Rays Story
Re: [without_aa] Re:
True Stories of Struggles
http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/without_aa/message/9870
Rays E-Mail
raysny@yahoo.com
After nearly a year
sober, I was kicked out of an
apartment program for "using drugs"
after being prescribed Claritin for
an ear infection. This was an
apartment program in upstate NY for
people with mental health and
substance abuse issues. We were drug
tested randomly.
The people running the place knew
what medications I was on, after my
first alse positive, they
administered the meds. I asked if
the Claritin, prescribed or an ear
infection, could be causing it (it
can, it contains pseudophederine)
since the positives started right
after I started taking it, they
said, "No". The cheap dipstick tests
they used had a 94% accuracy and the
literature that comes with the test
states that a positive result is an
indication that further
testing is required.
After the first positive, I demanded
that a gas/mass spec. test be run,
they told me it was too expensive
and that if I wanted it done, I had
to come up with $125 on the spot.
This was on a Friday, I would have
gotten my monthly $250 on
Monday, but they claimed that wasn't
good enough. I immediately went to
the treatment center I was attending
for aftercare, and within an hour,
they ran a gas/mass spec. test that
came back negative. The apartment
program claimed I had time to go out
and "procure" clean urine.
The apartment program tried "gaslighting"
me. ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaslighting
) They suggested that I was so
mentallyill that I couldn't admit to
using, even to myself. Things
started moving around in my
apartment while I was out, they
denied having been in there, told me
I was imagining things and this was
proof my worsening mental condition.
I took to placing a hair on my door,
someone was going in and since they
had the only other key.... They gave
me the option of going to a 12-18
month residential, RELIGIOUS
(knowing damn well that I'm an
atheist) substance abuse program in
another city or getting out with
nowhere to go. I certainly didn't
want to go through the hassle of
starting over with my mental health
services, I had already had major
hassles getting them in that town
and didn't want to start
over in another city. On the
apartment program's recommendation,
Social Services cut me off. I
couldn't get to see anyone there
because my worker was on vacation,
they overloaded when she returned.
I called a dozen people in AA that
Friday night, got 11 answering
machines. The only person who called
back was my sponsor....Sunday
afternoon. He wasn't sure if he
believed my story since I wasn't
working the AA program the way
people thought I should be working
it.
I called lawyers, no one wanted to
touch it. Finally, I got to see my
Social Services case worker the day
I was being thrown out. (Turned out
she as friends with the head of the
apartment program. I believe they
both trying to punish me
for not being a good little stepper
and were trying to force me to
fail.) I was there from 8:30 when
they opened, didn't see her until
3:30; she bitched me out for waiting
so long. I damn near exploded, I had
been there or called every day
begging to see her, or ANYONE! She
sent me to the YMCA at 4pm on a
Friday, assuring me that they would
have a room for me. They didn't and
Social Services was closed.
I rushed home, called a friend (an
alcoholic friend). He did what no AA
person would do for me, he allowed
me to put my stuff in his basement
so it wouldn't end up on the street.
He even came by in his truck and
moved it.
I ended up sleeping in a park that
weekend, right across the street
from a store where I used to buy
beer. I had about $50 bucks in my
pocket and started thinking, "No one
would blame me..." and I stopped. I
realized that it didn't
matter who would blame me, that only
I had the power to determine if I
stayed sober or drank. And I was
going to be one year sober the next
week and I'd be damned if they
thought they could take that away
from me.
Monday, I was back at Social
Services and did end up at the Y.
They decided that I needed to return
to the six-month halfway house and
treatment program I had already been
through, I didn't know if I could
make it through that bullshit
a second time. My therapist
advocated for me and got me into a
30-day "transitional home" for
people with mental illness and into
a dual diagnosis program at the
mental health center. This debate
over what to do with me had me
living without a living allotment,
food stamps, or a meal program. My
caseworker from Social Services told
me to collect cans.
In week 9 at the Y, I ran out of
meds. I went to Social Services and
told them, with a wicked gleam in my
eyes, "You have me living without
cash, I can handle that. You got me
living without food, I can even
handle that. Now you got me living
without medication, do you really
want to find out if I can handle
that?" I got my cash allotment, food
stamps, and medication the next day.
At week 10, I went to the 30-day
transitional home where I ended up
for almost 6 months. My case worker
from Social Services had me jumping
through so many hoops I didn't have
time to fight and she kept going on
and off of sick leave.
I'd demand an appointment, get one
for two weeks later, show up and
she'd be out. I'd get an appointment
to see someone else, only to find
out she was back and my appointment
had been changed again, to see her
in another 2-3 weeks. By the time
that rolled around, she'd be gone
again.
At this point I was attending two
half days a the treatment center for
aftercare and 5 half days at the
mental health center for the dual
diagnosis program. Social Services
then demanded that I start
"volunteering" 30 hours a
week to remain eligible for
benefits. My shrink had that cut to
20 hours and lessened the dual
diagnosis treatment program hours. I
was still running all week.
Legal Aid who had promised to help
with this fiasco dropped the case
without warning, but I was able to
get an admission out of Social
Services that I probably didn't
relapse. After 5 & 1/2 months of the
transitional home, plus the
ten weeks at the Y, I was finally
allowed to get my own apartment, got
an OK from Social Services for a
place I had my eye on. I could
afford it, barely, probably have to
quit smoking, but possible. Once I
moved in, Social Services
changed the rules again, cut my cash
allotment, cut out my food stamps,
and demanded I get a real job. They
started threatening me with being
cut off again if I didn't go out and
get get 10 employers a week to sign
a card explaining why
I wasn't hired. When I said there
weren't enough hours in the week for
treatment, my volunteer job, and a
job search the case worker gave me
an evil grin and said, "Time
management".
I managed to find a job working 20
hours mostly on the weekend. I was
able to drop the volunteer job. By
this time I had exceeded the
18-month period where I could have
gotten help going back to school.
My depression worsened and the
shrink wanted me to go on more meds.
This would having raised my monthly
bill to around $250. (Nothing like
battling the system and being
depressed at the same time.) Having
been cut off a few times and paid
over $100 out of pocket, with
constant threats of being cut off, I
talked to the shrink and she
suggested supplements. She took me
off of all medication and I started
taking St. John's Wort, fish oil,
melatonin, and Valerian root. I
wasn't expecting much, I never had
ANY medication that really helped. I
was shocked at the immediate and
dramatic results I had from St.
John's Wort. I was still getting my
prescriptions filled because if I
wasn't on medication, I wouldn't be
eligible for benefits, especially
therapy. No way could I afford that
out of pocket.
Right after that, I was accepted by
both Social Security and Section 8
housing. After a flurry of paperwork
and running around, and I was free
from Social Services. That was such
an improvement on top of already
feeling better,
that I was almost manic. All these
good things started happening,
things I had worked for, but never
expected or dared hope for. It was
dizzying.
Flushed with success, I tracked down
a former flame via the internet. We
went together for a year, then she
moved away. We kept in touch for 15
years, visiting each other
occasionally, always a bit "more
than friendly" until she
visited in 1992 and I was lost in
depression and alcoholism. I never
had forgotten the look of
disappointment in her eyes. I hoped
that we could be friends again and
even hoped that we could resume the
occasional lover
relationship.
A lump sum from Social Security
allowed me to get a car and a
computer. I decided that during my
vacation from work, I'd drive to
Florida and visit Mom. On the way
down, I'd stop by and see Joy. It
went so well, I stopped on my way
back and visited several more times
and I started making plans to move
close to where she lived. She was
one of the founding members of a
community and business that I never
thought I'd be able to drag her away
from, especially after a dozen years
she had been there. A few months
later, the community folded and she
came to live with me. Six months
later we were married.
At any point, the easiest thing
would have been to give up. AA and
the system programmed me to be a
drunk, to go back to what taking a
chemical fix when times got hard,
but they had pissed me off too much
by the time I spent sleeping in the
park.
I got to where I am today by putting
one foot in front of the other, on
my own path, and continuing no
matter what anyone else said or did.
I expected a bit of satisfaction at
doing what all those people told me
was impossible, that I could stay
sober without AA, but I never
seriously thought I could be happy
while doing it.
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