Post #13 ~Part 7 - The Day I Found My Way Home

When I stood in front of the judge, I made the same promise I had made so many times before.

“This time I will go to treatment as soon as I get out.”

But he could see right through the words I was trying to deliver. I had told them too many times before.

He looked at me and said,

“This time, a treatment center will have to come pick you up from jail. Do you know which one you want to go to?”

Without hesitation, I said, “The Clare Foundation.”

They put me on a bus down to Lynwood that night.

Once I got there, I started feeling sick again. I was starving all the time. I would eat, and it would come right back out of me almost immediately.

Thank goodness my bunkie was understanding. She even started giving me some of her food because I was that hungry.

After a couple of weeks, they sent me to the doctor. He told me that with all the meth I had been putting into my body, I had severely damaged my intestines. They gave me medication and hoped it would help.

To this day I still deal with intestinal issues because of the choices I made during my addiction.

As the days passed, I started getting worried. The treatment center still had not come to pick me up. Thirty days had gone by, and most people had already been picked up by then.

I called the public defender’s office, but no one would respond.

I started thinking,

This is just my luck. I’m never getting out.

Finally, I spoke to my public defender, and they couldn’t believe I was still sitting in custody. They immediately set a court date.

On my fortieth day in custody, the judge explained what had happened.

They had discovered that the Clare Foundation, the place I had chosen, does not pick people up from jail.

The judge looked at me and said,

“I’m releasing you today with your promise that you will check yourself into the Clare Foundation.”

Without hesitation, I promised.

And for the first time in a very long time… I meant it.

Looking back now, I can see how my Higher Power, whom I choose to call God, was working in my life even when I couldn’t see it.

Sometimes, He puts obstacles in our path to give us a chance to make a different decision.

Those forty days in jail gave me something I hadn’t had in years.

Time to think.

Time to think about my children.

Time to think about my family.

Time to remember all the damage I had caused in my addiction.

Because if that judge had released me on day three, I would have gone right back out and gotten high.

Everything that happened lined up in a way I couldn’t have planned myself.

My sister and her mother-in-law prayed over me.

A police officer just happened to see me and arrest me.

The judge decided to remand me into custody.

And I just happened to choose a treatment center that doesn’t pick people up from jail.

So, I sat there for forty days.

Forty days that would change the direction of my life.

The day I was released, my dad came to pick me up. I told him the truth.

“I can’t go back to the streets and stay off drugs.”

He said, “We’re taking you to the Palmdale house. There’s nothing there because we’ve already moved, but we left a twin mattress and some food for you. Here’s a pack of cigarettes.”

I stayed there for about a week.

Then my mom drove me to Santa Monica so I could check into the Clare Foundation.

When I got there, they told me they didn’t have a bed available yet. But they gave me instructions on what I needed to do while I waited.

I followed every direction.

I applied for food stamps, medical assistance, and cash aid so I would have insurance to cover treatment.

My food stamps and medical were approved quickly, but the cash aid still needed approval.

I was terrified.

Where was I supposed to stay while I waited for a bed?

The woman helping me said, “We can get you a hotel voucher.”

I remember thinking, maybe I’ll get a decent hotel and a real mattress.

They told me to take a bus outside and ride it to the last stop, then follow their directions.

So, I did.

The bus dropped me off in South Los Angeles.

The hotel room they gave me had stains on the bed.

I had slept in worse places, but being clean made the smell in that room almost unbearable.

The one bright spot was that I now had food stamps.

At least I could eat.

I started meeting some of the other people staying in the hotel. One guy warned me not to walk around after dark.

I thought to myself, I’m not afraid of anything.

He said, “Well, if you’re going, I’m walking with you.”

We walked to a corner store that looked exactly like something out of a movie. On each corner stood a guy openly slinging dope.

I walked up and said hello.

He looked at me and said, “You’re good, sis. Have a good night.”

The guy walking with me couldn’t believe it.

“So, you got it like that, huh?”

I just smiled.

Right in that moment, he could see the kind of life I had lived.

The next morning, I got a phone call.

They had a bed for me.

I needed to get there immediately.

I arrived at treatment with fifty days clean, which was different from most people walking through those doors.

But getting clean doesn’t mean your behaviors magically change overnight.

Within a few weeks, some of the guys decided to play matchmaker between a guy everyone called Grumpy and me.

We both came from the biker world, and we immediately connected.

The problem was that relationships were strictly forbidden in treatment.

And if you remember from earlier in my story, relationships were my kryptonite.

That part of me wasn’t healed yet.

Eventually, I got kicked out of treatment.

An ex-boyfriend found out I was seeing Grumpy and confronted him at the Clare sober living. There was an altercation, and they asked me to leave.

I was furious.

But I still wanted to stay clean.

My parents helped me move into a sober living house.

About a month later, I met another guy, and we started dating. I needed a job to pay rent, but I couldn’t find one.

So, we came up with what felt like a brilliant idea at the time.

We decided to sell dope.

By the end of the night, we were getting high in a hotel room.

We made a promise to only snort it so things wouldn’t get out of control.

By the next day, I was in Venice putting a needle in my arm.

When he found out, he was furious.

“But you promised,” he said.

I looked at him and gave him the most honest answer I could.

“I don’t know what kind of addict you are, but this is the kind of addict I am. There is no control. There are no promises kept. It’s all about getting as high as I can.”

Jason and I split up.

I ran into Grumpy again, and we started hanging out.

Both of us were getting high.

There were so many nights when Grumpy would overdose on heroin. This was before fentanyl had taken over the streets.

I would have to shoot him with meth or slap him just to bring him back.

I was terrified he was going to die.

But even that wasn’t enough to make us stop.

Eventually, my best friend Lisa got hold of me.

“You need to come here,” she said. “I’m afraid you’re going to die. I’ll come pick you up.”

For the first time in a long time, I said yes.

She said, “I’m driving down from Spokane. I’ll call you when I get close.”

But my phone died, and she couldn’t reach me for two hours.

She called my dad, and they assumed I had run again. She turned around and went back.

Instead, they told me to get myself to the Greyhound station in Los Angeles.

It took me a week to get there.

I had to get enough dope for the trip. There was no way I was going to detox on a bus.

Before boarding, I went into the bathroom and shot up.

When I came out, my dope was gone.

I searched everywhere.

It had completely disappeared.

So there I was… detoxing on the Greyhound bus whether I liked it or not.

When I called Lisa and told her I was on my way, she said,

“We’ll get you to Portland. We’re at Ocean Shores for a 12-step convention.”

I warned her.

“Don’t be surprised when you see me. I don’t look like the same person anymore.”

When the bus arrived in Portland, I was passed out in my seat.

The driver had to wake me up.

I stepped off that bus weighing ninety pounds.

I had no teeth.

My bones were sticking out everywhere.

Lisa saw me and immediately started crying.

“We need to feed you,” she said.

And somehow… we laughed.

What I didn’t realize was that I was about to walk into the moment that would change my life.

We went back to the hotel, and I fell asleep immediately.

The next morning, March 9th, 2013, I went with Lisa, her husband, and their friends to the meeting.

There was a speaker, and then everyone circled up.

I had never felt that much love in one place before.

They asked if anyone had one day clean?

I raised my hand.

They brought me into the center of the circle.

People with less than six months surrounded me.

Then people with one year.

Then people with multiple years.

And they started singing Lean on Me.

I completely broke down.

In that moment, I knew something I hadn’t known in a very long time.

I was home.

This program could save my life.

And so far, it has.

That moment in that circle changed the direction of my life.

For the first time in years, I felt something stronger than addiction.

Hope.

I didn’t yet know exactly how recovery worked. I didn’t know how I was going to rebuild the damage I had caused. I didn’t know if I was capable of becoming the person my family deserved.

But I knew one thing.

I never wanted to live the way I had been living again.

And one day at a time, I didn’t.

Because with God’s grace, tomorrow morning I will wake up with thirteen years clean.

But recovery didn’t magically fix everything overnight.

Getting clean was just the beginning.

Learning how to live… that was the real work.

And that is a story worth telling, too.

So, while this chapter of my life may be closing, the next one is just beginning.

And I can’t wait to share it with you

This isn’t the end of my story.

It’s the beginning of the life recovery gave me.

Thank you for being here.

One day at a time,

Roni

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Lisa and me - March 9, 2013

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