Crystal Clean (26 page)

We sit and listen as the other families, one by one, take their turn. I’m listening but I’m also thinking how I feel much calmer. I feel like I’ve opened a doorway and can see a window just beyond, lit and shining brightly. Still, I wish Allan were here with me. I would feel more normal
-
less like a little girl if I had a significant other with me like everyone else in the room. I know he wouldn’t have come even if I wanted him to. In my
heart
I know what I am to him.

I started out feeling positive and now, with these thoughts racing through my head, wishing things were different between Allan and me, I feel
stupid and needy
and childish. Mom reaches over and takes my hand, holding it for a few minutes, and I let her. I’m grateful to both of my parents and at the same time I long to be normal, like everyone else. All my life I’ve wanted to belong instead of feeling weird and separate from the rest of the world, and I’ve always felt just off center instead.

The good feelings that elated me just a few minutes ago
are replaced
with self-doubt. I spend the remainder of the session inside my head telling myself I’m weird and wondering what’s wrong with me. By the
time
we’ve finished and our families have gone, I feel worse instead of better.

The family sessions were a beginning for my parents and me. Like my recovery, it took a while to get on track, but it began at the Walker Center. The first couple of years I was sober, we all made a concerted effort to talk to each other instead of keeping silent. Now it comes more naturally to us, but it’s something we have to work on. In early recovery, when the cravings were so bad and I was having using dreams almost every night, I talked to my parents. I didn’t need them to do anything, I just needed to be heard, and for the first time in my life, my parents listened. That may be the most important thing I took away from the Walker Center.

Chapter 27

Rene and I are sitting on her bed and she’s showing me these hand warmer things she uses. She’s gotten so skinny since her bariatric surgery and she’s cold all the time. She’s always bundled up in scarves and sweaters, even when we’re inside. I can’t get my mind around the fact that she used to weigh over three hundred pounds.

“Are you nervous about going home?” she asks me.

“It’s not for a few more days, but yeah. I feel so safe here in my little rehab bubble,” I tell her. “I don’t have to deal with anything here, you know, like on the outside, with Allan and everything.”

“You know what they say about playgrounds and playmates? Well, it’s true. You need to get away from Allan. He’s not good for you.”

“How am I supposed to just walk, Rene? After all I have invested in the house and everything.” I look down, picking non-existent lint off her plum-colored comforter. “I know it’s stupid, but I love him. Maybe when I go home and I’m sober, things will be different...” I trail off. I know I sound pathetic and I hate it, but I can’t help it. It’s what I want.

“Well, I don’t know much. I mean, look at me. I was home for two weeks and almost killed myself drinking before coming back here, so I’m no expert, but I don’t think it’s good for you to walk right back into the situation you came from. You need to cut your losses, Kim, and take care of you and Andy.”

“I know. I need to sell the house and just be done with it, but it’s not that easy.” I can feel the tears and they make me angry. Why do I cry all the time? Why am I so damn emotional? “We used to have so much fun together. We both like
really good
guitar players and he’d play Stevie Ray Vaughn and Pink Floyd for me on his guitar. We both love the blues.” I watch Rene as she gets up and starts fixing her hair. I covet her natural curls. “We used to spend hours just talking and...”

“And what?”

“I don’t know. We watched a lot of porn together. Back when we were sleeping together.” For the first time, it occurs to me that maybe we don’t have as much in common as I thought.

“I don’t know. It just seems like you’d be better off without him. I’m just thinking of you, you know.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“So when are you going home?”

“A week from Tuesday.
What about you? You came before I did, right?”

“I did, but I’m going to stay an extra week. I want to get it right this time. If I don’t...this is life or death for me. Besides, I don’t have much to go home
to
. It’s just me and my cats.”

I come back from an A.A. meeting to find a message that Allan called. I double check with the staff to make sure they got the message right. I’m flooded with all these emotions, mostly hope and elation, and that irritates me. Why does my happiness hinge on this person? I hate it that a single word from him excites me so much because deep down I think I know that whatever we might have had years ago, real or drug induced, has been gone for a long time. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve spent so much time trying to make something out of nothing that I don’t know how to give it up. With Allan, as with gambling and meth, I’m constantly chasing the dragon in search of that first, perfect high.

I call him and we talk. We talk about the house, mostly, and what to do with it. Then he hits me with the real reason for the call. He’s decided to accept a job offer in Twin Falls. “Why don’t I just sign the house over to you?” he asks me. “We’ll figure out a price and you can buy me out. That way you and Andy don’t have to move.”
Buy him out?
What the hell is he talking
about
?

“What are you talking about, Allan? I don’t want the house. I never would have bought it alone and I don’t want it now.” Can’t he see? Doesn’t he understand? Maybe it’s
me
. Maybe my thinking is warped. It has to be because we are on two different planets when it comes to our relationship. Of course we are. What am I, new? “We need to just sell it. Have you looked into that Assist to
Sell
thing? Or contacted a realtor?”

“No, but I will.”

“When do you plan to move to Twin?”

“The end of January.
Maybe February.”

“Allan, what if it hasn’t sold by then?”

“It’ll have to be.”

“Allan...nevermind,” this is how he always is:  Kim will take care of things or else they’ll just fall into place. I’m beginning to get a little pissed off. “So what about the money you owe me? There’s no way we’re going to walk away from this with twenty grand.”

“I know that. I figure we’ll just split whatever we make from
the sale,” he says, in a cheerful voice. I don’t get it. I just don’t. Then it occurs to me that maybe he never intended to pay me back.

“What do you mean split it? You’ve always said you would pay me back and that the house was the only way you could see to do that.”

“I’ll need money to move and get set up in Twin.”

I’m speechless. I don’t have a clue how to respond to this. He’s so matter of fact about it that I begin to think I must be a real bitch. I feel like a greedy pig because I keep asking about the money, but it was his idea in the first place for me to keep track of everything. I don’t know why, but I’m confused. I don’t know if my feelings are justified. I try to step outside myself and see things objectively. When I do, it seems like my feelings are valid, but he’s so matter-of-fact and nonchalant about the situation. Maybe I am wrong.

That night, I write in my journal:

“Funny thing, right after the meeting tonight, I received a message that Allan had called. I called him back later and we had a good conversation. He actually talked, which was nice. I asked him
to please call
Assist to Sell today and find out about their services for selling the house. He said he would. I hope he does.

As far as what he owes me, I’ve stated my case clearly. He disagrees and thinks we should split whatever we make from the sale. I don’t want to get into attorney fees and all of that, so I think what I’ll do is re-state my opinion and then when the house actually sells, (because the check will be in both our names) tell him that I’m leaving it up to him to be man enough to do what’s right.

Otherwise, I could end up losing most of the money just to fight for it and we would end up hating each other. I don’t want either of those things.

The whole situation, though, has been a huge blow to my self-esteem, which was fragile to begin with. How the hell am I supposed to take it when he decides to sleep with a dog rather than me
??!
”

Dorothy says my two biggest problems are that I don’t set boundaries and I don’t ask for help. “You need to start putting your needs first, Kim,” she says. “You need to stand up for yourself and set clear boundaries with people right from the beginning. You never set boundaries with Allan. That’s what’s gotten you into this situation and it’s what has kept you in it. You need to accept the
fact that you will probably never see that money. It’s a painful lesson, but there’s no reason for him to pay you back. All he’s done is promise, right?”

“He’s always said that he will pay me back one day.”

“And has he done anything to that end?”

“Well, no, I guess not.”

“You guess not? Didn’t you tell me that just before you came here he bought himself a new snowboard package, complete with a new outfit and boots?”

“Yes.” That had really pissed me off. I hope you don’t mind, he said, but I’m taking the bong you bought me. I just stood there in disbelief as he loaded his dad’s truck he’d borrowed and drove off.

“I don’t understand,” I say to Dorothy. “Does he just hate me or am I reading too much into these things?”

“Kim! Think about what happened. What would you tell a friend if she were in the same situation?”

“I guess I’d tell her she was an idiot to let anyone treat her like that. I’d tell her to leave him...or hock all his equipment while he’s at work one day.” This makes me smile.

“Why can’t you treat yourself as well as you do other people?” she asks me.

“I don’t know, Dorothy. I guess I don’t think I’m worth it. If I were, other people wouldn’t treat me so bad,” I say. “Shit! I’m a fucking pussy, huh?”

Dorothy laughs.

My inability, or refusal, to ask for help is the next thing Dorothy wants to address. She gives me an assignment. For one day, I’m supposed to ask a different person at each meal to fix my tray for me. As soon as she says this, I cringe, but do as I
’m told
. The next day I write:

“Laurie did my breakfast tray and while I felt awkward, she was happy to do it for me. At lunch Cheryl kind of spazzed out when I asked her for help because she already had her tray, so Jessica did it for me. Dinner was most interesting. I asked Jen, who was very willing and excited saying this would be great therapy for her as well since she tends to be a little narcissistic. When we got to the cafeteria, however, she started talking to one of the men and completely forgot about me until one of the other women reminded her. She was so
sweet and fixed my sandwich perfectly
and had me sit down. Then she asked if I wanted chips or something to drink. I
said yes, raspberry ice tea and two bags of chips. She asked if I wanted ice. No thank you, I said, and off she went. She returned with two cups of the tea brimming with ice. No chips. She was so proud of herself that I waited until she had fixed her tray to ask for the chips again. I think she came away from the experience feeling philanthropic, and I was glad to be there for her.”

The closer I get to my last day, the more I want to stay here forever, protected and supported in my bubble-world. I wish someone would just pack my things at home for me and move me so I could come back to a brand new life. But I know that’s not going to happen. I have to go tie up all these loose ends and I’ve got sentencing the week after I get home.

Dorothy arranges for me to attend relapse prevention when I go home, with Sarah, a private therapist. The Walker Center sometimes refers patients to her after they leave rehab, so there will be other alumni in the sessions. I’ll also see her for one on one therapy. I’ve scheduled my first session for early afternoon on the day of my release.

The night before I leave, I’m catching a last cigarette before curfew, outside by myself. It’s the second day of December and the air is frigid, but the moon makes me forget how cold I am. I’ve never seen a moon like this. It’s the color of embers and covers a quarter of the sky. It’s so big, I feel like it’s barely out of my reach. It looks like a world all by itself
-
like in the movie
James and the Giant Peach.
This moon holds sway over the flat land and I am in awe of it. I think of how small I am in this universe and how there has to be something bigger than me to create such beauty. I fall asleep with that moon in my heart, spilling over with gratitude for everything I’ve received here and for my new
life
that awaits me.

Mom and Dad come to drive me home. Andy’s in school and we decide it’s best for him to stick with his routine. I’m so happy even if I am a little nervous and the three of us talk all the way to Boise about my progress and my plan for recovery. It’s close to eleven in the morning when they drop me off at my house. I’ll meet Sarah at 1:00, so I’ve got time to unpack and just breathe. The house is silent and still. Allan’s at work. I walk back to my bedroom and it’s just as I left it. It’s a mess. The disarray and clutter disgust me. I decide I will spend the next hour or so cleaning. I sit down on my bed and light a cigarette and twenty minutes later, I relapse.