Walking on Eggshells: Discovering Strength and Courage Amid Chaos (19 page)

The first few weeks I was there I tried my best to settle in. I felt so out of my element with the “sophisticated” production people who were always around and I didn’t have any idea what I should say to them. Thinking back, these were probably the first “regular” people I had ever gotten to know. Everyone else in my life was completely dysfunctional, as were each of their relationships. I didn’t have a clue how to relate to these kind, hardworking, normal people who surrounded us every waking moment of every day with cameras, microphones, and sound equipment.

The first two weeks I was in Hawai’i I spent a lot of time listening to Dad and Beth fight about what my place in the household should be. Both were concerned that I wasn’t “doing anything,” but other than Dad’s very general list of tasks that he had talked to me about over the phone before I arrived, no one had told me what I should
be doing. Plus I was way too overwhelmed with the show, the cultural differences, all the new people in my life, and (sometimes) trying to stay clean, to seek out responsibilities on my own.

Eventually it was decided that I should take care of the kids, and that’s how I started getting Cecily, Bonnie Jo, Garry Boy, and Abbie up in the morning. I made sure they were washed and dressed and had eaten a good breakfast before I drove the older kids to school. Then I picked them up after school, drove them to any appointments, and made sure they did their homework. This is something I still do, every day, and I love it and those kids more than I can say. I could be very happy being the “Chapman nanny” forever.

Ironically, on my trips to and from the school I had to drive by Kalani High School. I was still just seventeen and should have been going to school myself. If I had been, that was the school I would have attended. Every day I thought of all the high school rituals I had missed and of the education I didn’t get, and it made me sad.

In addition to caring for the kids, I also did most of the shopping. I’d line up all the kids by age and make them hold hands as we traipsed through the store, just as Dad had done with my siblings and me when we were small. I got a lot of stares from other shoppers that looked like they were wondering how I had so many kids while I was still so young. If they only knew!

It wasn’t all work, though, and I soon made some friends through a woman named Tayshea who worked at Da Kine. You
can see her on some of the show’s early seasons. I also met other people, and unlike all the other groups of friends in my life most of these people were sober. In fact, the vast majority of them went to daily AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) meetings.

I was familiar with the concept of AA, but in Hawai’i I learned it is a culture unto itself. AA there is filled with a lot of great people who support one another in their sobriety journey, and I later found that the big AA handbook could have been written for and about me, I was that much of a classic addict. Even though in theory I was “trying” to stay away from drugs, I still thought constantly about getting high. Those of you who have struggled with any kind of addiction (whether it be drugs, alcohol, gambling, sex, or any other unhealthy obsession) know that even though you want to change, your brain and body often conspire against you. Some days getting high was all I could think about. Other days getting high was what I did.

When I first met my new friends I thought, great, I can get high with them. Surely one of them will slip. I watched this group very carefully for weeks, hoping to spot that one person who would slip so I could use with him or her. But I was surprised at the reaction when I approached several select individuals. “No, we won’t use with you, but we
will
help you stay sober,” they all said. Wow. I don’t think anyone in my life had ever said no when I approached them about doing drugs. Hawai’i was proving to be a far bigger cultural change than I had ever imagined. Some of my AA friends began to build a
Dog the Bounty Hunter
float for Waiminala’s
upcoming Christmas parade. This was another thing I had trouble getting used to. In my druggie world back in Alaska people were really out for themselves. It was all about who could score the most drugs and who would share them with you. Here, people wanted to help you just for the sake of helping. There were no expectations in return. It took me a long time to understand and accept that kind of thinking.

In spring of the next year, 2005, Dad and Beth went to Las Vegas for a bail bonds convention. I took that opportunity to get high. The next morning Cecily, who was maybe twelve, was being as bratty as only a tween girl can. Still high, I did not have the emotional capability to deal with her attitude, and when she started to mouth off to me I slapped her across her face. It was absolutely an immature and wrong thing to do, but I was still just a kid myself. Even the best of teenage girls make a lot of errors. Plus I have no doubt that my brain had sucked up every ounce of drug that I had done the previous day. The old saying that you can’t reason with someone who is drunk or high is very true. Their brains are not functioning at normal levels.

Cecily called Beth, and while I knew she was going to be mad, I was unprepared for the depth of her anger. “If you put a hand on my daughter again I’ll kill you” was what I heard on the phone between Hawai’i and Vegas. I know that people often say things they don’t mean, but right then I believed Beth with everything I had.

As soon as Cecily had hung up and I had dropped the kids off
at school, I called Brendan. I couldn’t do it anymore. The call to drugs was too strong, and I knew I had to leave Hawai’i. Brendan got me a ticket, and before I knew it, Abbie and I were back on a plane.

This time we had about a six-hour layover in Seattle. On the flight there I met a lady who had gone to Hawai’i to get clean. Her rehab hadn’t done her a lot of good, as she couldn’t wait to get home so she could use again. That’s the thing about drugs. Your body and mind are so addicted that a twenty-eight- or thirty-day program often doesn’t work. It took you a lot longer than that to build up your addiction, and it is going to take a lot longer than a month to kick it. That’s why a lot of people need to go to rehab several times before it sticks.

I was so anxious to get some kind of drug in my body that I asked if I could go home with her. Forget the rest of the flight to Alaska; I just wanted to get high. To my surprise, she said sure, and after she got her baggage she said she’d get her car and swing back around the airport to get me. I half expected her not to show up, but a few minutes later, there she was. We went to her house and got high.

There is an unspoken bond between drug users. Even if they just met, there is instant camaraderie, instant friendship. Everyone feels loved. There are few boundaries and definitely no shame. At my new friend’s house I found I wanted to forget all my troubles and stay right there in Seattle. I thought really hard about not getting back on the plane, but something inside me knew I had to
get back to Alaska, so in plenty of time, the lady drove me back to the airport.

Brendan was the one who picked me up in Fairbanks. I had a huge bag filled with clothes, as Beth had bought me some nice things when I was in Hawai’i. I appreciated it, especially as I had arrived with next to nothing. As soon as Brendan had put my bag in the car, however, I picked a fight with him. I now realize that the fight was a product of poor judgment that resulted from the side effects of drugs, but back then, all I knew was that Brendan had irritated me beyond any tolerance I had. I just wanted to get back, go see my sister, and get high.

★

L
ife is so much
simpler since I have gotten off drugs, and today my best friend when it comes to staying sober is God. One weekend more than a year ago when my girls were with Bo, I felt lonely. I began to read verses in the Bible. Then I really thought about the verses and I prayed. I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders and today I know that I have God on my side all the time. I also know that I do not want to disappoint Him.

Getting to this point was not an easy process. Often when addicts fall, they fall hard. That’s what happened to me. Looking back, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Other than my new Hawai’ian friends who were in AA I had little support. I wasn’t seeing a counselor and didn’t attend any group sessions, read any helpful books, go to church, or have any sort of sponsor or mentor. I didn’t
even go to any AA or Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meetings. I’m not sure why that was other than I was so busy taking care of all the kids that there was no time.

Even if those things had been in place, however, there were no guarantees. Kicking a habit is tough. A 2007 Columbia University survey study of high school and middle school children (twelve studies over thirteen years) found that as a result of drug abuse, a teen struggles with unmanageable physical and emotional consequences compared to an adult addict. Furthermore, it was documented that children of substance-abusing parents have an increased risk of developing substance abuse issues, due to both genetics and environmental factors. The brain of an adolescent is not fully developed and is vulnerable to the alterations produced by drugs and alcohol. Plus issues related to adolescents and brain development can cause future psychological and physiological changes.

The odds for a successful recovery were definitely not in my favor.

When I think back I am amazed at all the encouragement I had from adults to use drugs. From the many adults I knew who didn’t actively discourage my drug use, to people such as my mother who gave me drugs, there was never a time when someone sat me down and said that using was not a good idea. In addition, I never had anyone who showed me by their actions that a better way of life could be had without drugs than with. It’s pretty sad when you think about it.

I remember when Barbara left Alaska the first time she was pregnant. She had gone to Colorado to get an abortion, and I was devastated by her absence. I missed her so much! My mother was the one who handed me a joint and said, “Here. This will make you feel better.” My mother had first given me pot when I was twelve, and I actively began smoking it with her when I was just thirteen. She also used to leave us lines of cocaine in the bathroom as “presents.” Other people have good family times with their mother at picnics, movies, or restaurants. Barbara and I got our bonding time with our mother doing drugs together in the living room.

As an adult I can see how very, very wrong all of this was, but at the time, I thought it was cool. Now when I talk to my mother all I talk to her about is the weather. I have so much anger that I don’t want to bring up any topic that will spark an argument. This includes most topics, including family memories, lifestyles, politics, religion—you name it. I also make a point never to talk to her after six in the evening, as she is typically too drunk to make any sense.

★

Back in Fairbanks I wasn’t thinking of any of this. I just needed a place to stay. Because I was under eighteen I could not “officially” sign a rental agreement, so I lied about my age when I met a guy who agreed to rent an apartment on Cushman and Lathrop Streets
to me. Barbara had long been kicked out of the Section 8 housing program for not following the rules, and she and Travis moved in a day or so later.

After we got settled I remained high most of the time. I am now so ashamed that I traded sex for drugs as often as four nights a week. One meth dealer was a particularly disgusting guy. After I let him use my body he always left me some meth. But I preferred cocaine, so I called another friend and traded. I was so lost.

One time I had a house full of people. We were all partying when a domestic dispute arose next door. It must have been a slow night in Fairbanks because before we knew it there were five or six police cars within spitting distance of my front door. We all hit the floor and hid there for some time. At other times I was so high that I remember crawling around on the floor because I was convinced the police were outside my door when they weren’t.

I lived in a basement apartment. When I was standing, my head was on the same level as the ground outside. All I could see out the window were people’s feet. When I was high, I prayed that no one would come to my door. On days when I was sober, I opened my door wide to show the world that my apartment was clean, that I had food, and that I was as normal as anyone else.

I’d like to tell you what Abbie liked to do at this stage of her development, but unfortunately my memories of this time are foggy. My mother, Barbara, and I were getting high every day. Even if we were not buying drugs, they were being supplied. All I
remember is that I wanted to sleep but never wanted to eat, cook, or clean. I am so disgusted by my behavior that of all the times for someone to take my child away, this would have been it.

Instead of my Hawai’ian AA friends, in Alaska I began hanging with a group of Hell’s Angels. I had known a lot of the people in the group since I was twelve, so this was nothing new. In the Hell’s Angels culture, women are mostly classified as either daughters or whores. The guys protected the daughters, and as daughters, Barbara and I had fallen under their protective arm several times.

One night after I had been back in Alaska for several weeks, Barbara went to the airport with a Hell’s Angel to pick up a friend. She left at about 10:00 p.m., and at 3:00 a.m. I woke up to find another Hell’s Angel at the foot of my bed. Apparently Barbara had been arrested and needed my help.

A few months earlier Barbara had begun dating a guy who was in the military. This was a guy who was head over heels in love with her. Because he loved her so much, one day he gave her a credit card with a $10,000 limit. Of course, Barbara maxed out the card in no time, buying things such as a camera, food, and clothing. Whatever she or I wanted, we bought. But when the credit card company began calling him for payment, he claimed Barbara had stolen the card.

I later learned that at the airport before the friend’s flight came in, Barbara had been quite loud. Security came over and asked to see her identification, and when they ran a check on it they found she was wanted for theft of the credit card. Long story short, the
Hell’s Angel had woken me to see if I could help Barbara with the $1,500 bond needed for her bail.