I told her we could live here forever, instead of the tiny condo in Liberty. For the first time, she really seriously talked about going to rehab, and starting a new life in Florida with me.
When we got back to Liberty, it seemed so gray and inhospitable. It was getting cold and the trees had lost their leaves. The difference between Bonita Springs and Liberty felt like the difference between District 1 and District 12 in The Hunger Games.
We were in Liberty for just a week or two. Then we flew to Tennessee, to surprise her grandma Gina. They hadn't seen each other in over five years, ever since her mother had ripped her out of her home at her grandma's house. We pulled a similar stunt like what I had done to Donna, when I showed up at her door unexpectedly, while she was waiting for me on the phone.
Alice talked to Gina in the morning and mentioned how good the bagels in New York were. Gina said she really missed those bagels. She used to live in the Bronx as a child.
Then Alice and I bought a bag of fresh bagels for Gina, got on a plane and drove to her house. Right before we knocked on Gina's door, Alice called her on the phone. They started to talk about bagels again. Then she said: "You know what, grandma, let me give you some."
She knocked on the door, with the phone in one hand, and the bagels in the other. Gina opened the door, still talking to Alice on the phone. She looked right at Alice, but didn't recognize her at first, and said into the phone: "Hold on, Alice, there's someone at the door."
Alice started to laugh and said: "It's me, grandma!" She gave her a hug. Gina was shocked! She was ecstatic, she didn't even know what to say. She just kept hugging and kissing Alice. They both started crying. Then Gina started hugging me and kept saying: "Thank you, thank you, thank you." I started to tear up, too. It was just really touching to see how happy this reunion made them. We spent about a week in Tennessee and took Gina to Nashville. She had always wanted to go to the Grand Ole Opry.
When we got back to Liberty, life seemed like it was in black and white. It just felt so drab and dreary, even though we tried to make the best of it, and we went to shows in Manhattan or to a spa for massages. But now Alice was starting to realize how much better life could be. She asked if we could go to Florida again.
This time we drove, because I did not want to keep taking our chances at the airport, smuggling thousands of dollars worth of dope between Alice's legs.
Alice actually began to feel at home in the condo in Bonita Springs. She started thinking of ways to decorate it. We spent my birthday and Thanksgiving down there. She made a fancy turkey dinner with brownies for dessert. The things she had been through with Curly and Papi and that guy who treated her like a sex slave, and all those guys on Backpage, seemed like nothing more than a bad dream now.
She really wasn't crazy about going back to Liberty at all anymore. But we had to, because that's where her drugs were. At this point I had no idea yet how easy it is to find drugs in Fort Myers.
When we were back in New York, she talked more and more about going to rehab so we could move to Florida. I was so happy to hear her talk like that. She even wrote some of her friends on Facebook, that she wasn't going to be in New York much longer, because we were moving to Florida for good. Everything finally seemed to come together.
Through the grapevine Alice's mother Tory had heard that Alice and I had visited Gina. Tory didn't like that one bit, because she was jealous of their relationship. Alice was her daughter, but Alice kept acting like she was Gina's daughter. And Gina had even started referring to me as her son-in-law while talking to a waiter, when we had been at the Ruth's Chris Steak House in Nashville together.
Tory started calling Alice and asked her and me to come over and spent time at her house. Their relationship was strained at best. They were more like sisters than mother and daughter. And they had a weird rivalry, just like Patty and Rita. Tory always seemed to be in competition with Alice, and always wanted to have better things than her. She wanted to be prettier than Alice and made her feel ugly and fat, even though that wasn't true at all. Alice was beautiful. But her mother Tory wanted to be more beautiful. If Alice told her mother she was happy about a new pair of earrings, Tory told her they were tacky. If Alice told her she was happy about having eaten at a nice restaurant, Tory said she had eaten there, too, but she didn't think it was that good. She had better.
I really didn't like her. She was a toxic person in Alice's life. She was the reason why Alice had started taking drugs in the first place, and her parenting skills had not improved one bit. Tory had another daughter, more than twelve years after she had Alice. Alice's little sister Brianna.
Tory spoiled Brianna rotten. She got whatever she wanted. She could do no wrong. Meanwhile everything Alice did was always wrong. Tory made no secret out of the fact that Brianna was her favorite, and Alice was a huge disappointment. Tory kissed Brianna on the mouth all the time and was loving and affectionate towards her. But she never wanted to kiss Alice on the mouth. Alice told me she thought it was because Tory kept thinking about all the dicks Alice had sucked. I could tell how much it hurt Alice, to feel like even her own mother didn't love her.
While going through these years of turmoil with Alice, I read whatever I could find on the subject of drugs and addiction: Psychological profiles, medical reports, studies, statistics, interviews, and whatever else I could find. I figured, in order to try to help Alice, I needed to know as much about what goes on in her brain as possible. And I probably knew just as much about addiction as Patty at this point. Maybe more.
One thing every drug addict I met or read about seemed to have in common was a traumatic childhood. Almost all of them had been abused in some form or another, or abandoned by someone important in their lives. I've met many more addicts since then, and I have yet to find one who did not have traumatic abuse or abandonment in their past.
Anyway, Tory invited Alice and me to spent Christmas with her and Brianna. Alice was so excited, because this was the first time ever that her mom had allowed Alice to bring her boyfriend. I couldn't really blame Tory for that. Virtually all of Alice's previous boyfriends were dope dealing scumbags.
Christmas morning, Alice handed me a card:
"Merry Christmas, Sweetie!
I truly hope you have a great Christmas with me and my family. I am soooo glad you're here with me this year. You've helped to make it special. I don't know how to make that up to you. You've done so much for me and my family. I wish I could do more for you. This is a very special Christmas for me. It's the first time I and my mom have allowed someone to share it with me and my family. I wanted to give you all that I have. But it wasn't that much. I feel like I owe you everything. Merry Christmas.
I love you. Princess"
I was so touched. That card meant the world to me.
A few days later, we went to Florida again. Then we spent New Years Eve in Savannah. It's supposed to be the most haunted city in America. And the Kehoe House, a ritzy bed and breakfast, is supposed to be the most haunted house in Savannah. So that's where we stayed, hoping to see a ghost. Well, we didn't. Go figure. We also went ghost hunting at an old civil war cemetery at night. No luck.
When we got back to Liberty, Alice, on her own accord, set a concrete date for her rehab. She said she would check herself in on January 11th, 2011. 1/11/11. What a great date for a new beginning!
One or two nights later, we were watching the movie Dreamland in bed. I fell asleep, and while I was sleeping, she wrote me this letter:
"Hey there Sweetie :-)
As you're lying in bed sleeping next to me, I was just thinking how sweet and kind you are to me. I don't think I've ever said a simple "thank you." But, thank you! Thank you for e-v-e-r-y-t-h-a-n-g! Literally, jokes aside. Thank you.
Thanks for "taking me on" so to speak. Thank you for being kind. And as much of a cliche as it may be, it's true... Thank you for being you.
I just watched Dreamland (as you know.) And in this one scene, after the sick girl goes out on a
date, her first date with her soon-to-be boyfriend, who she deeply loves, she walks in her house and asks the two people in the room something to the effect of:
"Have you ever had that feeling when something great is happening, and you feel like God is giving you this great moment that you're not good enough for, and you're not sure why, but it feels great?"
This, our time together, our relationship, the things we do, that's my great moment from God. Like when something good happens & you can't believe it's happening to you. You feel like you don't deserve it or it's not meant for you.
Well, you are my great moment, sweetie. I just wanted to say thank you for that. I appreciate you and the things you do for me. You should and deserve to know that sweetie. xoxo
Love, Alice aka Princess"
When I read that letter the next morning, it actually made me tear up. I was so touched. I loved that girl so much. When Alice saw me tear up while reading her letter, she smiled. She told me she loved me, hugged me, gave me a kiss, and then we made love.
It was only a few more days until January 11th. We decided to take a little trip to Niagara Falls. We had ordered Alice's passport a few weeks earlier, and it finally came. So we were going to go check out the Canadian side of the Falls. Our first international trip together! It was great. We had a lot of fun. We even went to Toronto for two days.
When we got back to Liberty, January 11th was only two or three more days away. Suddenly Alice began to change her mind and started saying that she wasn't ready yet and she would go to rehab on February 1st instead. It was the same old story: Not today. Not today. Not today.
I reminded her that it had been her own idea to go on 1/11/11 and that she was so close to finally changing her life for the better and being happy. She didn't want to hear it. She got hostile and told me if I didn't stop pressuring her into getting clean, she'd leave me, stay in a motel and post an escort ad on Backpage.
So I applied what I had learned from dealing with Donna, and used some reverse psychology. I told Alice that I was sick and tired of all her broken promises and that if she really wanted to go back to spreading her legs for every guy in town, and she really wanted to go back to sucking everyone's dick again, then go ahead. I told her I had tried my best, but obviously nothing I did was going to get her clean. She was a lost cause. Completely hopeless and worthless, and I told her to pack her things and I'd drive her to the Howard Johnson in Middletown right now.
She began to cry and told me she didn't want to go, and she promised she would go to rehab.
On the morning of January 11th, she woke up early and packed her bags like a little trooper. She didn't complain. She didn't argue. She didn't try to bargain. She didn't offer me sexual favors to let her do drugs just one more day. She really kept her word, and let me take her to the rehab center in Rhinebeck, New York.
That was probably one of the happiest days of my life. After everything we had been through together, she was really finally going to rehab, and we really were going to move to Florida together. Yayyyy!
When we arrived at the rehab center at 11 am, they told us Alice's insurance wouldn't approve her for a 28-day program, unless she showed signs of withdrawal. She had just done heroin before we left our condo, so she wasn't going to go into withdrawal for a while.
The admissions people told us there was nothing they could do, until her vitals showed signs of distress. So now Alice and I sat in the waiting room, waiting for her to go into painful withdrawal. This was insane! It's hard enough to get an addict to go to rehab, but to make them jump through hoops once they are there is just crazy. Everyone else in the waiting room was in the same boat. A bunch of them couldn't take it anymore and left to get high.
I expected Alice to cave any minute now and start whining that she wanted to go home and get high. But she didn't. She sat there quietly, with her head leaning against my shoulder, holding my hand, waiting to get dope sick. Hours went by. She seemed to melt like a snowman. She got weaker and weaker. She ended up lying down across some empty chairs. She started to feel like shit, and they still wouldn't take her in, until they got word from the insurance company. This kind of shit does not happen in Europe, where they have universal healthcare.
Finally, at 7 pm, they took her in. We kissed and said good bye. I never saw her again after that.
Some guy I had met a few months earlier, who was also dating a drug addict, told me that his girlfriend had been in rehab 27 times over the years. And a bunch of times she had met a dope boy in rehab and ran off with him. He said that happens a lot. He warned me that it might happen with Alice, too.
I mentioned that to Alice, while we were waiting for her insurance to approve her. I told her I was worried she might meet someone in rehab and run off with him. She laughed and said: "I would never leave you. Where would I ever find another guy like you? You have treated me better than I have ever been treated in my life. Trust me, you don't have to worry about me leaving you."
Well, she left me anyway. That guy had been exactly right. About ten days into the program, Alice ran off with someone she met in rehab. It wasn't even a latin dope boy this time, but some old white lady who pimped out young girls to pay for her own drug habit.
I was devastated. I couldn't believe the rehab administration didn't even bother to call me to tell me that Alice had run away. I was her emergency contact, for fuck's sake. But the lady in the administration office told me that "running away" did not constitute an emergency. It happened on a daily basis. I told her that I was worried sick, because I had no idea where Alice was. She said I should call the cops and file a missing person report.
Later that night I went to the police station in Liberty. It was snowing. There was only one cop in the building. He sat behind a glass enclosure. I walked up to the window and told him that my girlfriend had run away from drug rehab and I would like to file a missing person report.
He looked at me for a second and asked: "Why would you even want to find her?"
"Uhmm, because I love her," I replied.
What kind of a stupid question was that? What the hell was wrong with this cop?
He said: "Yeah, you obviously love her, otherwise you wouldn't be looking for her. But trust me, she doesn't love you. She's just some drug addict. They're all the same. They don't love anybody. That girl doesn't give a shit about you or anyone else. If I were you, I would run the other way. Don't go looking for her. Count your blessings that you got rid of her."
Then he got up out of his chair, opened the door of his glass enclosure and came out into the room I was standing in.
"I'm not talking to you as a cop right now. I'm talking to you as Dr. Phil. You look like a nice guy. You obviously care a lot about this girl, but take my word for it, she's not worth it. I don't even know her but I can tell you she's garbage. You know, we cops, we are guys, too. But nobody in this police station would ever want to date a drug addict. We'd rather be single. You're better off without her. Drug addicts are the scum of the earth."
"Uhmm, ok, thanks for the advice," I said and left. I was speechless. I really didn't know what to say to this guy. He was a cop. He dealt with drug addicts on a daily basis. So it's not like I could tell him he didn't know what he was talking about. And what got to me the most was that he wasn't trying to be an asshole. He genuinely tried to be helpful and give me good advice. Somehow I got the feeling that he had been in my shoes at one point. Maybe he used to date a girl who got addicted and then broke his heart.
I went home. The next morning, I called the police department in Rhinebeck. I spoke to a detective who was a lot more sympathetic. Maybe because he worked in the town where the rehab center was located, so he probably dealt with distraught family members of runaway addicts every day. Or maybe because he had seen how desperate those addicts in rehab were to turn their lives around. Who knows, maybe he even had a drug addicted teenage daughter.
He told me that there really wasn't much he could do to find her, but he would help me any way
he could. He told me to talk to all of Alice's friends and aquaintances. He asked me if I had ever driven her to a dealer's house so she could get drugs. I was scared to admit it, but I figured I owed it to this guy to be honest, if I expected any kind of help from him.
"Yeah, I did. I know I shouldn't have. But I didn't know what else to do. If I hadn't taken her there to get drugs, she would have just run off and gotten them anyway," I said.
The officer told me not to worry about it. He said he knew what I had been going through, and that loved ones of addicts always fall in that trap. They try to help the addict, and then end up enabling them instead and making things worse: "You try to help them get off drugs, but somehow they manage to make you help them get drugs instead. Funny how that works."
Patty had told me a long time ago that love makes you vulnerable and addicts know that. When their addiction takes over, it turns them from loving human beings into sociopathic predators with the singular mission of chasing the next high, no matter who they have to betray to get it. And they know that the easiest, most vulnerable targets are the people who love them.
When you love someone, you do things for them you wouldn't do for anyone else. And when you really love someone, you forgive them over and over again when they hurt you. Addicts consider love a weakness they can exploit. And when their families have finally learned how an addict operates, the addict searches for new victims. Addicts throw the word love around, because it's the mightiest weapon in their arsenal. Even more powerful than sex.
Going to New York Page 19
