by Claire Adams
My father hadn’t talked to me in over two years and my brother had barely managed a phone call on my birthday. I wasn’t about to tell them about all my success. If they couldn’t be there for me when I was a simple, college student, I didn’t need them now that I was rich.
But, inevitably, the news had gotten back to them. Newspaper articles in national papers had been shared by family and friends. When my brother called me one afternoon, I was actually excited to see his number pop up, until he started yelling.
“You couldn’t even be bothered to tell us?”
“Tell you what?” I had played stupid.
“That you are rich now.”
“I’m not rich.”
“You’re a selfish asshole,” Heath had yelled into my ear. “You haven’t been home to see Dad in years and now you have tons of money and no excuses, but you still won’t come. You deserve to live a lonely and boring life.”
When we hung up, his words had lingered in my mind and it was the first time I threw a giant party.
Spending thousands of dollars on a party seemed like the right thing to do. I invited my friends from work, told them they could invited their friends too, and before I knew it, my house party was so outrageous that it was covered by the entertainment news in the area.
Then I was famous. At least in San Francisco. The pretty women started to show up at the parties and with pretty ladies came a whole new level of party. I bought more and more liquor. I tried my first line of cocaine.
Things got out of control really quickly and I stopped thinking about or calling my family at all. If they wanted to disown me with their behavior, I was fine with that. I didn’t need them. I hadn’t even talked to them more than a half dozen times in the previous five years. I was over it; I could do it alone.
Chapter 3
Cassidy
“How was work?” my mom asked when I got home.
“The usual.”
“You know, we need help with the ski rental area. You could always come do that if it’s too depressing out there at the rehab place.”
“It’s not depressing, Mom. I like it there.”
“Honey, with your past, it just seems like you might want to stay away from people who are like that,” my father added.
They meant well. I knew they loved me and were only worried that I might get mixed up with a bad crowd of people again. But it wasn’t going to happen. I loved my new, sober lifestyle and I had so many dreams for my future that certainly wouldn’t happen if I went back to drinking.
By the same token, I wasn’t about to go work at the ski resort my parents managed. I needed time away from them each day. Even a loving family could get annoying if you were around them constantly.
I liked working at Paradise Peak. It wasn’t anything like the state run facility that I had done my treatment in, but the principles of the place were the same. Get yourself centered and make your own wellbeing a priority. I tried not to judge the people who came to Paradise Peak because they were used to having money and nice things.
Coming to Paradise Peak took a lot of guts for someone who had the money to buy anything they wanted. And in some aspects, I thought it was probably harder for them to be in rehab than it was for me. I imagined that having a lot of money might actually complicate someone’s life more than being poor did.
I didn’t have newspapers reporting on my every move. I didn’t have staff that depended on me for their salary and family’s wellbeing. A celebrity, rock star, or even rich kid all had more people counting on them than I did, and many times, less people who cared if they did well.
In the last two years, I had seen some pretty skuzzy managers who even leaked the location where their celebrity client was. They wanted the publicity for them. The managers wanted to keep their celebrity clients in the news. It wasn’t a good way to live, that was for sure.
At least when I went through treatment, I had my family by my side. They were angry with me for getting myself into the situation I was in. But they loved me and I saw that in their eyes from the moment they visited me.
Treatment would always be a place where you had to take care of yourself and not worry about others. But it was a lot easier to take care of yourself when you knew that people outside of those walls loved and cared about you. I couldn’t imagine trying to get sober and not having anyone outside of treatment that was rooting you on.
“Whatever works for Cassidy is fine, Bob,” my mother said.
“Honey, you know I just worry about you. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”
“I know, Daddy. But I’m taking care of myself now. Nothing will happen to me.”
My father worried about me like crazy, but I couldn’t fault him for that. I couldn’t fault my mother for being over protective, either. I had caused them to worry so much in my adult years. Even though I had gotten my life back together in the last two years, the old wounds were still very fresh for them.
Alcohol was a difficult substance for families to deal with. It was a legal substance that both my parents partook in on occasional events. It wasn’t something that seemed dangerous to have around the house. But I soon showed them. An addict can flip a family upside down and only truly strong families made it to the other side of the mess.
“Are you going to your meeting tonight?” Dad asked.
“Oh, crap. Is it eight o’clock already?”
I jumped up and dashed to my car so I could make it to my AA meeting at the local church. Alcoholics Anonymous was one of the key ways I had stayed sober for the last two years. The people at my meetings were all going through the same things as I had, and we supported each other along our journeys.
Alcoholics Anonymous wasn’t something I had ever thought I would do. Even while I was going through treatment, I had refused to attend the meetings we had at our facility. But as soon as I got home, I realized I needed more help than my family was able to provide. They loved me. They unconditionally loved me, but that didn’t mean they understood what it was like to be an alcoholic. I had to find people to talk to and eventually, that landed me at AA meetings.
“Nice of you to join us, Cassidy,” Krysta, the head of our local AA meeting, said as I burst through the door about ten minutes late.
“Better late than never,” I said with a smile.
“Very true. We are glad you made it.”
My Monday night meeting was by far my favorite. It seemed to have a lot more people in it and we all had gone through so much together. Many of the people there had been sober for years longer than I had. But there were new people there, as well. Monday was a poplar meeting for people who only came to one meeting a week. They could come, get their plan for the week, and focus on their sobriety.
I preferred to go to two or three meetings a week, but I was fairly new at the sobriety thing and really wanted to make sure I was on the right path. I couldn’t afford to fall off the wagon. I had a great job, my family was supportive, and I was applying to colleges. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I wanted to go to college and get my degree.
When it was my turn to talk, I was about to pass, but then decided I wanted some feedback from the group. I didn’t always speak up in my meetings. People weren’t my favorite, especially people outside of my small group of friends and family. But over the previous months, I had become more comfortable in my AA group and I had made more and more of an effort to connect with the members in there. I was searching for more sober friends.
Kaitlin was a great person and she never drank around me. But she still liked to drink and didn’t have an addiction like I did. We struggled to find things to do because she always wanted to go out dancing at a bar, and I couldn’t stand the idea of entering a bar. We were working on it, though. She would come with me to do boring things, like read books at the local bookstore, and I would go with her to horrible hot yoga.
“Hi. I’m Cassidy, and I’m an alcoholic,” I said as I stood
up.
“Hi, Cassidy,” the group replied.
“I’ve applied to a couple colleges, and I’m deadly afraid that I’ll get accepted. How on earth am I going to stay sober on a college campus? They are filled with parties all the time.”
“You’ll find your support network,” one younger man said. “When I started at the University of Colorado, the very first thing I did was find all the local AA meetings. I also got myself an individual counselor at the school. It was free of charge.”
“I also went to a counselor while I was in college,” another woman said.
“I’ve never been fond of the whole talking about your problems things,” I said.
“Well, you need to get over that. If you’re serious about your sobriety, you’ll suck it up and do whatever it takes.”
“Thanks, guys,” I said as I sat back down.
That was exactly why I loved coming to my AA meetings. They were becoming friends who always had the best advice for staying on the right path. Kaitlin couldn’t give me the advice I needed sometimes because she hadn’t struggled with addiction like I had. She meant well and I know she tried, but someone who hadn’t truly struggled with an addiction had a hard time understanding how totally consuming it could be.
After my meeting, I always felt even more committed to my sobriety and energized for the next few days. I was so glad I had the support I did in my life. It was one of the things that helped me be so compassionate towards the people at Paradise Peak. Having a good support system was one of the most important things for anyone to stay sober. I firmly believed that.
Just as I had made it to my car and was about to head home, my cell phone rang. I contemplated not answering it when I saw that it was work. Tomorrow was supposed to be my day off, but the only reason work would be calling me was because someone had called in sick.
It was amazing to me how many sick days some of my coworkers took. What was more amazing was that they still had jobs, but then again, there weren’t all that many regulars that lived in Aspen and weren’t working on the ski slopes or in the stores during the winter; Mr. March probably couldn’t fire people because he needed the staff so much.
“Hello,” I said as I winced in anticipation of what Mr. March was going to say.
“Can you work tomorrow?” Mr. March asked without any preamble to his request.
“Nope, I’m relaxing tomorrow. I’ve worked the last seven days. Remember?”
“Cassidy, there’s no one else.”
“Why can’t Adam work?”
“His grandmother died.”
“His grandmother died six months ago. He’s using that excuse again?” I exclaimed.
I was just giving Mr. March a hard time. I was going to work. Overtime pay was time and a half and it was almost Christmas, so I liked to get a little extra cash for buying my friends and family presents.
Buying things had become my new addiction. There was always something that replaced the old one. Some people got into working out all the time. Some people started hobbies. Others had affairs or got wrapped up in whole sex thing. I figured my little shopping addiction was pretty safe.
“I don’t know. Maybe this is another grandmother.”
“It’s fine, I’ll work. Is Kaitlin on my unit tomorrow?”
“No, she’s needed on the secure unit.”
Ugh. I hated working with the other nurses, but I knew Kaitlin had to work the secure unit more than mine. The secure unit was where patients who were suicidal normally stayed. Although we had suicidal precautions throughout the facility, the secure unit had patients who had so many mental health issues that they couldn’t be trusted to keep themselves safe as they went through detox and treatment.
We contracted with the state for patients on that unit, and sometimes took patients who had insurance, as well. It was almost always full and most of our seasoned staff worked over there. I personally didn’t work over there much because I didn’t have a license as a therapist or a nurse, so only when we had a lot of patients did they have room for me.
“Fine, but I’m not coming in before eight.”
“That’s perfect. Thanks, Cassidy.”
I groaned as I hung up the phone. My plans for sleeping in and relaxing had totally been ruined. But at least I’d get to earn some extra cash. I liked my work, and I mostly liked the people I worked with. My co-workers were my friends and the only people besides Kaitlin and my parents that I usually spent time with.
Well, and the patients at Paradise Peak. Some of them had become my friends, too. It was unusual for a doctor, therapist, or nurse to become friends with patients. And they probably had a lot of rules around their relationships, but I was assigned to talk to the patients. My job was to spend time with them and let them talk to me and work through their issues. I had to play board games, help them with their daily tasks – I was their friend in the facility and often kept in touch with them after they left.
It was kind of cool to have people I knew that were celebrities, singers, and wealthy. Most of our friendships died off over the months after they left, but there were still a few people who I kept in touch with over social media.
Then I remembered that the new guy would be there. The utter embarrassment I had when he overheard my conversation with Kaitlin wasn’t anything I wanted to relive. He was a cocky jerk who seemed a little too full of himself and not at all humbled by being admitted to our facility. It wasn’t my ideal patient, but I could make it work out.
But then again, he probably wouldn’t last long and I would only have to deal with him for a few days. Guys like him tended to give up when things got hard. And getting sober was harder than I had ever imagined it would be. They came to our facility thinking that it would be easy to give up all their drugs and alcohol. But nothing in life is easy.
If you are used to drinking or using when your emotions flare up, then when you take those substances away, your emotions have to be dealt with. This was where the true treatment started. Learning how to deal with all your feelings when you didn’t have a substance to dull them was the hardest part about being sober.
Certainly, I could put up with the guy for a few days until he decided to give up and go back to his old life. I remembered the first few days of my treatment. I had actually tried to leave the hospital on several occasions, but luckily, a sweet nurse had talked me into staying.
Of course, I didn’t want the poor guy to fail. I was just speaking from experience and the dozens who had come before him and given up the second they had to actually do some work.
When my family came to visit me that first weekend, I had even tried to get them to let me come home. But luckily my parents were tough and told me I wouldn’t be able to stay with them if I left treatment. I didn’t appreciate their tough love at all in that moment, but by the time I finished the treatment program, I was able to see just how much I was loved. If I hadn’t been loved so darn much by them, it was highly likely I wouldn’t even be alive.
My drinking and partying had taken over my life. I was depressed and didn’t give a crap about anything that was going on with myself or my family. My own father had had a heart attack and I didn’t even go see him in the hospital.
When I looked back at how badly I behaved, it made me sick to my stomach. That girl wasn’t who I wanted to be. That wild girl who hated everyone wasn’t at all the way I wanted to live my life. I was so grateful that my family had stuck by me through my horrible attitude and behavior.
That was probably another reason I tried to be so understanding with the patients in our facility. If they didn’t have family or other people to support them, there was no way they would ever be successful. I knew from firsthand experience that while going through treatment, an addict was going to push away anyone who showed any sort of caring toward them.
Love, caring, and support were scary to an addict. We feel like there’s an expectation that comes with those sorts of feelings and we don’t want to be part of it. But I knew be
tter now.
I knew that there didn’t have to be an expectation when you cared for someone or when you let someone else care for you. You could just accept their kindness. It had taken me thirty days of treatment and countless AA meetings to finally get the hang of accepting help; I couldn’t expect new patients to understand when they first arrived at the facility.
When I finally made it back home, I showered quickly and headed to my bedroom to crash. I was always exhausted, but the excitement of having a new patient at work made me want to ensure I was going to be in a good mood at work the next day.
I had already been embarrassed in front of the guy, I couldn’t go into the next day without a full level of self-control and compassion. Erik was going to get to be a much bigger jerk before he calmed down – if he ever calmed down. It was likely that the other techs weren’t going to agree to work with him if he was rude to them, or they would work with him and not be as supportive as I could be. But I was going to need some sleep if I was going to be able to put up with his attitude the next day.
Sleep had always been such a healing property for me and I encouraged patients to sleep, as well. Unfortunately, sometimes my encouragement meant they thought it was all right to sleep all the time and not participate at all. But that wasn’t what I meant; I just wanted them to sleep when they could. While I had been in treatment, sleeping had revitalized me and gave me the focus I needed to pay attention in groups and participate.
Participating in the group meetings was a huge key to learning more about myself and understanding my addiction. It was also an essential element to the patients getting a room with a door, too. The rich that attended Paradise Peak weren’t use to having rules in their lives and living in a room without a door irritated them; being forced to participate in order to get a better room often irritated them even more.
