Recovery Story
Attending a state-funded rehab facility was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. I haven’t written about it until now. It was the year 2013 and I attended A.B.H.S. Chehalis in Washington State.
My family was unwilling to send me to an expensive rehabilitation facility my first time.
Instead, they assisted in finding me a state-funded rehab that would accept the Medicaid insurance I carried at that time. It was a huge mistake. I was one, of only a few people, who were there voluntarily. Everyone else being court-mandated criminals.
The Atmosphere
The atmosphere is similar to county jail. I’ve never been to jail but relate to Season One Of 60 Days In, so that is saying a lot. Honestly, I am terrified by how much of this show is relatable to my free rehab experience.
My biggest takeaway from attending a tax-funded free rehab was that I wasted heroin by smoking it.
My curiosity was heavily peaked about needle use because my junkie roommates reenacted their IV drug use daily. I’m working on an article now that outlines the neglect and abuses that I witnessed and experienced at free rehab.
Including being left unattended and uninstructed for over ten hours a day. Resulting in a very uncomfortable sexual encounter in the shower room that still stirs my anxiety.
My Relapse
Three days after completing my 30-days, I met up with a girl I met in rehab and we immediately relapsed together. My parents had planned a vacation and left the state for a couple of weeks on my second day out of rehab. In retrospect, they understand that it wasn’t smart.
My sister is naive about drug culture and is easily manipulated because of it. She watched my daughter while I began recklessly binging on a new drug to me, called crystal meth.
Within six weeks I was shooting both heroin and crystal meth. I’d abandoned my daughter to the care of my parents and was entering the unchartered territory of criminal activity.
Hitting Rock Bottom
Repeatedly, I remember begging the Lord in prayer to let me hit my rock bottom. And in retrospect, the prayers of my heroin recovery story were answered pretty quickly.
My life as a homeless heroin junkie on the streets was only a few months stint. It could have been much worse. While I don’t encourage the dangers of perpetuating the, hitting rock bottom myth, my personal heroin recovery story has a definitive rock bottom moment.
One day visiting with my then, four-year-old daughter, she asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks. “Mommy, are you going to die?” She elaborated that she had a dream about me dying and its reality frightened her. Soaking her shirt with her tears, she silently wept.
I assured her that I wasn’t going to die but that we all die someday and meet again in heaven. Later that night when I left to get high (as I always did) I couldn’t shake the intensity of our conversation and the fear in her eyes. As I stabbed at my arm, my daughter’s words haunted me.
What if I were to OD right now? What if the last thing I ever told my daughter was a lie and tomorrow I was dead? Two days later I was on a plane. Only, I never made it to rehab.
Recovery Story
So, not so funny story, Narconon is actually a Scientology Front Group. And not a drug rehab at all. Furthermore, it’s not the only Scientology front group that exists. Unfortunately, what that means is that there isn’t any treatment going on at these facilities.
I’ve written (and continue to write) the details of this rehab scam and you can read my extensive Introduction to Scientology Rehab Details Here.
Home From Scientology Rehab
To be honest, (almost) no one in my real life took a sincere interest in my recovery. And no one understood the trauma I had escaped at Narconon (including myself). No matter who I tried to talk to about it, I was always dismissed with the same statement,
Well at least you’re sober and healthy now and that’s all that matters.
LITERALLY EVERYONE
Talking about heroin addiction and Scientology makes people uncomfortable. I think it’s much easier for people to dismiss your words with those words above.
Usually accompanied by nervous laughter, head nods, and sympathetic pats on the shoulder. But I didn’t feel listened to at all. My family resumed life as normal. Not knowing or understanding that they should have prepared for me coming home. Families need to be hands-on and involved in the recovery of the addicts they love.
I didn’t come home to an aftercare plan or even any stipulations moving forward. It was obvious my parents cared. But addicts need to come home to boundaries, outpatient treatment options, and an aftercare recovery plan. Or, at least encourage and involve yourself in creating one with them.
Day Two
After arriving home, that second morning, I opened a cabinet to a bottle of 40 Percoset that my sister didn’t put away. Talk about a heartstopping moment. I was faced with my first real-world choice in seven months.
I yelled at her to come and collect them and she quickly complied. But I watched her throw them into her top dresser drawer. She made no attempt to conceal it because she didn’t know any better.
She’s never done drugs and is naive to the culture. My mind wrestled a little with knowing those pills were in the house, on more than once occasion.
My Environment
Because of the circumstances prior to going to rehab, my entire room looked like an episode of Hoarders. No exaggeration. Also, my cat hadn’t been well cared for and he had urinated all over my bed. My fairly new pillow top queen was additionally covered with a thick, black layer of my cat’s hair.
It was disgusting and I had no choice but to take it to the dump. Naturally, I was livid but the cat ultimately was my responsibility and no one asked me to abandon my responsibility on them.
Most of the piles were urinated on during the seven months I wasn’t home. It all had to go and there was no hesitation. But that honestly wasn’t the worst of it.
During my clean up, I found used needles, methadone, charred foils, broken pens, straws, and baggies with tar residue.
Do you understand how badly that experience could have gone? If I had found heroin to go with the needles, I’m not sure what I may have done. I realize that my room was a disaster and overwhelming. But that was an overlooked and major failure on my family’s part.
So I hope by sharing this with families who have addicts in rehab, that they will understand the significance in transforming (or creating) a clean and wellness space. Or at the very least, make sure they aren’t coming home to cat piss, needles, and drugs.
Jesus Juice
My parents are wine drinkers and wasted no time pouring up my first night home at dinner. They asked me if it bothered me and repeatedly professed that they wouldn’t drink it if it did.
My dad chimed in about alcohol never being my problem and eagerly anticipated my blessings so that they could pour their wine.
I didn’t know how to respond. The wine itself didn’t bother me and wasn’t a temptation. But the question was unbelievable and I regretted my compliance later. Being around people when they are tipsy is annoying.
Furthermore, watching people become inebriated can absolutely trigger a desire to go score the drugs you really want and relapse on them. Don’t do that to newly recovered people even if they say they’re fine. How many times have you said those words and didn’t mean them?
Furthermore, my parent’s behavior from the start allowed me to know that they were alright with me drinking alcohol. They are completely clueless about how selfish and enabling that is.
I’m not blaming my family at all. They didn’t (don’t) know any better and I am responsible for my own behavior. But I am warning other families to put their own drugs and alcohol away. It doesn’t matter if that wasn’t the vice in your drug addict’s life. It’s absolutely detrimental to their sobriety to indulge your own addictions in front of them. Read more about what to do (and not do) to help an addict recover post-rehab here.
Finding Community
Having spent seven months at cult camp, I wasn’t equipped with the knowledge or tools to maintain my sobriety. The 12-Steps Model isn’t introduced and I didn’t attend any meetings.
Moreover, Narconon taught me that the 12-Steps wasn’t legitimate drug treatment. So I denounced them to the two friends in my life that related and were willing to go to meetings with me.
Pushing them away from offering further assistance or concern about my sobriety.
I felt very alone. Until I found community in r/opiates, a subreddit of Reddit. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time, but r/opiates acted as my NA meeting in an unconventional way. I’d begun writing and sharing my story, Epidemic, in the community and addicts (some in recovery) began sharing their stories with me.
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