Journal

Tuesday November 3, 1998 9:00PM

Hurt, pain, sorrow, anger, guilt, shame, grief. But above all others, sadness. Don't worry or be afraid for me. They're the right things to be feeling now. And so I accept them. They're the beginnings of healing. A glimmer of hope.

[These entries are out of sequence because I've been doing most of my writing lately at work. Sometimes I forget to e-mail it home. And last night, although I had sent it home, I just plain didn't feel like it.

There's some stuff I wrote last week which I haven't sent home yet. When I finally remember, I'll leave a little note like this so you can go back to last week.]

Monday November 2, 1998 At Work

Thank heavens no-one can see me from the hallway. I’m a mess. Thank heavens the phones are slow this morning, I’m a little frail.

Well, today’s the day. A week late, but it’s been a nice week. Jeff and I had our teary farewell this morning before leaving for work. He had gone out around 6:00 promising to return in time to take me to work. I was just taking some outgoing mail down to the lobby as he came in.

"Oh, you didn’t trust me?" he asked. "No," I replied, "I’m just mailing some things. If I didn’t trust you I’d have been on the bus a half-hour ago." Noticing I didn’t have my coat on, he said, "Oh. I’m sorry. Just a little edgy this morning." Then, "Hey, we gotta talk." I hate it when he says that. It usually means bad news.

We went back upstairs and I sat down. "No, I need you stand up and face me," he said. I did. What followed were perhaps the most moving words ever said to me, and I don’t remember a word of it. I was just too overwhelmed. We hugged. Perhaps the best hug of my life.

The long and short of it is that he wanted to express his gratitude, not so much for the stuff and financial support I’ve given him, but for the trust. Thinking back he ticked off the list of trusts I gave him, keys to the apartment, keys to the car, the cell phone, and that was just in the first few weeks. Since then we’ve added the VISA Check Card to the list, and lots of intangibles.

And he has learned to trust me. Yes, things did get off to a rocky start, but especially these past two months, things have evened out. He no longer has to worry when the next time I’ll throw him out will be, how explosive I’ll be when we don’t agree on something, or if I’ll attack him in bed.

Damn. This is both easier and harder than last week.

After things got calmed-down earlier in the week last week, we settled into the groove, but something was different. True we still had a deadline, but we also felt we had the time to say goodbye. And boy did he run me ragged. I’d blown off dinner with my parents until Friday. And I had the damnedest time staying awake. I caught my second wind after getting home. Well, it wasn’t exactly wind, more like a blast. Even so, we were out by midnight, and except for bathroom and refrigerator trips, we slept nearly 16 hours. We stayed in on Saturday night as well, and Sunday was quite a bit of running around.

Wednesday November 4, 1998 At work

The easiest way to summarize the last couple of days, is to paste in an e-mail exchange I’ve had with Vince. I copied in Mark as well. As usual, any after-the-fact edits are between square brackets and in bright green:

Yesterday, [Monday] and into this morning have been pure hell. Jeff was crabby and argumentative all day, when we got to court, they were closed, (again), verbal fight ensued, (naturally it was my fault that I took Jeff to court at the time he wanted to go, and the Judge had decided to go home to his family for dinner rather than wait around after court for Jeff to make his entrance.)

We seemed to get things settled, even played cards. Then he wanted to do another "endeavor". He was upset that I wouldn't let him drive, (he hits curbs a lot. It tends to blow tires. Two in the same day last week, on opposite corners. Left front and right rear.) and naturally I couldn't do anything right. Couldn't take the right routes to the stores, couldn't exchange his stuff right, couldn't use the correct exit from the parking lot, didn't see the out of order sign on a gas pump until I'd parked, yada, yada, yada.

Then of course was his frustration at not being able to off the booty in exchange for bad thing. Made for a bad mood. Led to more arguments, even though I was quiet, didn't argue back (which in retrospect may have made it worse) and I even took a half-hour cool-down walk.

All hell broke loose when I got back. It led to terribly loud verbal abuse, and when I didn't rise to the bait, the pushing and shoving began. He would push or shove me down, I'd stand right up in the "at ease" position, not say a word and he'd shove me down again. More broken furniture, I feared defenestration and [there was] blood (mine) all over the place. (Resolve really DOES get it out of carpet and upholstery!)

So I called 911, they put him in the back of a car, I said I wanted to press charges, and they took him out of the car, handcuffed him, and put him back inside. They made me fill out the paperwork on the hood of the car facing him.

He finally calmed down, learned that I was serious, and admitted he was "dead wrong." After talking with the lieutenant, and thinking that this incident would made Judge Burnes in City Court up his sentence to 1 year from 90 days, and would probably cost me my $500 in bail money, I dropped the charges, and we went back inside.

Everything was fine, and I even went to sleep. He must have left, turned a trick, and bought more bad thing, because he came roaring back in [just before 5:00. The bad thing was of extremely poor quality and quantity. A definite intentional rip-off. More temper tantrum, and finally at 5:45 I’d had enough.] It started all over again when I said I was tired of broken furniture, tired of ruined clothing, tired of arguments over bullshit, tired of being his maid, chauffeur and sugar daddy, tired of ... well, you get the picture.

He packed and I took him and his stuff to Daphne's. Wouldn't take a thing I'd ever given him, including the clothes he needs for jail. I was just getting out of the shower when he called wanting his benefit card. (No doubt so he could smoke his $67 of food stamps [that he gets monthly on the 3^rd].) I said no dice, unless he took the rest of his stuff, (which he'd already decided he was stupid to leave behind,) got my new car window, some gas and cigarettes, and bus fare for me today.

He relented, I held him to it and I dropped him off at a trick's on Goodman.

Vince’s reply from last night:

Bruce, I don't know what to say. But I think I know how you feel. I wish I could just make everything better for you. Let me know what you are planning on doing. Give me a call if you have time.

To which I replied this morning:

C'est la guerre!

I'm all right. Mark came over last night. I'd asked him to drop by because Jeff was coming over to get the plastic and duct tape he'd been using for my car window.

Apparently he and Debbie are back at [her apartment]. Since they've lost all the keys to the apartment, they have to leave the building door propped open and the apartment unlocked. If someone removes the broom they prop the door open with, the only way in is the fire escape. A few weeks back, Jeff had to break the windows to get in. I'd offered to help them put new glass in (they'd have to pay for it) but, well, it cuts into the crack budget.

Anyway, he wanted to use the plastic on their apartment windows. [I said fine.] He asked me to bring it over to him. I said no. So he asked that I leave it in the outer lobby for him, because he didn't want to [come upstairs to] see me. I'm guessing of course, but I'm sure it was partly shame and partly problem avoidance. I'm sure he didn't want discuss any of the issues.

I had Mark come by for moral support, (not physical protection). Debbie called at 7:45 to see if Jeff had been there. I went down to the inner lobby to check. The plastic was gone, and that's what I told Debbie. At 7:58, Jeff called from the outer lobby access phone. He wanted me to give him a ride back to Debbie's because it was cold outside. I said no and reminded him that it was November and he should expect it to be cold outside and dress for it.

I believe I already told you the story of how I had a tantrum and wrecked the place and I hit Jeff back in August. Although it doesn't make it right, the score is now settled on that one. I've told him I forgive him just as he forgave me for the August incident, and that it doesn't change the fact that I love him. But, we do need a cool-down. I've told him I won't bug him or anything and he can decide how long the cool-down is and can contact me when he's ready.

Anyway, I'm all right, don't worry.

Yours,

B

Wednesday November 4, 1998 9:30PM

I walked home from the hospital tonight. By choice. My rehab program's Wednesday night meeting lets out at 7:00. I could wait for the next bus at 7:50 and be home around 8:30, or I could walk and be home at 8:00. And besides, I'll need those quarters this weekend for laundry.

Meetings always start with either a story or a handout to establish the topic for the discussion that follows. As they say, in life, timing is everything. Although it was stated only in metaphor, the story that was read tonight was about enabling addiction, being responsible for one's own life, and letting others be responsible for theirs.

After the story was read and the floor opened up for discussion, there was dead quiet. After a few moments, I started telling the story of Jeffrey and I, concentrating on the past couple of weeks. There were a lot of questions when I finished, which I answered as best I could. It felt good to get the support of the group on the way I had finally come to terms with my enabling Jeff's addictions, (and he mine,) and taking positive action.

Although I feel good about myself for having done it, it still hurts like hell and I miss him.

And there's something else I feel good about. I didn't use today. First day in a long time. I can't promise I won't use tomorrow. We'll have to see. As they say, "One day at a time."

Thursday November 5, 1998 At work

[I finally remembered to e-mail the rest of last week's entries home to myself today. This link will take you there.]

Tired.

I’m not sure which is worse, the cravings or the tiredness, although in time they'll each go away. The past two nights I’ve gotten much more sleep than I have in months. I’ve even been able to sleep straight through without Danger-Boy wandering in at all hours of the night. Yet, I nod off frequently.

In group this morning, we covered two topics. The stages of addiction, (there are four,) and how to identify your use/relapse triggers. Until this morning, I’d seen no difference between a standard drug treatment program and the MICA program. I’d been thinking, "Okay. Where’s the part about mental illness?"

The nice thing about the presenter today was she recognized that everyone in the group has been through at least one other recovery program in the past, so we know the basics of recovery already. And, if required, we can get a refresher course at any AA, CA, NA, AnythingA meeting. She recognized we’re all there because we’ve relapsed, probably because we have issues in addition to those of more typical addicts.

So rather than focus on the external triggers that other drug treatment programs look at, (like hungry, angry, lonely, tired) we examined which of our psychological and psychiatric issues trigger our desire to use, (like depression, bi-polar disorder, parnoid delusions, obsessive/compulsive disorder, ADD, anxieties and phobias.)

Naturally, when the topic of psychological and psychiatric triggers came up, I blurted out, "That’s why I chose this program." There was general agreement around the table, and suddenly we all relaxed and felt more comfortable with each other. It was quite refreshing to sit together with so many people (there’s about a dozen the program right now) and freely discuss a subject generally held to be taboo – mental illness. And more specifically, one's own.

Update at 8:00:

I didn't use today either.

Friday November 6, 1998 At work

In between calls at the Help Desk today, I’ve been deep in thought. You see, last night I went to bed after posting the updates to the site, shortly after 8:00. I was really looking forward to a nice long night’s sleep. I was awakened by the phone just before 10:00. It was Jeff. He said he felt real bad about how things went Monday night and Tuesday morning. He said he missed me, and asked if I’d like to come over to Debbie’s for a talk.

This, was a monumental decision. Stay home and sleep in a nice warm bed, or drive out in the cold in a car with no driver’s side window, to sit in a dark, unheated apartment and mend fences with my best friend. Boy, that bed sure looked good. And I’d just put the flannel sheets on for winter. (I worship the inventor of flannel sheets!)

I got dressed and froze my ass driving over to Debbie’s. You know, we’ve had enough tiffs in the past that you’d think we’d have this making-up part down pat. But it’s still awkward. He’d been drinking, so we really didn’t get much said or settled. But we set a time for after work today when we’ll both be sober an able to settle things a bit more rationally. It was nice to have some time together anyway, and even Debbie was pleased when as I was leaving we hugged long and strong.

Sunday November 8, 1998 3:00AM

I’m going to have to ask Jeff later today, "When did it all change?" At some point, fairly recently, a line was crossed. Something changed in our relationship. Something profound and forever. And I missed it.

Thursday night, Jeff suggested that we sit down for a long talk, with both of us sober. That’s really what I’ve wanted to do for a long time, but the last time I remember him being sober was when he was in jail. Anyway, we set a time, right after work on Friday. The bus comes within a few blocks of Debbie’s and I got over there just after six.

He seemed mildly perturbed that I’d arrived without the car. We walked to my place, I made him come up while I got the keys and stuff, just so he could see the busted up furniture and my blood all over the place. He said nothing but seemed very uncomfortable. We went out and he stole dinner for he and Debbie, then had me drop him off. After contributing $3.00 gas, transportation and $5.00 cash to the endeavor, I netted two candy bars and half a sub out of the deal.

This morning, (Saturday) I woke up all full of piss and vinegar. By 10:00 I was well on my way through a cleaning fit. Cleaning fits generally happen to me when one of three things occurs: I’m angry, my depression starts to lift, or I quit smoking. I hit three out of three and it was off to the races.

The apartment hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned since about January, (no kidding). Oh sure, I’d picked up and straightened up a bit here and there, but the place always had that lived-in look. Well, closer to borderline squalor. Maybe not even borderline.

Anyway, it took nearly nine hours to get it looking reasonably presentable. The only things remaining to be done are washing the walls and ceiling, just over a cubic yard of dirty laundry, and the bathroom. The bathroom is actually in pretty good shape, so it can wait until I do laundry. I hate to clean the bathroom and then have all the cleaning towels and stuff hanging around in the laundry. And I did cheat a bit on the desk. Rather than go through every last little piece of paper, I tossed most everything. I found and kept the letters Jeff sent me, and I finally found the title for the car.

Nine hours to clean a 350 square-foot apartment. And neither the blinds nor the CD shelves will pass the white glove test. Now along with the other stuff mentioned before that remains to be done, you can imagine what a mess the place was in. There’s enough left to keep me busy for a while.

Sunday November 8, 1998 10:00PM

There is so much to say, yet I have no words. I feel so many things, yet I feel nothing. Everything seems the same, but it’s all different. I want to run, but there’s no place to go. I’m tired, but I cannot sleep. I want to be alone, yet I yearn for company.

Up to Mon/Tue, Wed1, Wed2, Thu, Fri

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