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. 

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?