Here we are again…learning of yet another soul taken by addiction. That is the stark truth about this fatal disease…it kills, and does not care who the fuck you are. I met Hayden about 11 years ago, when I went to family week at Aidan’s first (of 18) rehab, in Utah. This was a high end, plush, equine therapy doing, helicopter riding, chefs cooking kind of place. Cuz like, when you send you child to rehab, you really hope it’s a one and done, so why not go someplace nice (so much irony in that). So when Aidan introduced me to his friend Hayden, I was not surprised pieces of Hollywood were there.
Like most of the people there, she had a sad and sullen face. And for good reason….that was around the time she was dealing with postpartum depression and such. What I saw when my eyes met hers, was a tiny, doe eyed mother, so young, probably scared, and hopefully desperate. We said hi, and went our separate ways to have gourmet lunch. What I found unsettling was that she didn’t have family there for Family Week….who knows the reason(s), but it still struck me as tragic.
The disease of addiction is a sneaky mother fucker, to put it mildly. Yesterday, I celebrated 17 years of sobriety. With the most incredible group of women. It is our tradition, that when it’s your “anniversary”, you tell your story….specifically, what it was like, what happened, and what it’s like now. Mouth moving for 45 minutes, hearing myself talk, seeing the faces of those listening, and ending with shaking hands and a dry mouth…I struck me- OUR STORIES….wow, the3 things we experience, live through grow from, grapple with, etc.. We all have our own stories, all very unique, but yet containing similar threads….most commonly the threads of fear, not being good enough, imposture shit, and wanting control. Trauma bonding? Yeah, I’d say so.
Aidan has his story…. Which you can read in Profiles of Mental Health Courage (chapter #11). Hayden has hers. I have mine, which yesterday included the crystal clear insanity of birth to 57 years old..to include- living on an Indian reservation in New Mexico and being the only white student, lots of drugs in the home(s), my first drink on Pali High field…first sip tasted like poison and the next sip felt like I can do anything (thank you Jay S. for carrying me home, with pee in my pants and vomit probably on you), to Jack Nicholson “adventures”, and all wrapped up in a perfect, poetic bow….my last drink being EXACTLY where I started- the Palisades. Our stories really sound like survival narrative. And some of us survive, and some of us don’t. That’s the heart breaking truth.
I’m alive, Aidan’s alive, my women’s group angels are alive. We are the lucky (blessed) ones. It is miracle each and everyday, that we all stay sober. Truly. It is not easy….because…life still happens. But with each other, we can do it. At the end of the meeting yesterday, someone said, “We are all one drink away from ending up like Jenny (a former group member who was found in a river, dead….from alcohol and drugs).” And that is the scariest and truest statement. I could be me. It could be Aidan. Any of us. Today was Hayden.
I sit here, in deep gratitude, that my first born son is alive, after 18 rehabs and 12 years of hell. I know moms who can not say that anymore. I’m spinning in reality of addiction and its power, people and their fragility, life on life’s terms…and just how hard it all is.
P.S.- Thank you Hayden, for standing up to antisemitism. You were very brave.
Little Truth Tales 