It's a little long but hopefully you can stick with it to the end.
Staying Put
1 week down, 51 to go. I neared the end of my first week in a year-long rehab, suddenly struck by the reality that 10 years had passed since my last sober day. This short time of sobriety was reminding me why I stayed high for the last decade. Selfishness, pride, irritation, frustration and a know-it-all attitude hung on me like costume jewelry on a girl playing dress up. Thought to be glittery and sparkling ornaments that highlighted my beauty and independence, they were really gaudy embellishments hiding my true identity. But I was drawn by their flashy allure, much like the life I left behind. I still envisioned the streets that helped feed my heroin and crack cocaine addiction for years, the streets that adorned me with many of these dismal qualities, as my home. I believed the neighborhoods and corners littered with dealers and remnants of users to be safer than where I currently resided. I spent hours looking out the window of my room at night as the street lights cast their fluorescent glow on the pavement below, watching people move up and down the sidewalk, going places I couldn’t, and wishing I was free. Freedom meant doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted without any concern for the effects my choices had on others, or myself. It was freedom without love, and life without love is not free. But I couldn’t see past myself to know it.
There has always been a part in me that doesn’t settle down easily; a part always looking for the greener grass or the end of the rainbow, despite the cantankerous leprechaun that comes with it. I call it Restless and it’s been with me since I can remember. Restless always appeared at challenging times of life, my first stay in a rehab being no exception. That first trip 2 years before didn’t go as planned. The agonizing days of detox, writhing in my bed all hours of the night, being forced to attend meetings during the day despite waves of nausea and cramping muscles, gave Restless a giant platform from which to call. My hatred for the place intensified the cry. I hated the way it smelled, the way it looked, the way the people there sounded. I really hated who I had become, but I was too blinded by my misguided perceptions of freedom, and self, to see it. Restless took the opportunity to scream “Run!” So I did. I made one call to Bill and within hours our feet were pounding the pavement in unison. We lasted one month without heroin. Now 2 years later, we were facing a year-long stay at a new rehab or 2 more years in jail. We chose rehab.
I spent one week in the program before Bill arrived, and it was Easter Sunday when I saw him. Easter had become a faint memory for me by now, much like the faith in which I was raised. The first Easter I spent skipping church was during my freshman year in college. That Resurrection morning found me walking home from a night of partying, still awake as the sun came up, and feeling that twisted sense of freedom again. I passed by a church where an enormous cross, at least 3 stories high, leaned against the building, and I was consumed with insolence. I stared down this symbol of all I thought to be holding me down, much like a standoff in the Wild West. Chest puffed like a gun-toting outlaw glaring at the sheriff, I took one final drag of my cigarette, flicked it at the cross and turned away. Restless was silent that morning, subdued by the freedom I thought I found.
This Easter morning was different though. This year, Restless was again crying to be heard and I was having a hard time not listening. I smiled when I saw Bill, by now my husband of almost 2 years. I remember he smiled at me too. I’m sure he was a little taken aback by the 20 lbs I put on since last he saw me, but if he was concerned by my weight gain, I didn’t see it. All I could see were his brilliant brown eyes and the hope shining through them that morning. The hope was vivid and true and I thought for a moment I could grab it, to snatch a piece for myself, something to feed Restless so it would quiet down. Everything in me ached to run to him, to feel him touch my skin, to have his arms, wasted as they were, wrapping around me. I knew all too well those arms had no strength left in them, but like a child running to the arms of a father hoping he could make the deafening thunder of a violent storm cease, I wanted to believe he could save me. Deep down I knew if I ran to him, if I tumbled into him like a dance partner out of step and missing the beat, I might knock him off his feet; I might knock that hopeful light right out of those eyes. I couldn’t ask him to make the deafening thunder stop, and we couldn’t outrun this storm, no matter how much I wanted to believe we could. Restless made it hard to sit still, to not run, and to let Bill’s light shine. But I did.
The few stolen glances I had with Bill that Easter Sunday were enough to hold me over for that day, but Monday was another story. Monday found me back in my self-centered way of life, thinking only of my needs, my wants, my hurts, and what could possibly fulfill them. Monday found me staring out the windows, stolen glances of the world I had left behind, dreaming of days wandering the streets snorting my dope and smoking my pipe. Monday found me planning my escape, but not just my escape – our escape. There was no thought of leaving Bill behind – we were a unit, a team, and we needed each other, almost more than we needed the drugs. Every moment spent apart from him fed the fire within the belly of Restless, making it grow stronger until it was almost uncontrollable.
I lay in bed that night, thinking of how and when I would go, and I was scared. I knew if I got arrested again I was going back to jail for 2 years, and the same sentence was waiting for Bill. I decided we’d just have to run farther. The belief that we could run away from the issues we faced was growing, and Restless helped me believe. Running was the answer for just about everything, especially to quiet Restless. I seemed to forget we had no money, no car, and no support in the world anywhere.
In the silence of that night as I paused to consider the darkness around me, I heard the faint whisper of a new voice. This voice was not my long-time companion Restless. As a matter of fact, this voice held Restless at bay, something I had yet to do on my own. It did not scream to be heard, nor was it frightening, but softly and clearly said, “When you run, Bill will follow. If you love him, give him the chance to be free.”
There was no mistaking the message, and my heart tore in two as the words echoed in my soul. This new voice was one of love and self-sacrifice, and I was unfamiliar with its character. It lit a spark deep within, a spark that showed the hollowness which filled my heart. This voice asked me if I loved Bill enough to stay and wrestle my demons to the ground, no matter how much it hurt. My answer was this: I could make no promises about tomorrow but I would stay today, Monday, this day after Easter. It was all I had to give, but for the first time in a long time, I gave something.
Each day I stayed this voice of clarity and peace grew stronger, and Restless became weaker. As I listened to the new voice, I grew to understand what it meant to love enough to stay put, to not run away, no matter how difficult the change. Love didn’t ask it; love required it.
13 years down, and hoping for 50 more. We’ve been clean from drugs for 11 years and while Restless still shows up now and again, it’s a voice much softer these days. Learning to sit still when all you want to do is run takes time and effort, but knowing what it means to love enough to not run, to fight for change even when it hurts, is freedom, and love, worth the effort of staying put.
