Let me preface this post by saying the following:
I understand the disease of addiction. I know it makes you say and do things you would not normally do. I understand that it grabs you and refuses to let go, even when you will it to. It is a disease that has no "cure". It is an affliction you live with for the rest of your life. I get it. I understand it. And, of course, I empathize with it, not just as a nurse but someone in active recovery.
That said, all empathy went out the proverbial window tonight when I met Jessica.
I've seen Jessica before. She's been to my outpatient therapy classes a few times. Everytime she was there, I would watch her. She would nod out. She would roll her eyes. She would scratch her skin incessantly; something that opiate addicts do when their drug levels are pretty high. I knew she was an addict. I mean, everyone there is at varying stages of recovery.
Jessica is there voluntarily. She was not court appointed. She was not mandated to go there by her job or anything like that. Rather, Jessica was there on the advice of her attorney. Jessica was busted by the DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency) for trafficking drugs. She was caught with approximately $20,000 worth of opiates in her home. They had been taping her and her boyfriend for months, under their ever watchful scrutiny, just waiting for her to fuck up. And, as all addicts, fuck up she did. She sold some opiates to an agent who was wearing a wire. In an instant, a swarm of undercover agents busted open her door and infested her house. They tore the place apart finding her entire stash, guns and a shitload of cash. Everything was confiscated and Jessica, along with her boyfriend, were taken to jail.
She was released to the custody of her grandparents with a bond of $125,000 dollars.
Jessica is looking at approximately 9-20 years in prison. She is 21 years old and basically, she has thrown her entire life away. Her story broke my heart. She is only a couple of years younger than my own daughter. She's in a huge amount of trouble. Huge.
Tonight, Jessica came into group, high again and proceeded to tell us how much she "misses the lifestyle" that her drug dealing afforded her.
"I had a Jaguar with only one payment left on it," she said. "I had my own home. I never had to work a day in my life."
Slowly, I felt my empathy wasting away. I took a few deep, cleansing breaths to try to calm down my contempt. Okay. She misses the money. Alright. Fine. Not for me to judge. I opted to stay silent and let her finish talking.
"I really don't HAVE to be here," she continued, "it will just look good to the judge if I show him that I am getting help."
10...9...8...
"I'm really only here because I sold drugs. I'm not an addict."
7...6...5...another cleansing breath...
"You all are here because you have to be. I don't have to be here. My lawyer said I should come."
4...3...2...BREATH, CP, BREATH.
"I'm in the middle of school, getting my Associates Degree right now. I'm graduating in December."
And inside, I had reached DEFCOM ONE.
"Jessica," I said, pointedly, "May I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Did your drug money pay for school?"
"No," she said with the slightest smirk on her face. "I got financial aid."
HOUSTON...WE HAVE LIFT OFF!
"So, you are telling me that you could afford a Jaguar, your own home, didn't have to work a day in your life, but you applied and received financial aid?"
"Yep."
Now, I am fuming. If you're an addict, you're an addict. You want to kill yourself in the process with the drugs, by all means, kill yourself with the drugs. It's your choice what to do with your own body, your own life. But I am listening to this CHILD tell me how she made nearly a hundred thousand dollars by dealing to others. Then, on top of this, she steals the financial aid out of the pockets of kids who are earnestly trying to make something out of themselves.
"Didn't you make enough money to pay your tuition?"
"Yes, but why should I pay for it if I could get financial aid?"
This is about the time that CP lost her fucking mind.
"What's the matter, CP," my counselor inquires. He knows damn fucking well what's the matter with me. He is just encouraging me to blow up on this kid. He wants her to get it both barrels, not just from me, but from every member of the group.
"What's the matter with me? The matter with me is that I broke my fucking ass to get my child her college education. I worked double shifts at the hospital. My husband took an extra job to supplement us. She didn't qualify for financial aid because, on paper, it looked like my husband made too much money. We scrimped and saved for her to be able to go...and this...this...ARGH!"
I couldn't even get the words out of my mouth. For the first time in a very long time, I flipped out. Lost my patience. And then, I turned inward. I had no business yelling at her. But, in that moment, I hated her. I absolutely hated this girl because she represented every single thing that I can't stand. People that suck the system dry. People who callously abuse the privilege of financial aid...taking from the "have nots". I detest that.
But, I shut up. I stopped talking.
Thankfully, the rest of the group felt exactly the same way I did. They took turns admonishing her for various things. Her abuse of the financial aid system. The fact that she was coming to counseling for the show of it all. The fact that she came in there completely fucked up on drugs...because she could.
To see her there swaying back and forth, scratching her arms and legs, her eyes rolling back in her head? Huge trigger factor for many in the group. Not a good thing for a room full of addicts to be privy to. It's unfair to the rest of us to have to sit there, actively trying to recover, while this little one comes in because it looks good to the court.
Our counselor asked us if this was upsetting us, seeing her like this, listening to what she was saying. We all agreed that it did. It bothered us all immensely for various reasons. We have all been there. We all know what it is like to fall asleep in the middle of whatever we were doing. No judgment there. But in this situation, there are people who are struggling to stay clean. They are submitting to drug testing. They are in danger of dying if they don't do everything they can to get well. And these people should be the top priority.
I left the office feeling very angry, hurt and confused. There was no regret in her voice. She isn't taking responsibility for anything. She's not interested in getting clean. She's interested in not doing 9-20 years for trafficking. She's interested in getting felony probation. She's interested in getting the hell out of our class so she can go home and keep using.
And, unfortunately and much to my dismay, she left me feeling the same way.
I won't pick up. I won't use. My life and sobriety is too important to me. I have come way too far to allow this to shake me, to bring me to my knees. But, she put it in the back of my mind, my addicted mind and I don't like the way it feels. It's uncomfortable to sit with this feeling in my chest and in my mind. I haven't been triggered to want to use in a long time.
Then came Jessica.
And I hate her for leaving me alone with this monster.
Labels: addiction, opiates, sobriety, support, therapy, tolerance, triggers