This Time Is Different

I’ve Changed, I Swear

Kelley cries, “You always do this! I am tired of it. I am tired of you! This time will not be any different, you will be drunk again in a week! I hate you.”

I feel a gut-wrenching pain in my abdomen with that last blow. She hates me. What have I done? I have lost her for good this time. My heart hurts and my eyes well up as I wish I could just turn back time a month or two. As always, my instinct is to cry and tell her how sorry I am. I don’t. I know my apologies mean nothing anymore. It hurts to breathe.

“You are a terrible mother! If you loved me, you would have picked me. Why can’t you ever just think about me instead of the stupid bottle? Don’t you care about me?”, Kelley continued.

I am a terrible mother, she is right. I wonder if there is any point in living. She hates me. My beautiful, innocent, precious thirteen-year-old little girl hates me. I am finished. I cannot go on. Why bother? My eyes flood with tears, and the knot in my stomach rises to my throat. Feeling completely worthless, I reach for a tissue. I contemplate my next move. I hate myself.

A forgotten emotion comes out of nowhere. The feeling of innocent, pure love hits me like a ton of bricks. I love her and I can’t give up. I try to channel my therapist, my friends, and God. I try to regain my footing. I am prepared for this. I know I messed up big-time and sadly this isn’t the first time. I have been told countless times that mending our relationship will take time. I know I have to keep going, even when it seems pointless.

I remember the hope on Kelley’s face three years ago when I first told her I was going away to get help with my drinking. I had a lot of hope, too. I remember the program. I remember the pride I took in how well I did in that program. It is kind of ridiculous now to look back, and realize I was striving to be the number one addict. I acted as if I deserved a tiara and a sash for ‘best rehab participant’. My sash really should have read, ‘hopeless, drunk, crappy-parent’. I didn’t know that then.

I left that program and managed to string together two months of sobriety. Kelley’s heart broke again when I was rushed back to treatment after a near-fatal incident. Her beautiful brown eyes seemed to droop slightly at their outer corner. At only nine, the wind was being sucked out of her sail. Her sadness was all my fault. I knew I had to do better.

Those eyes carry a much deeper sadness now. Kelley looks away from me as I sit down next to her. She is my baby. I want to hold her and comfort her. I want the pain to go away. The never-ending pounding in my brain reminds me, I am the cause of the pain and the last person she wants to comfort her.

I am not sure I will get through this day. I have been home from treatment for four hours. I am not sure I can take any more cold shoulders or harsh words from my baby. I excuse myself to the porch for a much-needed cigarette. I know I need to kick these too, but today is not the day. A part of me wishes I was still in the ‘bubble’ of inpatient rehab, and a part of me wishes I didn’t even exist. Is this what coming home is supposed to be like? Maybe this harsh homecoming is just one more sign that this time might actually be different. Am I just setting myself, and everyone around me, up for another big fat fail?

No. This trip to rehab really did feel different. Something changed inside of me. I remind myself of the spiritual experiences and the resolutions to do better. I try to feel that hope. I think of the positive changes I’ve already made, and the goals I have. I want to build a life I don’t need to escape from. I want to grow into someone I don’t hate. I am going to change the way I live and the way I deal with stress. I have big plans to change careers. I have dusted off old hobbies like writing and cooking. I deserve this chance. If I can just stay sober, Kelley will be proud of me one day. “Everything is going to be okay,” I reassure myself.

My slow waltz towards hope is interrupted by the constant noise in my head reminding me of Kelley’s life crushing words, “You will be drunk again in a week!”

Is she right? It was my fourth time in an alcohol treatment facility. The last three years have been hell. In and out of detox centers, outpatient programs, therapists’ offices, and the occasional stay in the psych ward. How on earth can I overcome this? How am I going to make this time different? Maybe, this is God’s plan for me. What if there is nothing else for me in this universe, but to drink myself to death. What if Kelley is right?

Does she really believe what she is saying? She is only thirteen years old, and I am her mother. I light another cigarette and try to tell myself that she wants me to get better. I start to think about our life in a month, in a year, and five years. She may be saying awful things to me today, but at least she’s speaking to me. At least I have this chance to see her, and my parental rights have not been officially terminated. I head back inside convincing myself there is hope, even for me. I see her pained face, trying to stay strong. She doesn’t want me to see that she is just a scared little girl that wants her Mommy back.

“It’s like you purposely do this when no one is around to help me. I’ll never be alone with you again,” her voice cracks on that last word. “I didn’t want to see you or talk to you until June, but Aunt Nancy let you come. I am not going home with you. I do not want to live with you anymore,” Kelley’s blows continue.

She is right. This time was bad. I had fooled the world, mostly Kelley, into believing I was on a solid path to recovery. I talked her into a vacation with me. I drove her hundreds of miles away from all of our support people. My intentions were good. The truth is, I had been drinking for weeks. I was in control, though. I was drinking like a normal person. I look back and laugh at the insanity of thinking I was in control. After all of the crap I have pulled, how could I have believed I could drink and stay in control. Alcoholism is just as “cunning, baffling, and powerful” as they say in AA.

All of the plans and reservations we made burned to the ground, as she watched her mommy sacrifice her for ‘just one more drink.’ She was smart enough to call for help and get my sister to bring her home. I am glad she wasn’t there to see the police drag me out of the hotel into the ambulance. There was no choice, but to head back to treatment with my tail between my legs. It was the easy choice. It prolonged coming home. People say going to rehab is hard, but I believe it is coming home that is harder.

Kelley locks herself in her bedroom at my sister’s house. I try to catch my breath. I know I am responsible for everything that is happening, but it is so hard to face the consequences. I feel like there is a grand piano on my chest. Can I leave her here and come back tomorrow? Can I stay sober tonight? Do I even want to be in my house without her? I wouldn’t be the first person to relapse on the first day of being home. I could start over tomorrow. The part of my diseased brain I have named “Bad Betty,” begins to fuel my cravings with excuses. I say goodbye to my sister, although she still doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

As I wait for my Uber, I sob uncontrollably. I want to just say “F-it,” and buy a bottle, but what will that help? It certainly will not make things better with Kelley. I convince myself to stay the course and go home to my lonely house. This is only the first day out of rehab, maybe tomorrow will be easier.

At home, I lay on the floor of Kelley’s bedroom and cry. Nausea overcomes me and I run to the bathroom. I remember saying to my treatment group, that “I had to ‘do the deal’ this time.” Whether my daughter ever spoke to me again or not, I wanted to get better. I wanted to be alive to see her grow up, even if it had to be from a distance. I reach for my phone and search for the nearest AA meeting. She still hates me, but I must get through this day, this hour, this minute.