Timing
Argh. Finally have time to blog- at 3 am in the morning. Just wrapped up packing for a conference tomorrow. Have to make it until 6:30 to catch the flight. Too much coffee, too many cigs. So please forgive if this post is a bit boggly.
So, the last of the Bad Things Before Leaving On Business occurred right on time last night.
Knitting Success
It started off as a lovely evening. I was knitting with the Artist and another person at Barnes and Nobles in Towson. I was making a hat for an ill child, and one of the customers came over and asked if I sold my hats.
"I would."
"Can I buy this one?" he pointed at the hat I'd just finished.
"No, this one is for a sick kid. I can make one just like it, though."
So he left me a $20 and his email and phone number. Excellent. This is a 1-2 hour project, and a little extra cash is always handy. And it's just cool that someone wanted to buy something I made. I went home happy.
The Ex
The Ex called around midnight, very depressed, and asked if he could come over and talk a bit. Since I was wide awake, I said yes. I've only seen him briefly since Thanksgiving, and since he sounded so down and out, I thought it would be okay.
It was a pretty brutal conversation, though. He didn't like any of it, although I felt better getting a lot of things out in the open. He's in a bad situation, he has no money, no job, he's down and out, etc. He denied using drugs, instead saying that he's trying hard to avoid them. He said that something has to change. The usual conversation of an addict, trying to say the right things in order to get something.
I gave him a pack of smokes, and not much else. I very clearly said told him that I wasn't going to get into the "is he using or not?" game, that his behavior was bizarre and erratic, and I was making my decisions from his behavior. Based on his behavior, my best option was to step out of the way and separate from him.
He got no money and not much sympathy, just my take on how he was doing (e.g., not well) and an offer of FRIENDLY support (e.g., rides to NA meetings, dr appts, etc.) It was okay, clear boundaries were set and maintained, and I had clearly indicated that my time with him was going to be limited. We went outside for a smoke, but before he lit up he abruptly said "I'm going home." And off he went.
So, I thought, that went as well as could be expected.
Night Check
A few hours later, around 2:30 am, I finally got ready for bed. I went through my mental checklist:
Work: good for the day.
Friends: seen/spoken with, good.
Family: talked with sis. Good.
the Ex: taken care of.
Knitting: splendid.
All other business: fine for now.
All is well, I thought, time for sleep.
I'd forgotten that it was two days before leaving, and that something was bound to happen. Silly me.
Travel Curse
Maybe 10 minutes after turning off the light, I heard something at the door. I keep my keys in the inside lock (so I can always find them), and they were jingling against the door. Someone was slowly fiddling with the lock, trying to get in.
My mind went blank, I froze, then my brain started flashing: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!
My heart went from 0 to 120 in a split second. I grabbed my cell phone (which I thankfully charge next to my bed). I dialed 911 and got ready to hit send.
The jingling stopped, and I heard the lock click and the door open.
Panicked, I hit Send.
F!ck f!ck f!ck!!! I did a quick mental list- no weapons nearby, I live in a tiny apartment, nowhere to go or hide...
The 911 operator picked up after half a ring. "911, what is your emergency?"
"WHO'S THERE?" I called out loudly. Silence.
"I'M AT [street address] AND SOMEONE IS BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE." I said loudly and slowly.
A second passed, and I heard the door click shut.
I gave the operator more information. The apartment was silent. I can't see the door from my bed, so I had no idea whether the person had stepped inside or whether the fact that I was obviously awake and calling the police had scared him/her off. I hadn't turned on the lights, and hadn't even put on my glasses, so I couldn't see anything, not even into the front room where the door was located.
I don't think I've ever been as bone-through outright terrified in my life.
Thankfully, the police arrived quickly, maybe two or three minutes. They called to let me know they were there, and I finally turned on the lights and went out to meet them.
About five police were there. They didn't even laugh at my Medusa hair and ragged red bathroom and my horrible slip-on ruby shoes and filthy glasses. They checked out my door, and were strong in their conclusion that the door hadn't been jimmied. There were no marks, scrapes, indentations, or other material lying around the entrance. Either I'd left it unlocked, or someone had the key (or, although not said, I was insane and hallucinating [a possibility, considering my appearance]or had an over-active imagination). They asked me to lock the door from the inside- they weren't able to force it open.
"This is a solid door, ma'am. No one is getting in if you lock it and they don't have a key."
"Well, that's good news, " I said. "Maybe I left it unlocked- no one else has a key."
They checked the alleys and houses nearby. I nervously smoked a cigarette outside, watching them. All clear. They told me to call again if I heard anything suspicious, and left.
Hmm. Only one other person has a key to my apartment- the Brit, who lives out of town, and, had he gotting stuck somewhere and needed a place to crash, would surely have called or at least identified himself when I called out.
I do have an extra key, however. I'd put it on my kitchen counter this weekend, when the Tattoo Artist came to visit, in case he'd wanted to run to the shop for smokes or OJ or anything.
The key was not on the counter. I keep my spare key in one of two places, and thought perhaps I'd put it away mindlessly.
Fat chance- I rarely put anything away, mindlessly or otherwise. The key was in neither place.
Lightbulb
That's when the nervousness turned into rage. I picked up my cell and called the Ex. "Ex, this is Jenn. You need to call me as soon as you get this. It is 4 am, I'll be up for a while."
Then, stepping outside, my rage morphed again. I had to just laugh at myself. You'd think I'd know better. I hadn't made my house "addict-proof" before he'd come over, the extra key was out on the counter. I had just invited this fear and drama right in: come on over, it's easy-pickins.
An active addict will do anything. I know this. It's outright silliness to expect an active addict to behave in any sane, rational manner. He'd held it together pretty well while talking with me, and I hadn't realized just how far gone he was.
One good thing about addiction is that the truth always shows up to set you straight, and it never takes long.
My first order of business today was to change the lock. I went out and got a new bolt lock, and upon my return home the guy who lives upstairs came down to find out why the cops came. I told him, and offered him a 6-pack if he'd change the locks for me. That was an easy deal.
I now have a nice, secure Hobbit Hole, with new locks. I will be away for the next few days, and my apartment should be safe.
Overview
In a weird way, I feel sort of good about the whole thing, now that I understand what happened. This is finally it. Finally the end. I really did do what I could, with a clear conscience. When he started to get better, I extended my friendship and love, and supported him as well as I could. When he started to go south, I saw it relatively quickly and pulled back. I didn't enable or contribute or make excuses.
It's his illness, and this time I didn't get stuck in it or take it on as my own responsibility to help him get better.
Basically, although not all my decisions were good ones, overall I am satisfied with how I handled the whole situation.
I know this whole thing must seem stupid to most people. If you haven't had the experience, the answers are clear and obvious: why ever even talk to him again? Why did I agree to talk with him last night? Why??
I will say this: addiction is just one of several serious mental illnesses. My three years with him before he picked up were brilliant. He was a fine, smart, responsible, respectful, hardworking man. He was trustworthy, treated me very well, he was solid.
Look towards the person you hold most dear- your spouse, or significant other, or your brother or sister, and imagine a horrible change occurring. Because of my profession, I see this scenario day in and day out. Strange and significant changes sometime occur to people in their 20s and 30s. Suddenly the person you love begins to act differently. They become sullen and withdrawn (depression). Or they become paranoid, accusatory (schizophrenia), or perhaps they have tremendous amounts of energy, become nonsensical, become sexually provocative or aggressive (bi-polar). The person you've known and loved becomes someone quite different. You don't know what to do. You feel uncertain, scared, and helpless. And you *are* helpless. As with most things in life, it is up to the person to decide to address an issue, even and perhaps especially the serious, life-threatening issues.
In my profession, I am witness to both the horrors and the triumphs. I know that treatment works for most, although not all, people. Even without the knowledge that things can get better, people generally hope and wish and pray that their loved ones do recuperate, that things can get better, that life can return to what it was. We all tend to grab onto things that give us hope, and we generally try to see the best in the people that we love. I guarantee you that, if your beloved had gone through something like this, you, too, would have hoped for the best, and perhaps you also would have opened up again when their recovery began.
I had- and still have- great hope for the Ex. I am not ashamed or embarassed that I opened my life back up to him as he got clean. I am glad that I maintained certain boundaries, while also being glad that for a short time I got to share in a period of time when he was getting well.
In AA and NA, it is sometimes thought that "relapse is part of recovery." This is also true for most of the major mood disorders. People get treatment, they get better, they get well enough that they feel that they no longer need treatment, they stop treatment, and they get sick again. Treatment can be pharmacological, therapy, and/or lifestyle. Once they feel better, they tend to go back to what they knew, what was familiar, they stop the drugs, stop seeing the therapist, and/or go back into the lifestyle that promoted/supported the illness. It's a cycle, and the addiction recovery often goes along the same lines. At some point, the people who survive decide to stick with treatment. But very rarely is it the first time.
I come armed with this knowledge. I will always care for the Ex. I will always hope that he makes the decision to get and stay clean, and to do whatever it takes to maintain his sobriety. I will always hope that he finds his way.
And so, even though I know that I opened the door, I invited him in, and I took the risk of having things go badly, I am still glad that I did it. I am also glad that I now know when to close the door.
I feel that I have done what I would have wanted someone else to do for me, were the tables turned. I feel that I have done what I would have counseled a caregiver to do.
Also, I now am very clear that I am just like anyone else, just like any caregiver who walks into our office, any hurt, scared, angry caregiver on the phone, and that the person they love is probably just like my Ex- someone who has changed from who they were. That is the case whether the patient has a mood disorder, a traumatic brain injury, dementia, or stroke, or an addiction. I have empathy that I didn't know existed before. I also now understand why the rational method isn't always the best method, or why it is often the path least taken at first.
In a strange way, I have gained a lot from this entire four year experience. I wouldn't want to go through it again, but I am also sort of glad for the experience. I'm not glad for his experience, for his struggles, or for the pain this has and will continue to cause to his loved ones. I wish it hadn't happened at all- but if it did have to happen, I am glad that I was there to witness it, to share in it. I am glad that I was there to care for him, before and even after. I hope that somewhere in his heart he remembers that people care and love him. I am a better person for having gone through it, and I'm glad for that.
I'm also a rambling blogger at this point. It is now 5:20 am, and time to make more coffee and get ready to go to the airport.
