THE PRISON GATES ARE BROKEN
By Rhonda Lea Snow
Copyright © 2007 by Rhonda Lea Snow
The Prison Gates Are Broken
by Rhonda Lea Snow
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-1-60266-318-3
All rights reserved solely by the author. The author guarantees all contents are original and do not infringe upon the legal rights of any other person or work. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. The views expressed in this book are not necessarily those of the publisher.
Unless otherwise indicated, Bible quotations are taken from The Life Application Bible, New International Version. Copyright © 1988 by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
www.xulonpress.com
Dedication Page
This book is dedicated to those who have been on this journey with me, those who have prayed for me, and especially those who encouraged me to keep plugging away and get this book published. Especially to my best friend and Editor, Ruby Sand who has stuck by me through it all, I couldn’t have made it without you. To Becky Born, who so lovingly encouraged me to see the truth. To Wendy Clontz, who has continually, over the last decade, prayed for me, fought spiritual warfare for me and encouraged me to publish this book. To Cassandra Hamilton, who was instrumental in helping me begin my writing career. To my children, Nick, Joe & Amber, you are all such a blessing to me and I love each one of you. And most of all to the Holy Spirit, who gave me the inspiration to write and the timing to do so. Without the Lord, this would not be possible, so thank you Jesus.
Table of Contents
Where It All Started 6
Satan’s Playground 10
First Attempt 17
From the Frying Pan into the Fire 20
When the Going Gets Tough - I Get Going 25
The Second Attempt 31
The Beginning - One Day at A Time 34
I Think He’s The One 41
The Big Question 49
The Anticipated, Exciting, but Fearful Day 59
The Real Husband Came Forward 63
Wow, Not Quite Ready for That One 67
The Blessed Day 73
The True Beginning 78
Double Blessing 86
Could This Be the Answer 95
The Truth Be Told 109
Why Isn’t This Working 125
What Is It Now 139
One More Time 148
Reality Hit Hard 153
The Final Farewell 158
There is Freedom in Divorce 162
Introduction
I began writing this book about my life on February 4, 1997. It started out to be just a therapeutic journal for me to put my feelings on paper, but soon after I began to put pen to paper, I began to hope to someday share my pain and triumph with others. All of the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
My prayer is that God will use my story “The Prison Gates Are Broken” to heal the readers who so desperately need to know that there is hope for the weary, the abused, the addict, the drunkard and sexually immoral. May the Lord be with you on your journey as He has been with me on mine. He will never leave you or forsake you. God Bless!
Chapter One
Where It All Started
I was born in 1965 to a family of hurt, rejection, and abandonment issues. My mom came from a very religious home where they lived by many rules and laws. My dad came from a very strict Orthodox Jewish family. They had to elope to avoid the conflict of religious ceremonies. I began my life in confusion over my religion and beliefs. Both of my parents rebelled against their religions leaving me with no real foundation. Both my mom and my dad were spending all their waking hours, while not working, drinking to fill the void that they had in their hearts.
My brother John, who was about five when I was born, had already the warning signs of a very confused and damaged child. My sister Lisa, who was exactly thirteen months to the day older than me, was already on the road to being a perfectionist.
I was born last. There were never any baby pictures taken of me, so I used to think and believe that I was adopted. I think my parents really tried to love me, but they had so much pain of their own. My dad owned a tv repair shop, and he worked all the time, which left my mom with the responsibility of caring for very young children. I know that was tough, although she had help from my grandmother and her boyfriend.
I estimate that when I was about two years old, my grandmother, who we called “Nana” and her boyfriend “Papa Mac” started coming over. Also, Mom and Dad would take us over to their house. Usually, they would watch us for the weekend. I assume so mom and dad could go out and drink.
I have always been a strong willed outgoing person and because of that, I got in a lot of trouble. At the time, Nana’s boyfriend would discipline me for my wrong doings. The way he did it was unacceptable. He would sexually abuse me. He always did his “disciplining” in the bathroom with the door locked. My brother and sister would hear me scream, “no!” “stop!”, but they thought I was just getting a spanking. Not true; I was getting abused (sodomized) and having my childhood and my whole innocent self ripped, no, stolen away from me. I don’t know how long he would do this for, it seemed like hours, but I do know that I would just concentrate on something else, so that I wouldn’t feel the emotional and physical pain of what I was going through. I would disassociate myself from the present situation. I call it escape from reality, because that kind of reality is too much for a preschooler to handle. When it was over, I would totally forget about it. I would block it out like it never happened. It didn’t change how I acted. It didn’t change my friendliness to other people. But on the inside, mainly in my stomach, I became a very sickly child. I started biting my nails when I was around three years old. I started biting my toenails too. I bit them until they would bleed because I figured that if I hurt myself no one could hurt me. I also ate until my stomach would hurt. Again, if I was already in pain, then he couldn’t hurt me. It’s amazing that a young child could think that way.
This man died sometime when I was three. After he died I didn’t have to go through the physical pain anymore, but I had to live with the emotional pain. And there was so much of it, that I just became a very sick child. I would catch every germ there was. I got pneumonia twice and I started getting stomachaches a lot.
Finally, I told my mom about Papa Mac when I was five. She told me to quit making up those lies, and that she never wanted to hear that out of my mouth again. So from that point on, until I was thirty, no one ever did. I totally blocked it out of my mind, like it had never happened to me, but my insides never forgot. They trembled in fear day in and day out. My destructive behavior continued. I continued to bite my nails until they bled and instead of biting my toenails I just ripped them off until they bled.
Well all I remember about the ages of four to ten was just being sick all the time and lying around and watching a lot of television. My mom would give me chocolate milk shakes to cheer me up. The best thing that ever happened to me was when I was ten years old. I went to a church camp with a friend of mine, and I accepted Jesus Christ into my heart. I had no idea what I was doing, but I believe I was sincere about it. I know that at that moment I was saved, but because I had to go back home I got lost in the shuffle - spiritually speaking.
Chapter Two
Satan’s Playground
Shortly after I returned home from church camp, my life turned around again - Satan took hold of me in a major way. I was hanging out with my brother and his friend, a boy who lived in the house behind us. He was about sixteen years old. He was developing film and he asked if I wanted to help him. Of course, I thought it would be a really cool experience, so I did. We went into a darkroom, and there was a piece of plywood over the light switch. I was sitting next to him wearing a cool-lot (unfortunately this provided easy accessibility). He reached down the front of my cool-lot and fondled me. I didn’t know what to do except reach behind the plywood and turn on the light. I couldn’t say anything. I just ran home and my sister, Lisa asked what happened. She had tried to warn me to get out of there, because she sensed something not right, but I was way to stubborn to listen to my big sister. So I told her that he messed with me and he was a pervert. But as in the past, I acted as if nothing happened, and so I was the same I always was. But again my insides were trembling with fear, guilt, shame and confusion.
Not long after this incidence, I was introduced to Marijuana (pot) over at my friend Sharon’s house. We were all in one of her sister’s rooms. There were several of us, including myself, Lisa, Sharon and my other friend, Cindy. And believe it or not, even the dog and the cat. We all sat there and got high smoking out of hookahs (big round bongs), and even the pets were getting high. Remember, I was ten, and in a lot of emotional pain. I found my relief. Pot was my escape out of reality. It was great. I immediately became an avid pot smoker. I loved it so much it became who I was - a pothead at age ten. I was already addicted to cigarettes, so pot was just another addition to my already bad habit of smoking.
My new life began. I could escape life any time I wanted by smoking weed. It was totally awesome, or so I thought. I started getting high all the time. Day, night, mornings before school, evenings before bed; whenever I could get away from life, I did. Life did not get easier however, it just kept getting harder.
The emotional pain was so overwhelming and the abuse kept escalating to different levels. When my family and I went on vacation with friends, one of my friends brothers fondled me while I was sleeping on the couch in our rented vacation cabin. Of course I immediately blocked it out of my mind with drugs. I brought plenty of pot on vacation with me that year.
Life went on as usual and my pain got worse. All of a sudden, pot wasn’t enough. Alcohol didn’t quite do the job. I soon started experimenting with other drugs at age twelve. I started smoking PCP and taking LSD, while also staying with my drug of choice at the time, pot. I partied all the time. I drank, smoked, snorted and popped everything and anything. The only thing I didn’t do was inject it with a needle. Thank God, because I’m sure I would have liked that too.
I got arrested frequently between the ages of twelve and sixteen. I believe I got in a total of twelve serious car accidents by the time I reached the legal drinking age. Throughout my very early teenage years, I was date raped several times, usually when I was passed out on Jack Daniel’s. People who didn’t even know me sexually molested me. Some I knew, some I didn’t, but never in a million years would I have let them touch me if I was awake. As usual I didn’t let it bother me, at least not on the outside. Inside I just wanted to scream so loud for someone to come and rescue me. However, I had learned at a very early age to never show my pain or express that I was hurt. So I didn’t, I kept up my mask of happiness underneath horrible pain that was eating me away.
I had a lot of relationships where I thought I was in love. I would wait two weeks before I had sex to make sure these guys were going to stay with me, and boom, right after I finally did it, they were history. Some would even tell me they loved me up until they got what they wanted. This was a pattern I couldn’t quite figure out, but got burned by every time. All I was looking for was someone to love and someone to love me. I just wanted a true love and thought each and every one of them was it. In my heart I really believed they loved me, but one thing we all had in common was our love of getting high. So even though they used me for sex, I used them for drugs.
Then I met a guy named John, who I thought really loved me. He was gorgeous and nineteen years old and I was about thirteen. I thought he could take me away from the hell in my life, but he made it much worse. He took complete control over my life. He abused me physically, mentally, verbally, emotionally and sexually. He took who I could have been sexually and distorted it to pornography. He made me say things while having sex. He made me move certain ways and scream certain ways. Everything about me was dictated. He treated me like a dog. He told me what to do and how to do it. Once he suffocated me because I drank too much after he told me to slow down. I didn’t stop drinking, and I passed out. The next thing I knew, I couldn’t breathe. He had his hand over my nose and my mouth. Afterwards, he made me have sex with him. There were several of these abusive occasions.
Another one in particular was one night when my parents were out of town. John came over, along with some mutual friends. I was talking on the phone while sitting on the floor against a refrigerator. The next thing I knew, John threw a peach pie in my face for no apparent reason. My instant reaction was to hit him with the phone I had in my hand. This was a big mistake! I ran outside and he started twisting my arm behind my back. I managed to break free and ran inside and took a shower; not letting him see my tears. I believed if he couldn’t see me cry he really couldn’t hurt me. Our friends thought that he needed to be humiliated after doing such a good job of humiliating me by throwing a pie in my face. While he was banging on the bathroom door, these guys took his clothes off and threw him into the bushes outside. Guess who paid a price for that one? He came back in pounding even harder on the door this time. Of course, I didn’t know what had happened to him because I was taking a long, emotional shower. I was so afraid to open the door but I felt if I didn’t, he would break it down and beat the life out of me. So I opened it up, and he started throwing me against the wall and calling me a gutter slut. I don’t remember exactly how that night ended.
I can remember sitting in John’s living room watching television and all of a sudden, he would punch me in my chest as hard as he could, while calling me a gutter slut. The abuse went on for at least two years.
I ended up getting pregnant from him twice. The first time I was around fourteen. He had his friends say that they were the ones who slept with me, just in case my parents were going to press charges of statutory rape on him. They didn’t but my dad did threaten him with it in order to get him to pay for the abortion. Afterward, the guilt of having an abortion ate at me every day. I stayed with him at that point not just out of fear, but also out of guilt.
There was a time when we were driving down the road and he was being his usual verbal abusive self. After he told me what a cunt I was, he then put his hand between my legs. I threw his hand away from my body, and he put it back. Somehow, I got the courage to hit him over the head with a beer bottle. We then went to his friend’s, and as usual I started playing poker with everyone, like nothing ever happened. He played the poor pitiful act of remorse on my sister Lisa and my friend, Sharon. I felt sorry for him and decided to go talk to him. I said to him, “Lisa and Sharon said you wanted to talk to me, so what do you want?” He proceeded to say “You killed my baby and you owe me the money for it.” That was the absolutely most hurtful thing he ever said to me. It blew away any of the other abuses he thrust upon me. I actually believed him and bought into this horrible accusation. I stayed with John for several years because every time I got the courage to leave him and start dating someone else, he would manipulate me with guilt to come back.
There was a time when I started dating a guy named Danny, who was also a friend of John’s. One night when Danny and I went out, John and their friend, Mark, happened to be in the car with us. Danny and Mark got to see first hand the abuse I had sustained in the previous couple of years. My ex started reaching from the back seat and punching me in my chest and ripping off my shirt. It was humiliating. For some sick reason we got back together again after that.
Anyway, within that time period of dating Danny I got pregnant again, this time it was in my fallopian tube, which almost killed me. I thought it was Danny’s, but it wasn’t because I had already been bleeding while we were having sex. The only other person who could have been the father was John. I called him and told him about it, and he was so supportive over the phone, but he never came to the hospital. When I was admitted they explained to me that I was one day away from my fallopian tube bursting, thus causing hemorrhaging and most likely death. I was in the hospital for eight days.
Chapter Three
First Attempt
I had a lot of time to think about and review my pitiful life while I was in the hospital. I had a lot of thoughts of suicide and wished it could just be over. I think in some ways I indirectly tried to kill myself, because even in the hospital I was getting high on cocaine. Friends brought it in and I snorted it up.
Shortly after that, I started seeing a guy named Jeff who I thought was different from other guys. I had known him for a long time, and he was one of my best friends. He was sort of like a brother, except we started having feelings for each other. Hence, a new relationship started. This one was very different than the last. He did not consistently physically abuse me. Instead, he cheated on me with many girls; some I knew and a lot that I did not. For the most part, he treated me pretty decent, except for his extra-curricular activities.
It wasn’t long before things started changing. His real anger started to manifest itself, but not always in violence. He was a con-artist and a thief, and there were times when he would steal my car and get arrested and expect me to bail him out of jail. The sad part was I would feel so sorry for him that I would bail him out. Then, of course, I felt like such an idiot. He took advantage of me like that for about four years.
When Jeff got drunk, he acted as if he were evil. He was an alcoholic, and when he drank too much, his eyes would look like the devil himself. There was a time he was very drunk while on vacation, and he got very violent with me. It was one of the most devastating, fearful times of my life. He wanted us to have a four-some with another couple that he met at a bonfire on the beach. He got very angry that I said no, and he started throwing me down and got on top of me and choked me. I thought that he was going to kill me. I managed to run away from him and try to get help from a person walking through the dunes. The person rejected me, I assume out of fear. He put on his hood and kept on walking. At that point I thought I was dead. Jeff grabbed me again and started choking me even harder this time.
This was the first time that I really knew that God intervened in my life. At the very moment that I was being strangled to death, the entire island blacked out into total darkness. This snapped Jeff out of his rage and he started crying. God had saved my life! It was only by His grace and miracle that I lived that night. That night Jeff had the rage of Satan in him, and although I had seen him hurt many other people, sometimes ten guys at a time, I never thought he would hurt me. I was wrong; but I stayed with him out of pity. Somehow no matter what this guy did, I always felt sorry for him - like he couldn’t survive without me in his life. I hated to be with him, and yet I felt guilty when I was not.
The only solution I could come up with was to move to the other side of the country. I made a decision one day while we were broken up (which had happened many, many times). I decided that I would move to California, which was almost 3,000 miles away. At the time I was nineteen years old and had never even lived outside of my parent’s home. I thought somehow I could make it on my own. I was a girl on the run to find my life, or to run away from it.
Chapter Four
From the Frying Pan
into the Fire
Off I went to Los Angeles, California with a friend of my bother’s, Brian, who I didn’t even know. It was here that I really grew up fast - a young girl from the suburbs of Washington DC, to the big city of lights. It was like going from the frying pan into the fire. It was a different life out there. California was so exciting, but very scary at the same time. I got to meet movie stars - I was even in a movie. But life wasn’t as it seemed. It was overwhelming to be in the big city alone, so I started going to bars at night.
During the day I worked as a legal secretary and after work I would go to Gold’s Gym in Venice Beach. I became a body builder. I went from weighing about 118 at 5’5 to, in six short months, weighing 155 pounds of pure muscle. It was pretty scary when, one day, I looked in the mirror and didn’t even recognize myself. I looked like a brute, so I immediately stopped working out. But my body attracted a certain type of guys: body builders with 19-inch arms. They were all gorgeous but they had no brains and no ambition.
I’ll never forget the very first of many one night stands. I was at a nightclub that Brian was a bouncer at, and a really good looking guy came up to me and asked me to take a ride in his limousine. I was so excited as it was my first limo ride. Well the next thing I knew I was in bed with this complete stranger. I remember coming home and taking at least a two-hour shower. I wanted to wash the dirt off me. I thought to myself, I will never do that again, I felt so used and like such a tramp. However, that night primed me for a future of one-night stands. Unfortunately I can’t count how many there were. It got easier as time went on, and I started using men as they were using me. We had a mutual goal - have sex and never talk again. It became especially easy to have sex with a guy who was supporting my cocaine habit.
During my time in LA, I partied every night at a different club, went to Mexico on vacations, and had a blast. There were also some very difficult times as well. I got mugged outside my apartment, lost three jobs, and got evicted from my apartment. Eventually I realized life was just too tough in California, so I moved back home to Maryland, thinking I could pull my life back together and save money to go visit some friends in Ireland. My intentions were good but my cocaine habit, once again, took over. I got to the point of snorting cocaine in the bathroom at work and then immediately when I got off work, my friend Sandra and I would go to a bar, hook up with two guy friends and started a night of bingeing on cocaine. This went on for months.
At the time I had a boyfriend named Tim who loved me very much and was so good to me. I did nothing but treat him like dirt. I would make plans with him to meet him somewhere, and then never show up because it was more important for me to get high, than respectfully meet my commitment to him. He and I had made a promise that there would be no more cocaine, but from the very day that I agreed to stop, I continued behind his back, and he was nothing but a hindrance to my partying.
One day we went to a concert with Tim’s friends, who were supplying me with cocaine. We were all in the car going to the concert, and they started cutting up lines to be snorted, and they handed it to me. Tim looked at me and looked at them and looked down at the lines and said “No, we don’t do that anymore.” Well right then I made the decision that this drug was way more important than my relationship with him; so I grabbed it and said “Speak for yourself,” and I snorted it up right in front of him. As one can imagine, he was furious. He knew he was beat in this competition, so we broke up. This was great for me because I now had the freedom to get high whenever and wherever I wanted too. I did feel awful about what I did to him, but very shortly got over it because getting high could get me over anything, at least that was the way I thought.
But you know what else worked well to get my life together: moving - that was my answer. I applied for a franchise move to San Diego, California with the same company that I was working for, and it came to pass. So I moved to beautiful San Diego. I got a house right on the beach. I couldn’t have asked for anything better, but it wasn’t enough.
Even though Los Angeles was three hours away, I spent every weekend in LA. I would leave at 5:00 p.m. on Friday and stay at one of my old roommate, Kathy’s apartment. I would party the entire weekend, mostly all-nighters on cocaine. That meant staying up all night partying. I would leave Los Angeles around 4:30 - 5:00 a.m. on Monday morning and go straight to work. It was crazy, but I did it every weekend except for a couple of times when my friends would come to San Diego. Of course, they supplied my drug of choice.
This went on for about four months, until I was transferred to Anaheim, California, and I moved in with my Aunt and Uncle. I felt so lucky because my new boss was a cocaine addict, so I didn’t have to hide my addiction. Instead, we would get high together. That’s when things changed, and my snorting habit turned into a smoking habit with freebase (also known as crack before that process was given a name). Almost every night after work I would go to my boss’ house and party with him and his wife. He was probably in his middle forties, and I was twenty-one years old. When we got high, hormones started rising, and I began doing compromising things with my body. I had threesomes with he and his wife, and even one time, although under the influence of Quaaludes and freebase, I subjected myself to sexual pleasure with his wife. I don’t remember the event because I was so wasted, but I remember afterward feeling confused about my sexuality and I hated that feeling. I never again experienced that kind of intimacy; it was just not for me.
Although I was smoking cocaine during the week with my boss, on the weekends I would go down to Los Angeles, which was about an hour away. I would party all weekend snorting cocaine, not smoking it. As a matter of fact, people all around me would smoke it and I would get on their case about it. I acted as if I was totally against it, even though I did it all week long.
Chapter Five
When the Going Gets Tough
– I Get Going
At that point, life got pretty out of hand, and what did I do when things got really tough? I split town. This time I went to Oklahoma to live with Tim, the same guy I hurt so badly when I had moved back home.
He flew to California and we were going to drive to Oklahoma to start our new lives together. But for four days before he came, I did nothing but get high on cocaine because I knew when I was with him I couldn’t do it. I literally stayed up for four days and four nights getting my fill. When we drove out of Los Angeles I immediately fell asleep, or maybe I passed out. Either way, I slept for twenty-three hours straight. I think that if I hadn’t, I probably would have died. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I could hardly see straight. It was very scary. It was the first time I think I almost overdosed, but God saved me, I know this now.
Here I was, a twenty-one year old cocaine addict, detoxing and withdrawing without any help. I was living in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and I was miserable. My relationship with Tim was the pits; he expected me to cook and clean for him and give him a beer and let him read the newspaper. It was definitely not my kind of life. I hated it, and I was withdrawing from cocaine so badly. All I did was shoot pool and play poker - not fun.
I got a job in sales, and I thought that this would be my freedom. My territories included Oklahoma, Arkansas, Mississippi and Tennessee. About once a week I would go with my boss to these territories and present my products. My boss was approximately fifty years old and a very smart man, but a very perverted one too. He would convince me that the only way to really learn something was during the most intimate, vulnerable state you could be in. He said he backed up his beliefs with material from Harvard University. I respected him, and I was intrigued by his intelligence. We would be in our hotel room, and he would tell me to get undressed, and of course he would use the words “trust me, I would never hurt you,” so I did. While I was receiving oral pleasure from him, he would ask me the five points of selling. This was supposedly the best way to teach someone these selling techniques. But, what he was really doing was controlling my mind, and he had control of my mind many years after parting. We ended our so-called work relationship when he “accidentally” had intercourse with me. He was married and his wife was about to have a baby, but only now did he think he had committed adultery. After all, if he didn’t penetrate me then it was strictly business, and he was doing me a favor by teaching me at such a vulnerable level, or so he said. It took me years to realize that not only did he sexually abuse me, but he psychologically abused me too; he controlled my mind.
Well as you can probably guess, life was miserable. Again, I stayed true to my motto: when the going got tough - I got going! So I moved back to Los Angeles and moved in with Kathy, my old roommate, who I used to stay with while visiting from San Diego. Now remember I was completely dry from all drugs for about four months.
The very day I got into LA, I started using all over again. I was actually thankful that the first people I saw were dealers. We all went to the Colorado River for Memorial weekend, and I got high every minute I was there. From the minute we got into a van we rented, through the entire day, through the night, and as soon as I woke up the next day. I did so much cocaine that my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, and even that didn’t stop me. I thought to myself, I would never go without that again. Life is too rough without it.
I got another job and started life over again. Kathy and I got our own apartment and began the partying there. I did my usual sleeping around; Kathy and I were very good at that. We would go out at night just to have sex.
One night I went to our usual bar and I saw a guy, and I thought to myself, “I want him.” I would always pick the best looking guy and conquer him. Well that night was no different. I conquered him, and I went to his condo with him in Marina Del Ray, with every intention on sleeping with him, though he was moving a little too fast for me. We were in the elevator together and he started going up my skirt and then he dragged me into his condo. I tried to play it cool, although I was terrified. He got undressed and put on a robe. So I said to him, why don’t you chill out and we’ll drink a beer. Well he had no interest in that. He started getting very forceful with me. I knew I had to make a decision to either let him have sex with me or he would rape me and maybe kill me. So I did whatever he wanted. He forced me to have oral sex with him, and as much as I wanted to hurt him down there, I was terrified. The next morning he gave me a ride home and like an idiot I kissed him good-bye. I walked into Kathy’s place, and I just busted out in tears - uncontrollably crying. I felt so powerless, and I knew at that moment that I would never let that happen to me again. That was my last one-night stand and that would be the last time that I would be date-raped.
After that incident, I found someone named Chris and fell madly in love, at least I thought it was love. We spent every day together and I stayed at his place until an event happened where he had to move into my apartment. It was Halloween night 1987 and we had a party at his house. There were a lot of people there, partying, but good people. And then this guy came in, who I had spotted and remembered that he was the one who had tried to rip off the house a couple of weeks prior to the party. I told Chris, and he told the guy to leave. The guy had a gun, so we called the police. They kicked him out, and this guy, who was a member of the Culver City gang, went home and made a bomb to blow us up and kill us. Instead, by the grace of God, it blew him up and killed him. I don’t mean that God killed him—that is not for me to say, but I do mean that God graced us and saved us that night. Now I had no relationship with God at the time, but I knew, in my heart of hardened hearts, that God spared me, and because He spared me also spared those around me. I knew at that very moment that God was protecting me. Of course that thought didn’t last very long because I continued to destroy my life.
Because of this incident with the bomb, Chris moved in with me, and a very short time after that, became my fiancée. We were engaged and trying to plan a wedding, but the problem was we couldn’t save any money, because we spent it all on cocaine. We were both heavily hooked on this drug. He would steel money from work to pay for our habit. In turn, I would call my parents to ask for money for our wedding plans, dress, flowers, arrangements, etc. However, when they would send me the money, I would spend it on drugs. We got to the point where we would scrounge his van for laundry money. It was a sad site. And with no money to pay for our wedding, we started fighting all the time. He would have bouts of rage. He never physically hurt me, though I think he was capable. He had turned into someone I didn’t even know. It was scary, very scary - the man that I was going to spend the rest of my life with was out of control.
When Chris was with me and my friends he would be himself, and he would get high on cocaine. But when he would hang out with his other friends, who he had known for a long time, he would act completely different. They didn’t even know he did drugs. He was living a double life, and he expected me to do the same thing. I could be a chameleon and act like anybody, anywhere. (I had the ability to change my personality to fit my circumstances). Even though I had this ability, I did not want to use it around his friends and he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t be himself around them and therefore I think he was going crazy. Just like all of my other boyfriends, he had a terrible childhood and a horrible relationship with his father. That seemed to be the case with all my men. I guess it was a trend. Anyway, he really started losing it by getting very angry over the littlest things. I told him that if he didn’t get help I would leave him. He started seeing a therapist. I believe she could have helped him, but his fake friends were influencing him and they told him to leave me.
I’ll never forget it -it was Cinco De Mayo, 1988, and we were getting ready to go on a party yacht to celebrate this occasion. Any occasion was time for celebration! We were sitting in his green van, and he was in his usual quiet angry mood, so I said, “Are you OK?” He said, “No, as a matter of fact I’m miserable and I’m moving out. I don’t love you anymore.” Well those words echoed in my head like a drum, “I don’t love you anymore.” What was that supposed to mean? How can someone all of a sudden stop loving you?
Chapter Six
The Second Attempt
My life fell apart at that very moment when Chris left me. I could do nothing but cry and get high and cry some more. I remember being at work and typing and crying. I was out of control. No matter how drunk or high I got, I would still cry. I believe I crossed the line of no return. My drugs and alcohol were no longer working to numb my pain. I was truly a basket case. I felt that I could have very easily ended my life.
I decided to go to the therapist that Chris had formerly went to. Supposedly, she told him he was better and that he didn’t need her help anymore. I knew that was a lie, but I wanted to find out why he stopped seeing her. One day she told me that if I didn’t go to a cocaine anonymous meeting and get sober then she would not talk to my drugs and alcohol anymore. I was crushed - she was all I had left. She was my only hope for life. At least that was what I thought. I told her that I would stop on my own. I didn’t need any program to stop doing drugs and drinking. I just needed to stop drinking on my own and that way I wouldn’t crave cocaine any longer. I only craved it after having a couple of drinks, so I made a commitment never to drink again. That commitment did not last, however. Then the one night, more than anything, I did not want to drink, but I did. As a matter of fact, there were two guys at my new apartment and we were all getting high on cocaine. One of the guys left and the other one was conveniently left alone with me. I knew I didn’t want to have sex with him, but he was supplying my habit, so I guess I felt obligated. We went into my room and began having sex. We were both so wired on cocaine that he almost died. His heart started palpitating and all I could think of is how I didn’t want to do that anymore.
At that very moment I had an outer-body experience. I think I was dying emotionally, and God wanted me to see myself and where I had ended up. I floated to the ceiling and, looking down at myself, I could see this guy I didn’t even know, laying on top of me having sex with me. I was sick and I wanted him off of me, and I just wanted my life to be over. I had nothing but sheer hatred for myself. Seeing the view from above my body was so very real. The next day I just wanted to sleep forever and never wake again. I was absolutely miserable. Everything I always wanted or everything I could have been was gone. I was nothing and I wanted to die, but I didn’t have the guts to do it. The only thing that saved me was my therapist. Actually it was God, but at the time I thought it was my therapist.
That next night I finally woke up from the escapade of the night before. I was sitting in my apartment alone, and was watching tv. All of a sudden I saw a commercial of a rat in a cage and on one side of the cage was food, and on the other was cocaine. The rat kept eating the cocaine, not even touching its food and running around in circles in its cage. Then all of a sudden this rat died right there in front of me. I was terrified. I knew that was me in that cage, and if I kept doing what I was doing, I was going to end up just like that rat — DEAD. It scared me enough, together with my therapist threatening to discontinue our relationship, that I called a friend who was an eating disorder therapist. I also had a compulsive over-eating disorder. She and I would go out partying, snorting cocaine and drinking. But because she was a therapist, I thought maybe she could help me. She gave me a number, and I called Cocaine Anonymous.
Chapter Seven
The Beginning –
One Day At A Time
On August 28, 1988, I went to my first Cocaine Anonymous (CA) meeting. I started my new life over on that day. It was a struggle, but my stubbornness and pride kept me sober. I continued to see my therapist at a cost of $1 per session, because there was no way I could afford to pay the usual $100 per session. She knew how much I needed her. I went to at least four meetings every day. I went to all the functions: dances, conferences, anything that people did sober, I was there. It was hard at first, but I replaced my partying friends with sober friends. The problem was that most of them were even sicker then my using friends. When you take drugs and alcohol away, you still have very hurt, sad and angry people. That doesn’t change, in fact it usually gets worse. The truth is, I started hanging out with sober losers. They had no morals or ethics, they just were sober. These people were much worse than my old friends.
For instance, I needed a roommate because I wasn’t making it financially. So I took in a roommate who thought he was Scar Face. He was an ex- big time dealer in LA, who, at one time spent literally millions of dollars on his crack habit. I had been sober for about four months, and I went home for Christmas as I did every year. When I was home, my roommate started smoking crack again, so when I came back, I kicked him out because he started dealing again. I was not going to fall because of him. I really was worried about him though, so I called him all the time. If he didn’t answer the phone, I went over to his new place to check on him to make sure he was alright. I became a hindrance to his life. Instead of telling me to leave him alone, he made a plan to have me killed through his Mafia friends, because I was “interrupting” his life. He somehow changed his mind, and yet again I believe God intervened. Once again I was spared.
That brings me to a good subject: God, who was He? When I first got sober, I thought God was my car, because it got me to places I had never been before, such as CA meetings and sober events. You see, when you get into these 12-step programs; you have to find a God of your own understanding. Mine was my car until one day I was at the beach and I looked at the ocean and saw the waves. And no wave could be stopped, so I knew then that there was a power greater than myself and greater than my car! There had to be a God. I didn’t know him, but I knew he was powerful. However, I really didn’t want him in my life, I just wanted him to change my life.
While dating a guy in the program, I met two wonderful girls, Tiffany and Rachel, who were roommates. They were a gift from God, and they were different than anybody I had ever met. They were genuine, non-judgmental, loving, caring and non-addictive. Only God could have put us together. They taught me about true friendship. Shortly after meeting them, I ended up moving in with them for about three weeks. I then had an overwhelming desire to move back home, probably because of my $7,000 debt and having the desire to go back to school. The day that I decided to sell my stuff and move, everything was sold - all in one day. I call that divine intervention. I was going where I was supposed to go for the first time in my life. I think I was finally doing God’s will, not mine.
Thus, I moved home on March 22, 1989; another new beginning. This time I don’t think I was running, I think I was returning. Pain started seeping into my consciousness. Not more than a month before moving back home, I went to my usual noon CA meeting. It was actually my six month sobriety anniversary, and I was picking up my six-month chip. I was sitting at this meeting and a girl started talking about how she had been molested by her father and became pregnant. I felt something stirring up inside me. Then a guy started sharing how when he was younger, he had molested his sister. Well I was sober and didn’t have anything to stuff my pain, so at that moment I fell apart — the floodgates opened — and I felt that I was going to die inside. My body was trembling with pain as I started having the memories of when I was molested by my neighbor when I was ten. After all, I had literally blocked this out of my memory, and now it was going on thirteen years of repressing this painful memory. I was in so much pain, and I could only find one thing to help me feel better: food. I was too prideful to get high again and break my six month sobriety, so I decided that food would become my drug of choice. That way, when life got tough again, I could just eat my way to happiness. But I never let it get out of control, at least not externally. My weight never got out of control. Because you see, I was the one controlling my eating habits. I could control eating a lot, and I could control not eating anything at all.
When I returned home after five years away, I thought I was in control again, but in reality, I had only switched my addiction from drugs and alcohol to food. No one, except my sponsor in California and my friend, the eating disorder therapist, knew. I sometimes think that was one of the subconscious reasons I moved back home. If nobody knew, then they couldn’t call me on it and therefore I had my secret addiction that kept me together.
Then one day the pain of my childhood got so bad that I had to move out of my parents house and into a sober home. I remember being in so much pain at that time. I had started seeing another therapist, who stirred up feelings that I wasn’t used to. I was in this house alone, in overwhelming pain. I made some macaroni and cheese and gorged the entire bowl and was not even conscience of it. Then in the middle of it, I stopped and saw myself out of control and prayed to a God I didn’t know to help me - I needed His help so badly. Actually He was helping, I just didn’t know it.