Breaking Faith Page 18

  “Jesus, here we go again,” mutters Gran under her breath. The counselor’s smile falters just a hair at Gran’s comment and then recovers nicely.

  “Let’s try and be positive,” says Connie.

  “Hmph.” Gran then natters on about something to the counselor, at which time I promptly tune her out.

  It might be nice to have a routine again. It’ll give me something to do—almost like going to school every day, except I go to rehab.

  “Oh yes, family visits are important during this process and allow the resident and family to begin the road to improving their communication and healing their relationships.”

  Really need a hit right now. “She’ll have four weeks of intensive inpatient therapy, and then she’ll come back daily on an outpatient basis, tapering off the visits the longer she’s clean and sober.” Chase the curly white smoke. “That’s usually about ninety days, every day, then less and less as she needs it.”

  “Are there services for family here, too?” asks Connie.

  “Yes, I’m glad you asked—and we cannot stress enough the importance of family for Faith at this time.” Is she talking about my family?

  “Horizon House provides counseling sessions to educate family members about the disease and to develop an understanding of what Faith’s needs will be when she returns home. By creating an informed support system, the chances that she will not go back to her earlier habits are increased. This also allows you, as her support network, to improve confidence in your ability to assist in the recovery efforts in a healthy way.”

  Gran and Connie nod in all the right places.

  In the end, I am able to glean that I will also have home visits prior to discharge so that I can “have an opportunity to practice skills” I’ve learned and allow my family to see my progress and prepare for the transition for me to return home. Sort of like a trained monkey, I think.

  Day One is spent in orientation and learning daily routines, having medical exams, going over rules, schedules, and being introduced to all the other freaks in the program.

  Don’t know if I can do this.

  ...

  The next morning is the start of my first full day in rehab. I share a room with a girl named Lily, who looks like a baby prostitute. She’s pretty quiet, which suits me just fine.

  After breakfast, I go to my one-on-one session with Dr. October Common. He’s one of the psychologists here, and we get an hour-long session every morning; he’s been assigned to me. I like the way he looks—like Ice Cube in a button-down shirt and Dockers.

  “Hey there, Faith. Pleasure to meet you.” He extends his hand over his desk. I take it briefly, then sit on the puffy chair across from him. Dr. Common speaks to me about our schedule and about his expectations, and as he’s talking, I’m looking out the window behind him. My gaze settles on an oak tree outside the office, aflutter with robins and starlings. The robins are giving the bully starlings a run for their money. Get those freakin’ birds, I think. Get ’em.

  “Faith?” The doctor moves his face between me and the birds.

  “Oh, sorry, Dr. Common,” I say, looking at my hands folded in my lap. “It’s hard to focus.”

  He smiles. “No worries—it’s perfectly normal. Your brain has been through quite a bit in the last week or so. Probably needs a break.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And call me Dr. October or just October if that’ll make you feel more at ease.” Will I ever feel at ease again?

  Then he starts with the rapid-fire questions. “How old are you?” His pen is poised over his chart.

  “Seventeen.”

  He starts scribbling. “Where are you from?”

  “Greenleigh, Ontario.”

  “Family?”

  “Two sisters and a grandmother. My mom is dead. Not sure where my dad is. Last time I heard, he was in Saskatchewan.”

  He glances at me briefly. “How long were you using?”

  “Not long, four, five months, but it was a huge habit.”

  He nods knowingly. “Must have been tough. But I’ve treated people who have been using for years. You’re in a good position right now, Faith.” I press my lips together and nod.

  We finish our prelim session. Next is relaxation therapy, where we learn about techniques to help us relax—duh. I don’t know about anyone else, but I can think of something that would help me relax right here and now. Unfortunately, chasing is not an option.

  After that is lunch. A healthy lunch that tastes like grass and cardboard.

  Some time in the library is followed by afternoon group session.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” says a lady at the head of the freak circle group. There are about ten of us in this session. “I’m Elaine Newman, your therapist and group counselor. So happy that you have made the choice to embrace wellness. Wellness means overall well-being. It includes the mental, emotional, physical, occupational, intellectual, and spiritual aspects of a person’s life. Incorporating aspects of the Six Pillars of Well-being model, such as choosing healthy foods, forming strong relationships, and exercising often, into everyday habits can help people live longer and improve their quality of life. And can stave off the cravings of substances that have become habit-forming.” Easy for her to say.

  She appears pleased with herself at this point, but I gather that everyone else is relatively unimpressed. “Tell us a little about yourself.” Newman looks at the guy to her right.

  I want to turn and run and not stop until my heart bursts because I’m jumping out of my skin. The Darkness inside me is back. Highlights of Day Two.

  ...

  Day Three. I hate this. Like I have to adhere to a script. If I say what I’m really feeling, they’ll stick me back in the hospital detox wing for the rest of my life and throw away the key. Think of something insightful to say—think!

  We watch a short film on an exchange between a mother and her teenage son, which is incredibly tame compared to a lot of the exchanges I experienced with my Gran. It is on the first pillar of well-being, apparently.

  “So the first pillar of well-being—emotional wellness or coping effectively with life’s stressors and creating satisfying relationships—is exemplified in this scenario. Would you like to share how you feel about this scenario, Faith?” asks Newman.

  My mouth and throat are dry, but I force myself to speak, my eyes on my shoes the whole time. “Uh, well, I feel like Robert needs to back off and chill.” My response has a rote quality, but it’s the best I can do.

  She nods her agreement. “Good, Faith,” she says in an encouraging tone. The others in the circle appear jittery.

  It’s the end of the third day—long way to go—can’t sleep.

  ...

  “Today’s focus in group will be the second pillar of wellness—intellectual well-being.” Newman’s tone is well practiced. “In this, we will turn our attention to the importance of recognizing our creative abilities and finding ways to expand our knowledge and skills.”

  I think of my knowledge and skills, which I could probably place very comfortably in a thimble. Maybe that’s not quite true—I must be good at panhandling, considering it supported a crazy heroin habit. Think positive, Faith, you idiot, remember what she said—thinking positive will help you to realize your full potential and cope with the stresses of life.

  I did look after Destiny all the time when she was a kid—shit, I was like her second mom.

  “Can we share a trait that we are proud of?” Oh crap! Circle sharing time again. “Who would like to share—Josh?” Josh is the nastiest asshole in group. He swaggers in every day, thinking he’s better than everyone else just ’cause his dad owns a few coffee shops. Big friggin’ deal. You’re an addict freak just like all us lowlifes.

  Josh arches his brows and takes in a deep breath. His posture says everything about him—slou
ched in his chair, legs sprawled out in front like all this is a waste of time for him. “Uh, I prefer to pass.” Passing is always an option, but he says it so sanctimoniously, I want to throw a chair at him. That’s when I felt the need bubble to the surface again. The craving. The want. The shadow in my core. When would it get better?

  I listen to the others share, and then it’s my turn. I bite my lip and pick at a hangnail. Reluctantly, I begin to talk. “I think…my best trait is…taking care of my little sister. Only she’s not so little anymore; she’s, like, nearly fifteen.”

  “That is a wonderful quality to have,” says Newman. “Being able to nurture others is so important in your own recovery.”

  “You only have one sister?” asks Toma in his heavy accent.

  I shake my head, my eyes downcast. “Two. One is older than me.”

  “They addicts, too?” scoffs Josh, a sick smirk on his face.

  Newman looks like she’s about to let him have it. “Remember our rules in group, Josh,” she says firmly. “We respect those who have the courage to share, and empathize with those who don’t yet have the courage to do so.”

  I feel vindicated but I need to tell them something. “It’s not my fault that I’m here.” The words shoot out like bullets. Josh lets out a big snort, after which Toma looks him squarely in the eye.

  “Why you don’t shut up?” Toma says.

  “Really, it’s not,” I continue.

  “Go ahead, Faith,” Newman encourages.

  “It’s my big sister’s fault—she made me feel like a piece of dirt. Like I’m not worth anything. That’s why I ran away and eventually started using.”

  “How long on the street?” asks Toma.

  “A year and a half, almost.”

  “Same time using?”

  “No. I started using about a year in.”

  “What put you over the edge?” asks Josh.

  “Losing another person I cared about.”

  “Then that technically wasn’t your sister’s fault, ’cause, then, it’s like you couldn’t handle it.”

  “Okay, I think that’s enough. Faith was brave in sharing and we need to support her, positively.” But as Newman speaks, I begin to wonder if what Josh said is true. Is it really me? Was it me all along?

  “Tomorrow I’d like to talk about the next pillar, occupational well-being. In this we derive personal satisfaction and enrichment from work, making meaningful contributions to our community…” I drift off into my own disorganized thoughts as the counselor wraps up our session. My mind is swimming in a swampy soup of cravings, self-doubt, and angst, making me even more jumpy.

  Wasn’t this place supposed to help me? How is making me feel like this going to help? I don’t want truth, I want to feel good again. My head pounding, I skulk off to my room to lick my wounds. Day Five is a bust—can’t sleep.

  ...

  “Is there anything you’d like to talk about today, to start?” Dr. October Common asks in his usual friendly tone. My expression is neutral as I rock myself in his plush chair. I shake my head and keep my eyes on the rug.

  The doctor waits, then says, “Tell me how you are feeling right now.”

  I shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Really, you feel okay?”

  I shrug again and remain silent.

  “How are you handling your cravings?” This is something I am barely able to cope with. The feeling of constantly wanting to jump out of my skin is getting tiring, but what is getting to me even more is the fact that I will have to fight this battle the rest of my life.

  “It’s really hard some days—actually, every day.”

  He nods. “Maybe we’ll revisit your medications to help with that. I’ll take care of that as soon as we’re done here.”

  “Yes, please, and can I get something to help me sleep?” I ask. “Cravings are really hard at night.” It’s got to get easier, ’cause if it’s going to be like this, I’m not going to make it.

  “It will get easier, Faith, I promise you.” His pen scrawls something on his chart.

  “Will everything else get easier, too?” I surprise myself as I blurt out a question that’s been chasing my thoughts around in my brain for the last week or so. “After I get out of here, is everything else going to get easier—’cause if not, then I’m doomed. I’m fucked if I end up in the same place. I might as well just leave here right now ’cause all this isn’t going to do me much good if everything stays the same out there. I feel like there’s an animal eating away at any happiness I ever manage to grab onto. It’s inside me, dark and waiting…and I never know what it’s gonna be every day. Angry, sleeping, taunting…the Dark is inside me, and it spreads into each of my cells every day. I see the cop fall on the Blood Porch, dead, his brains on the cement steps.” Tears are falling but I don’t cry. My hand cups my mouth. Maybe I’ve said too much.

  Dr. October licks his lips. “I understand your fear and I’m glad you’re sharing with me finally. Don’t be afraid, Faith.” He reaches across his desk, over files and papers and notes, and opens his hand. To me, it’s like a bridge, crossing over all the crap from the past and maybe trying to help me get to my other side. I take it cautiously.

  “I’ll try not to be.”

  “That’s a good first step.” He sighs, almost with relief. “I want you to keep in mind that we will work with you and your family to give you the best opportunity for you to be successful in this. Once you complete this program, you will have tools to help you maintain positivity and good mental health. You will continue to receive help from us here; it’s not like we abandon you. We’ll help you to connect with others and stay positive in your recovery, and especially, you’ll get lots of direction in developing coping skills in a healthy way. We’ll talk more about the ‘Darkness’ and the ‘Blood Porch’ and try to get to the bottom of why you’re struggling, Faith. It’ll take time, but one of the best ways to do that, believe it or not, is by talking about it and, surprisingly, helping others.” At that moment, I know what he says is true—I felt at peace and worthy when I was helping Mrs. Lieberman.

  Day Seven. I feel the faintest glimmer of hope.

  Chapter 29

  My next fourteen days consist of morning one-on-one sessions with Dr. October, where we talk about the underlying causes for my substance abuse and he guides me through self reflection and self examination. We talk about the Darkness and the Blood Porch, endlessly.

  Group counseling in the afternoon is supposed to help us develop healthy habits for social well-being, emotional well-being—even spiritual well-being. As a group, we engage in mock social situations where we may encounter stress and/or temptation and then discuss coping strategies. In between is physical activity and healthy cooking classes, sleep therapy because I can’t sleep, meditation, and relaxation therapy. When I hear myself sometimes, I actually believe I’m starting to talk like one of the counselors.

  Connie visits me every Sunday, but our conversation is still strained. Des calls me from Greenleigh twice a week, tells me she misses me, and I tell her “same here.” She manages to get Gran on the line, and after a few dutiful exchanges, I tell her to put Des back on the phone so we can gossip about Danziger Crescent. I know that Gran and Connie have attended educational programs for family here at Horizon House to help them support my recovery. I also know that I should be thankful, but I still feel a stubborn resentment hanging on like a barnacle and that’s not good. One of the first things we were taught was to give up our anger and forgive. That’s one of the keys to recovery. But my emotions have a mind of their own.

  I manage to get through the Pillars of Well-being all right, and the medication Dr. October gave me seems to be doing the job. My cravings are becoming less frequent and less acute. I’m even sleeping a little better. After I opened up about my fears and the Dark place, Dr. October spoke with Gran about what happen
ed. We started psychotherapy for what he figures is a big part of my problem.

  We work on relaxation training, positive thinking and positive self talk, assertiveness training, and thought stopping. Dr. October says that it all involves me changing my thinking. It’s about talking and reliving and talking, almost like your brain gets so used to you talking about it, it’s no big deal anymore. It’s helped a lot, but I know I have a long way to go.

  Then one day, Dr. October announces that I’m ready for my next step—a home visit. This is like a dry run to see how our dysfunctional family is able to cope and to help prepare for the transition—especially me, because, of course, I am the most dysfunctional one of the bunch.

  The family agrees that the best place for me to be is Connie’s condo. Since my visit is only a day, Gran will come to Toronto to see my progress. Of course, it starts off bad and gets worse.

  Connie picks me up from Horizon House and we barely exchange two words in the car.

  “Hi, Faith,” she says as she ushers me to her new car. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good. You know, better now that they have me stabilized and I’m in therapy.” I peer at the interior of her new wheels. “When did you get this?” I ask.

  “Gran Josie bought it for me last month. You never got to see it ’cause…” Her voice trails off. That’s the end of our conversation.

  We arrive at her condo and Connie deftly parks in her spot. We’re both obviously nervous about the meeting, because the silence in the elevator ride up to her condo is deafening.

  “Here she is,” announces Connie as she opens the door to her place, trying really hard to be calm. Destiny and Gran are waiting for me. Des is slouched on the puffy chair that looks like a slipper, and Gran’s perched on the edge of the couch. Destiny pops up and runs to me the instant I’m through the door.

  “Hi, Des.” We lock on to each other and hug for a long time. “Oh my God, I miss you,” I whisper into her ear. I close my eyes and breathe in her familiar aroma in a way only a sister would know mattered. I caress her face when we finally release, and she sends a toasty warm smile my way.