Day 9

I'm not an expert on chemical dependency, nor do I have a doctorate in psychology, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out 'it takes one to know one'.  My first out patient treatment at the hospital was a joke.  Non of the counselors had a clue.  All you had to do was tell them what they wanted to hear.  They had no street smarts.  They were so textbook.  It was disappointing, boring, and pointless.  It didn't help me at all.  I remember on my way to the third session, I literally had someone take me to the liquor store before treatment so I'd have something ready to drink when I got out.  Talking about alcohol for three hours was torture!  It just made me crave it.  I had no intentions on quitting at that time.  I just played my cards as the court required so I wouldn't go to jail.

My second treatment was  a little different.  The counselor was a recovering addict herself.  Nothing got by her.  She was great.  She held you accountable for everything.  She knew what you did the night before by the white of your eyes or simply your body language.  She didn't put up with any bullshit and if she caught you lying she'd kick you out of treatment.  She was fascinating.  She made me want to get better and help people like me.  I was actually excited about treatment for once.  I even quit drinking the night before each session to be more convincing.  I didn't want to disappoint her.  I actually considered quitting for good during treatment number 2.

One day I came to treatment and she was gone.  Apparently she moved to Pennsylvania.  She never even told us she leaving.  I felt abandoned.  I was hurt.  What a waste of my energy.  She had us all fooled.  I do really believe she was a sign from God though.  She was an inspiration that I needed but a good sign that I had to be strong if I really wanted to quit.  There wouldn't always be someone to hold my hand.  I think it was my payback for not taking the first treatment seriously.  It was a hard price to pay for being dishonest with others and myself.

I wish more counselors were ex-addicts.  I wish treatment programs were more effective.  I wish there was more education available in the schools regarding chemical dependency.  The D.A.R.E. program just isn't enough.  They need to have speakers come in on a monthly basis.  Each month they should cover a different addiction.  The speakers should be recovering addicts with scary survival stories.  They need to pass out brochures with pictures of meth mouth.  There should be field trips to jails, nut wards, and prisons.  Our children aren't educated enough and the peer pressure is just so intense.

I had a fairy tale childhood.  I have nothing but golden memories of growing up in paradise.  According to my sister, I've suppressed any bad memories.  I was in D.A.R.E and an honor roll student.  I played on the varsity basketball team.  My youngest memory was my dad letting me take a sip of his Old Milwaukee.  It was so gross.  I didn't understand how anyone could drink that stuff.  My next big memory was my fist stitches.  I remember my mother's Vantage 100 cigarettes.  She had the coolest cigarette case that housed her lighter too.  I wanted to be just like her.  Do you see where I'm going with this?

In treatment, they say your value system is created by the time you are 5 years old.  They say if you see your parents smoke or drink, then you begin to believe it is okay if you do it one day as well.  If you go to family gatherings, and you are surrounded by people you trust having a good time with alcohol, then it'll be okay if you drink.  The first 5 years are the most crucial years.  My daughter is 3 1/2.  I don't have a lot of time, but I will fight hard to make sure she is properly educated and given the tools she needs for survival.  That way, if one day she decides to try something bad, I cannot beat myself up because I didn't do the right thing, or because I created the issue.  I smoked cigarettes for 13 years and the day I found out I was pregnant with my daughter I quit.  I quit drinking during the entire pregnancy, but like an idiot, started again when she was a few weeks old.  I have a year and a half to do some major damage control, and a life time to create beautiful memories.  Geographically and hereditarily all the odds are against me.  But this makes the challenge more exciting.  If I am serious, work hard, and believe in the power of prayer, I know I can beat this demon.