Minneapolis
I ended up arriving in Minneapolis in the dead of winter to the ungodly temperature of 0° Fahrenheit on valentines day. I had just gotten out of my third facility in the past year (one week in psych, two inpatient rehabs) and it was recommended to me that I go out to Minneapolis to start over because the recovery community is strong and there are top notch outpatient programs. I didn’t care about any of that, I just didn’t want to try and sort out the mess of a life that I left back at home in New York.
This was my first time in sober living. I was not hot on the idea to begin with. Then when I got there between being dragged to meetings, house managers busting my balls over the rules/restrictions/curfew, and constantly being around a bunch of people I was better than— as a prideful selfish entitled MF, I was not a happy camper. I knew that the best way to get through this though was to fly under the radar and grit my teeth until I got my life together enough to where I could move out of this god damn place. I stayed under the radar, for a while, if 4 weeks is considered a while.
There was a guy that moved into our house that I found out was allowed to take ‘a controlled substance’. So I inquire about it, and I come to find out that the policy of this place is that if a doctor prescribes you a medication (even a controlled) they will let you take it. Bingo. This is music to my ears, the doctor game is one I know all too well and it took less than a week before I come back to the house and hand the manager my ‘new prescriptions’ from my new doctor. This guy was PISSED, telling me this is bullshit that’s not your actual doctor, I looked him dead in the face shrugged and told him that’s my doctor now. I knew there was nothing he could really do. So there I was, in a sober living house not sober, genuinely feeling proud of myself.
Once I got my ‘medications’ settled, I went back to flying under the radar, making as few waves as possible. At the time I thought meetings and the steps were absolute bullshit. A waste of my time. Steps? No thanks I’ll take the escalator. First off hard work isn’t exactly my strong suit. Blind pride- I’m telling myself I was fine, I’m gonna change for what? The only thing I needed to change was to stop letting my drug use get away from me. This last one- entitled af- I should get to play by a special set of rules, or get an exception, or be allowed to do things differently than everyone else. As soon as I could, I entirely stopped going to meetings, started lying to the house managers about it, and made up an imaginary sponsor I was working steps with.
I was there maybe four months tops. Prior to leaving I was back working in my field making good money, I was a reliable nurse, and I actually had a friend or two in the house that could even be considered good influences. But then the girl I had gotten ‘involved with’ about two weeks before said that the lease on her apartment is ending and that we should move in together, I said that’s a great idea. So I’m out of the sober living a week later. Thank god. At the time I truly didn’t think the place was doing anything for me, in my mind I was the one who got my life (somewhat) stable again, and I was the one that got my drug problem under control (even though I wasn’t even sober- smdh fucking delusional).
I forgot to mention that the girl I knew for two weeks that I moved in with, also had a drug problem. But that was fine because I didn’t have a drug problem, anymore. Fast forward two months- shockingly we ended up being bad influences on each other and our drug use had blown up, we picked fights and argued constantly and we were both cheating on each other, a lot. True love at its finest.
After I moved into my own place, I made the wonderful discovery that on the top floor of my building, was a guy my age, Andy, who was just as into drugs as I was. Again, who would have guessed- me and Andy were both horrible influences on each other. I end up quitting my job one day at 5am via text an hour before my shift was supposed to start and refused to pick up the phone when they tried calling me three times, the pinnacle of professionalism in healthcare. A few weeks later me and Andy are together all day every day. At this point I’m off just balls to the wall with it all: I’m doing drugs I said I’d never do, I have a needle in my arm, I can’t pay the rent, I’m stealing food from the supermarket, I’m fucking over anyone I can, caught up in it all, mentally emotionally morally I’m absolutely shot.
It sounds ridiculous when I say it because it was a spiral that took place over months and at no point did I recognize it despite it being so obvious looking back now, but all of this really snuck up on me. I just kept telling myself that it’s fine I’ll figure out all of this tomorrow- the rent, all the other bills, the guy who won’t stop calling my phone, getting food, finding a new job- then one day tomorrow finally comes. I’d been failing miserably dealing with bipolar the majority of my adult life. Historically when I fall into a ‘bad phase’, thoughts plans and images of suicide are daily, constant, the majority of nights I’m just looking for a reason to hold on. The psych stay I mentioned at the beginning, IVC. As you could imagine at this point in the story I was in a horrible ‘bad phase’, I’m completely untreated, my life is on fire all around me, super isolated, I have no support system within a thousand miles (besides Andy who’s solution was more cocaine and meth) to fall back on, and all I can seem to do is keep fucking my life up more and more with drugs. (Thats when this next part happened). So when tomorrow finally came I looked around at my life, and I’m absolutely devastated ashamed embarrassed, I’m thinking to myself how did I end up here again.
After spending most of a day thinking about it I said fuck it. I’m not doing this anymore. This is just one more chapter in a story of disaster. Life, it’s just not gonna happen for me clearly. So I waited until around midnight. I went around the block to a guy I know’s apartment building that had a climbable fire escape, it’s a four story building. I get on the roof. I’m on the ledge. I’m a good 50 ft up. I look down at the concrete. I stand there for a long breath. Now- I always imagine people jumping off buildings doing this big theatrical jump with a running start or something. Me, I leaned forward and hopped.