Sunday, April 29, 2012


I'm sorry I used the word dick-head in my last post. My husband said it was "raunchy". It was just the first word that came to mind and I didn't feel like censoring. One of the rules (are they rules? no, more like tenets, I think) of recovery is honesty and I'm embracing that right now. So if I feel like saying dick-head, I'm just going to say it.

But, once again, I'm getting ahead of myself. This is part 2 of the story I started yesterday about my daughter.

After she called to say she wasn't going to rehab, we had no choice but to continue as usual. No enabling, which means no offer of a shower or a bed or food, and a lot of worrying, stressing, and crying. I didn't hear from her again for 4 days.

I was at work when I got the call. It was a police officer and he said he found her and her boyfriend sleeping in a vacant house. He had brought her to my house, where she was outside talking to her brother. I headed home.

My daughter is a small girl and has always looked younger than her age. At almost 19, she still looks about 14. This is what tugged at the officer's heartstrings and prompted him to call instead of arresting her for trespassing or letting her just walk away back onto the street. She reminded him of his 14 year old daughter.

The officer and I spoke for a bit. He said there were 2 other men staying in the house. They were bad guys with bad records that would wind up in prison, he had no doubt. Apparently, my daughter had broken up with her boyfriend (which she's done several times in the 6 months they've been together) and one of the other men was trying to convince her to go with him. The officer, bless his heart, couldn't stand to leave her there and risk her going from the frying pan to the fire, so brought her home.

His intention was that if she came home and got cleaned up and spent time with her family, that she'd realize how much better life could be than being out on the streets. But I don't think he realized that addiction overrides comfort. If I let my daughter stay and shower and refuel, it would only be a matter of hours before she'd leave in search of her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, and/or her drug.

I have to say though, that I'm grateful for all the officers out there that truly do care. They see so much suffering and sadness and stupidity it's a wonder they aren't all jaded and cynical. But there are many who are still tenderhearted and care and go out of their way to try to help.

He talked a bit more to my daughter to try to reach her heart, and he did for a moment. She cried and admitted she needed help. I asked her if she would go with me to a treatment center to just check it out and see what it was like. I'd asked her this question before, and the answer was always no. But this time, she agreed. It wasn't exactly a commitment to treatment, but it was a start.

When we arrived, we talked to an intake specialist who was the perfect combination of compassion and directness. A recovering addict himself, he tried to encourage my daughter to commit to treatment on the spot, but the best she would do was to say that she would come back. She did fill out intake paperwork though, which surprised me.

We toured the center and she was quiet, but positive. When we were done, the specialist and I tried to convince her again to commit to treatment, but she said she had to go back to the area where the officer picked her up because "people" (a.k.a. other users) saw her driving away in a cop car, without handcuffs, and talking to an officer, so if she disappeared for a while, they would think she's a snitch. And bad things happen to snitches.

Of course, that was more paranoia and excuses than anything else. Maybe on the streets there's some truth to that, but I doubt any users that saw her would even remember it after their next high, so it likely wasn't a real issue.

But, once again, she couldn't be persuaded to go to treatment right then. She said she would call me later that night. She did, but still wasn't ready to go. I was disappointed, but still felt like although it wasn't a triumph, it was a small step forward. Maybe enough small steps would eventually get her there.

I next heard from her 3 days later, from jail. That's part 3 of my story. I promise to post it tomorrow.

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