibility for her addiction.  She could go back to rehab.  They have a policy about relapsing within the first 6 months.  But does she want help? Does she even care? What is it going to take for her to get through this? We were at our wits ends.

For a solid week she worked her manipulative magic on anyone who would give her an ear.  We still haven't learned.  Is love that blind?  There is no doubt that she has a family full of people who love her dearly and truly want her to be healthy in body, mind, and soul.  She knows it.  She uses all people in her life.  Whatever it takes to get her next fix.  I've always wondered just what that meant.  I've read stories about addicts and heard that phrase, but it wasn't until now that I truly understood.  I expect her to manipulate our parents, me, uncles, cousins, but she has always had a respect for our grandparents.  She keeps them out of this mess.  Not this time.  She called them with a story about not having the proper shoes.  She moaned and groaned about how cold she was and how wet she had gotten.  Only if she had some boots to keep her warm and dry.  What do her loving grandparents do?  Send her money, of course.  They can't bare the thought of her being wet and cold. What's even more despairing is to hear my grandmother's comment when she realized they had just sent money to feed her addiction. "I hope she enjoys her goddamn boots!"

My dad finally decides to go up there to try to get her back to rehab.  The sound of his voice after seeing her broke my heart.  I have never heard my dad sound so broken. I don't have words to describe his pain.  His baby girl turned into a trashy junkie.  I can still see my sister's bright sparkling blue eyes full of spunk, spirit and life.  What has happened?