You know you're the sister of an addict when...

My sister once told me that people call cocaine "my girlfriend" when they're talking on the phone about it. They say things like "Is your girlfriend coming over tonight?" and "I'm gonna hang out with my girlfriend after class." (Just kidding, they rarely go to class.)

Anyway, it's all code. I get it.

I tell you that so this story makes sense:


At a drunken office party...

Coworker: It's cool having New Boss Guy at Our Company. I bet he'd even be okay with my girlfriend!

Me: Your what?

Coworker: My girlfriend.

Me: ARE YOU ON DRUGS?

Coworker: What?!? Are YOU?


Apparently he was actually talking about an *actual* girlfriend. My bad.

Flashback

I'll never forget the time when I first found out that my sister had been using.

It was a brisk winter evening after work, as I stood on the train platform at the Chicago brown line stop. Since it was truly the dead of winter, it was already dark outside. I was heading south to my home in the Loop, opposite of the northbound rush-hour throngs, so my platform was relatively empty, even for 5:15pm.

Chicago's harsh wind whipped my face and it stung, as it always did. I speed-walked to the far end of the platform where I always boarded the last train and I had already gotten my phone out to call my mom, as I often did on my way home from work. I knew that my cheerleader-turned-deadbeat sister was being a little monster, so I was checking up on my family more than usual to make sure they still had their sanity. Most often, they did not.

I listened to the phone ring as I walked along the long, thin platform with my free hand shoved in my coat pocket, as if that would magically make me a few degrees warmer. I let my eyes drift to the crowded northbound platform, where the crowd was growing. They watched our side of the platform too, but there were far less of us to notice. It was a little unsettling to feel so on display.

My mom finally picked up.

"What's wrong?" I asked instantly. I could always tell when my sister had put her through hell that day.

"Well," my mom said slowly. "It's your sister."

"Of course," I mumbled with an eye roll. "But what now?" I leaned over the tracks and cocked my head to see if a train was coming. It wasn't. I shivered and stood back on the platform.

My mom started to tell me about how she spoke with my sister's counselor/therapist down at school. It was a long enough story with unremarkable details, but I had a feeling something was coming. My heart started beating a little faster as the story progressed -- he wasn't supposed to say anything, but... -- and my impatience grew. I wanted to know what was going on, but at the same time, I didn't. I knew it wasn't going to be good. Heart racing, I started to feel a little numb to the evening chill.

"Elle," my mom said.

I froze. I hadn't even realized I'd been fidgeting.

"She's been using cocaine."

The heart that had been beating so rapidly instantly stopped. It the middle of bustling rush hour, but it was as if everything around me got silent. I collapsed back onto the railing, stunned. My little sister? My happy-go-lucky cheerleader sister? The same kid who I did gymnastics with? Who I teased relentlessly? Who had always been so kind and loving? MY sister? Mine?

"What the FUCK!?" I bellowed, shaking. I could feel a tirade coming on, because that's how I typically react to things, but I tried to fight it, seeing as I was in public with people who were already interested in people-watching.

"That's not really all, sweetheart," my mom said softly.

"What else could there be," I spat out, snidely.

"She was dealing."

At that exact moment, I heard the rumble of a southbound train barreling towards my platform. My eyes searched the ground, the rails, the other commuters, looking for something -- anything -- to land on and latch on to, as if anchoring my sight would somehow help anchor my feelings as well. The train whooshed past me as hot tears filled my eyes and my hand instinctively flew up to my mouth. It was sinking in. My sister was a drug addict and a drug dealer. My sister.

Just thinking of the dangerous situations she put herself in completely infuriated me. A tiny, perky, gullible blonde sauntering up to a real drug dealer? Who did she think she was?

I stepped on the train, wiping my tears but not bothering to collect my thoughts. I just started blurting out everything that came to mind.

"That fucking idiot," I hissed, in a hushed voice as I sat down, away from most people. "She's lucky she's alive! Oh, I would kill her myself right now for all of this. And for everything she's put us through? My god, it explains everything about her behavior lately. And the grades, the attitude problem, the mood swings. But how... why... I just..." My voice trailed off. I didn't want to think anymore and I had too much swirling around my head to make much sense of it.

The rest of the short train ride home was a blur. My mom explained to me that she and my dad were driving down to my sister's school in what my sister would later think of as an ambush. They were going to pull her out of school immediately, bring her 400 miles back home and toss her into rehab. They'd make a separate trip in the upcoming months to pack up her apartment, but the priority now was to remove her and her alone. It was happening now and it was happening fast. A total blur.

I can only imagine how fast it all felt for my sister, who had the added effect of a cloudy mental state to make things even more blurry. Needless to say, the whole thing went very badly, but it's obviously been for the best.

Thinking back on that low point for all of us, it's really amazing how much we've all changed.

My sister is now clean. She's strong. She's much more mature. She's far less selfish. She's working the program. She is better.

My family is stronger. We're not enabling. We're supportive. We also understand the importance of detachment and allowing the addict to face her own consequences and create her own recovery.

Yes, it's going well. But I'll still never, ever forget that day.

The true impact of writing

It's only been a month and I'm already neglecting the SHIT out of the blog. Let's get caught up.

So far, my sister is still clean. The most recent news now is that instead of using, she's found another outlet for her emotions: writing.

Sounds good, right?

Well, the issue is that she writes about cutting herself. ON MYSPACE. I'd make a joke about her being some ridiculous emo cliche, but I'm too annoyed. She insists that, even though she used to be a cutter, this is now nothing more than cathartic writing; it's not a cry for help. "It's just what I want to write about," she says with a shrug. "That's it."

To which I respond, "Kid, if that's the first thing that pops into your head, you need to chat with a therapist, not pick up a damn pen and paper."

But, really, it's an issue I struggle with, this writing. On the one hand, I completely understand what she's saying about writing being nothing more than an outlet. On the other hand, I've certainly never written anything that dark. So, how harmless is it really?

I don't expect her to write about kittens wrapped in rainbows floating on a group of magic butterflies (uh, that would probably mean she's using again, huh?), but I don't think she has to be that morbid. She's already talked to her sponsor about this writing, she's shared a lot in group, she doesn't seem to be bottling anything up... except when it comes to her family. I've been to an NA meeting so I know how open and honest she is there, and I know that as her family, we never see that. It really makes it tough to sort through everything and get a feel for where her head truly is.

Maybe I just need to get back into reading my Nar-Anon book. That's what people do when they're looking for answers, right? Blindly cling to some holy manuscript and believe in its power wholeheartedly? I can do that.

People need to get real

Last weekend, I ended up taping the Dateline story (don't judge) about the girl who was killed after being asked to go undercover for the police. The story had me completely enraged, but probably not for the same reason as the general public.

I'll back up.

This story revolved around a girl who could have been my sister. She was a spoiled rotten co-ed who had her daddy pay for everything, like my sister. She was planning on going to culinary school, like my sister. She wasn't a great student, like my sister. She was on drugs, like my sister. She was also dealing drugs, like my sister.

Safe to assume I know the type, no?

Anyway, this girl got busted for drugs more than once and was asked to go undercover for the police to bring down some drug dealers. The po-po sent her to a park with $13,000 -- following her in their own undercover vehicle -- but something went wrong and the girl was killed.

Everyone was outraged, blaming the police and talking about how the girl was such a sweet girl, was such a kind girl, was a scared little girl who was manipulated by the Big Bad Police.

Get real.

Was it right for the police to send an inexperienced little college student with 13k to meet dangerous criminals? Absolutely not. Should everyone keep lying to themselves about the girl's complete blamelessness in this whole mess? No!

Two interesting details about the case: The girl got involved with a po-po and ended up sending him flirty texts (his name was "Pooh Bear" in her phone) and doing god knows what else. Also, on the way to the sting, the girl was told by the police to TURN AROUND and abort the mission, but she ignored them. She was not the innocent darling that the media and her family claims. She was troubled. She was insecure. She was desperate for attention. She was stubborn. She thought she was always right. She was exactly like my sister.

Is it her fault she was killed? No. But let's not demonize the police while proclaiming a drug addict's total innocence. That's the problem with addicts -- they don't take responsibility for their own actions. We do them no favors by encouraging that behavior in the media.

Watching this story made me so thankful that my parents were strong enough to recognize my sister's problem and make the difficult decision to haul her ass out of that toxic school, away from those enabling friends and into a rehab program that she desperately needed. It was painful, one of the hardest things they've had to do, physically, emotionally and mentally. In a word, it was hell. But they did it. They did not choose blindness or denial about who my sister was, even though it would have been easier for them, because it would have been too dangerous for her.

Yes, my sister is an addict. But she's one of the lucky ones. I wish more parents would have the strength to do what mine did.

Catch-up

It's been a while since I've posted over here! Since then, my sister hit the highest and lowest points in her recovery, all within a week or two of each other.


The good: She reached her 90 days!

The bad: She and her boyfriend broke up.


Her boyfriend, also in NA, was a good influence on her. Unlike my sister, he wasn't forced into rehab; rather, he just woke up one day and realized that he needed to make some major changes. Pretty strong kid. He had a perspective and a quiet strength that she could learn from. I hope she did.

They were only together for maybe two months, but both my sister and the bf's family had visions of wedding bells. (Yeah, they definitely needed to cool it with that kind of talk.) So it was short, but intense.

Of course, you're not supposed to date anyone while you're in these stages of recovery. But my sister and her boyfriend talked to each other about how recovery comes first, discussed things with their sponsors and, in the end, decided to buck the rules.

Since the breakup, I've been texting/calling her every day. I think it's pretty obvious that I'm worried she'll slip up. She knows it. I mean, this is same point at which we lost her last time, during her first round of recovery. But, so far, all is well. Rest assured, we'll all be keeping a closer eye on her just the same.

My dreams are effed

I had a completely fucked up dream about my sister last night.

I mean, I also dreamt about a giant squid-thing taking over a ship and a hostile situation at a McDonalds, so who's to say this dream means anything in the first place. (I have weird dreams, in general.)

In my sister-dream, she had relapsed. That alone didn't piss me off as much as the timing of the whole thing: she had been using when we went to her open NA meeting! Which means that while she was sitting there talking about gratitude and being clean, and I was crying, she had drugs in her system. That trampy little addict had deceived me! So, in my typical tantrum style, I flew off the handle in my dream and said more than a few choice words to her.

Makes me wonder -- is my subconscious terrified of another relapse?

The factors that were in place during her first relapse don't exist anymore. She no longer hangs out with those shitty, trashy people she used to think could "help" her through recovery. She changed her cell phone number so people from her past can't contact her. She's in a relationship now (for better or worse...) from which she's gaining confidence. She's giving herself drug tests Saturday morning as my dad demands. She's paying back those she stole from and is living on $5/day until her debts are settled. And let's not forget the fact that she fucking SAW ME CRY at her meeting. Yeah, that part actually happened.

So I shouldn't be counting on another relapse, consciously or not. I certainly don't doubt her progress. I just hope it's enough for her to really turn things around this time.

On a possibly related note, maybe I should stop watching fucked up shows before I fall asleep.

And so it begins

Because I don't want my regular blog to turn into the Watch Elle Get Really Deep And Occasionally Bitch About NA, Recovery And Drug Use, I decided to start a separate blog devoted to that topic. Yep, it's gonna be a real spot of sunshine over here.

To be honest, this will mostly be more for me than for you. (I know, I'm selfish like that.) But since today is January 1 and we're all completely gung-ho about starting the year off "right," I figured now was as good a cliched time as any to start sorting through my thoughts about addiction.

Not my addiction. My sister's.

Younger sister, actually. She's only 21, but she's in round two of her recovery -- meaning this is her second attempt at getting clean after using for... actually, I'm not sure exactly when this mess started. The first time she got clean was painful for everyone because my family forced her into rehab and recovery with a fuck ton of kicking and screaming on her part. Not surprisingly, she relapsed. Now, she's back in NA and has explained to me that this time will be different because it's HER decision this time around.

Might be naive of me, but I choose to believe that. Is there really another option? I don't think so.

Aaaanyway, one of my 2009 resolutions is to read my NarAnon book each day and having this blog will be another way to make sure I really follow through on that. I don't really have much to share right now, so you'll be spared of any real downers tonight.

Let's see what the year brings.