Apparently my mom had had conversation with my then husband. When the phone was finally pushed through the slot in my cell door, my mom’s voice rang through frantic. 3,200 miles separated us, but I could hear fear in her voice. A mother’s fear, unlike that of no other.
“Honey, she said I can’t help you from here. He is not going to help you, his plan(my then husband) is to make you suffer”. I believe his exact words were, “throw you to the sharks, and let them have their way with you”. As if his life was any better? Which was fine if he himself only lived by the word(Bible) as he spoke it. Instead he manipulated it with great delusions. Nothing he ever said made sense. It was as if he spoke in rhymes, and riddles. No, just no I thought even with my knowings of this man. He would not do that, would he?
Anxiety resonated through the phone. Tears welled up in my eyes, and again the mangling of my heart proceeded more rapidly than before. I should not have been surprised. He did not care if I had not a phone, money, or a way. He would not be there for me. I was 30 miles from Orlando in Sanford Florida. A city in which I knew little of. My mom’s trepidation for me, only brought me to complete terror for what was to come. There was no peace that surpassed all understanding.
I was feeble in heart, mind, and spirit. I know it was of my own doing that found me in this conundrum. I also knew no matter what he was supposed to be there, to love me like Christ loved the church. I was his wife, his responsibilty. He was not without fault. He too had some huge dark clouds lurking over him. Ones that I knew about, his sky was just as dark as mine. So I came to the crushing reality we both had loves for the world, and were not ready to rid them in rescue of our marriage. Our selfish desires would be our demise. There was no “us”. There really had not been for longer than I wanted to admit. My poor kids, we failed them greatly.
I knew my release from jail was immenent. For this battle now belonged to the Lord. He was the only one whom in my darkest hour still was there for me. I bowed my head that very day, and prayed for God to lead my way. I tried hard in my sober clarity to allow my shattered reality to give me strength where I had none. I was frail, and my heart had grown calloused. Spiritual anorexia, all the while the spiritual battle was rearing its head. For the worst for my soul was just to begin. I was so weary, and my life of the last 18 years seemed so very long. I could barely muster any praise, just a gaze through dreary eyes. It was time to rid my disguise. “Lord I am alone, and I have no idea what I am going to do”. My wings were broken, and I had been so unspoken. “Can you hear my hearts cries, and my trembling soul”? For I felt so very alone. “Lord, Lord, I need you”! Whispers from under my breath, as I knew this was life’s ultimate test.
And the girl the keeper of the bunk above me she slept away, none the different all the while. So I turned my head away curdled up in my translucent blanket, and cried my very barren heart to the Lord. It had been forever since I suited up with the full armor of the Lord ready for battle. This one was going to be done in my bare naked self. For I did not have it within my broken spirit to pick up my sword, and put on what seemed so heavy the armor of God.
I knew as soon as I was released the war was already in full force. For what awaited me was divorce, and a death of the life I once lived. Everthing that I had known up until this tragic day was getting ready to take play…
For it was true there would be no one to get me when I was released. So until then I cried, and cried, and cried some more…until the guard came for me unlocking my cell door.
When several surrounding nations gathered against Judah to destroy it, Jehosaphat knew he was no match militarily. So he called the people and leaders of Judah together to pray. The last sentence of his prayer summarizes his heart: “Nor do we know what to do, but our eyes are upon you”(2 Chronicles 20:12).
Excerpt taken from; Your Daily Journey With God, David Jeremiah.
It is better to meet God with tears in your eyes than weapons in yours hands. ~Thomas Watson
So I was more prepared than I knew, no weapons on my person, and many tears I had shed. Lord lead me into battle. For he(my then husband) was not coming for me.
Jail, I forgot to mention I was not in the general population cell. I was on the medical side. I have Eplilesy. So I was stuck in a tiny cell, with no bars. A window(only by definition), and a solid door with a tiny opening for food, and if I was lucky a phone to pass through. I was not alone in this tiny box either. I shared it with a young girl who was pregnant, and sadly detoxing from something pretty hard core. She was very gaunt, and slept alot. A baby was inside her relying on her to provide nutrients, and she was killing herself and her unborn.
Like I was any better, at the time my 17 year old daughter, and in 4 days 15 old year old son, relied on me for emotional nutrients(yet they were severely lacking), and alcohol was most likely killing me. Just different substances of choice to abuse. This gal, I never got her name got the bunk. I got a mat on the concrete floor with so little space to move about. There was a toilet that was visable for use as it was right at my feet where I slept. The food was horrid, and I did not want to eat. I wanted to save face, and not use that cold metal bowl.
All the while I sat there in shock of all that had taken place. My mom knew a little of what was going on from Washington State as she was one of my last calls. She figured out how to start a charge account so I could when allowed place calls to Her only.
I had no idea the process, and how long I would be in there. I was booked on a disorderly intox.
My anxieties were growing wild within. The box I lay in seemed to grow smaller in size with each passing minute. I needed out, and panic was definitely taking over.
Oddly enough I found myself praying. Praying for the girl who had her back to me, as she slept her sentence away. Praying for what would come of me when I was released with no money, phone, resources, and over 30 miles from home. Praying for what I knew was the end of my marriage. Praying for the Lord to have mercy on me, and in the same thought wishing for my magic serum. My serum that for sure would help me come to answer all these questions so much better. The antidote that would make the walls seem larger, and my fear subside. For I was not trusting in my God so much higher than I. Where was my solace, where was my comfort? All had gone on the way side, and I was forced to feel. Sober literally sucked!! I found myself crying quietly scared sober, and knew once I was released from my box of solidarity I had no idea where to begin.
Where would I go? Would my family pick me up? Would my life ever be the same? Could I do sober, when my every thought even a prayer had the thought of a drink? What would become of my kids? How did it come to this? Claustrophobic, and sober! My two least favorite of things. Reallywhat would come of me, my life as I had known it was coming to an end.
Clausterphopia and panic from corner to corner, and head to toe
For what was to come of me I did not know?
Riddled with confusion as I begun to have more clarity, sober and scared beginning to care
For what would become of me I did not know?
In the same breath praying, and then between words of save me was thoughts of alcohol. Like when you stare at that mole on someone’s face trying to focus on their words all the while the mole is really all you can think on, ie; “Lord I alcohol want to alcohol pray for grace alcohol and please God alcohol”
For what would become of me I did not know?
Sober was soberring to say the least, and I still wanted to feast from a bottle
For what was to come of me I did not know?
Psalm 18:6 But in my distress I cried out to the Lord; yes I prayed to my God for help. He heard me from His sanctuary; my cry to Him reached His ears.
It just had not reached mine, my ears could not hear…
I was the girl with a life long invitation to the Masquerade Ball. I was married into the church at 20. I married a P.K.(pastors kid). I was a devout wife, and mother. We had many a hardship financially. My husband seemed to have great difficulty holding down jobs. Financial security, what was that? So in all honesty I don’t think I had known the true me up until my coming claim of alcoholism(August 2013).
I was a mom who was present, but who would slip away into a bathroom to guzzle down as much alcohol without obviously being gone too long. I was the employee who brought alcohol to work in a sports bottle, taking bathroom breaks frequently. I was the wife who longed to go out with her musician husband, because that gave me the freedom to drink off the band’s open bar tab. No one would be none the wiser. I was the girl who had a slit in the very bottom of her purse lining where I could hide my alcohol, because my wallet and such could lay over the top. I had sat in church pews buzzed. I always had alcohol on my person. It was like a security blanket for me.
We always had alcohol in our home once we moved from Washington to Florida(2002). It was as if that spiritual identity of the P.K’s family was gone. No one knew us. We could do whatever we wished. I could not of course. There came a time my then husband had told me I could not drink, and in the same breath he declared God told him he could drink. My kids got their eye full of gross behaviour. I was so confused at his wisdom it seemed foolish, and made me angry. Who was he to tell me, and yet sit there as we watch a family movie and drink? Calling me an alcoholic, yet stumbling me along the way. So as he always had a box of open wine by the side of his bed, I would wait with great anticipation for him to fall asleep. Usually pretty blitzed himself, he was none the wiser as I slowy crept to drink from it myslef. Always scared of him waking, but I was skillful in my ploy. I usually could manage 3 glasses. He never knew how much he drank, so I was so careful to not drink too much to make the box too light. In all of this I actually had myself fooled that no one knew. I am sure even with all the breath freshners, perfumes, and rinsing of my mouth I always had that stintch of alcohol coming from my pours. Especially in the humidity of Orlando. Also I was a horrible drunk. I was not the girl who drank bringing the house down with laughter, and comic relief. I was the girl who drank, and walked in with a huge brick in my hands. Waiting to begrudgeingly throw it at the first person to open a fresh, or old wound. I was like the incredible hulk, but a small woman whom wanted to make others feel my pain. Pain is what I bathed in, and my bath was full. My marriage was far from happy. My husband was far from the man, I had always hoped him to be. I began looking at him with very different eyes than I did when we were younger. I knew he did me, as it seemed every other woman caught his fancy.
I was the girl who would drink anything as long as it was alcohol. I did not have a preferred taste, or special drink. If it could make me dumb to my life, give it to me. From the time I woke, until I went to bed. Constant feeding of sober. I could not do sober. I did not know how to do it.
I mentioned we were always in a bad way financially. So I was also the girl who managed how to walk into a store, and walk out past the registers without paying with a purse full of “my” candy. This was repeated multiple times in a day. Yeah I was that girl(very sad), and humbling to admit.
I was always a happy go-lucky, sarcastic girl. Could have won an award for class clown. I had so many gnawing pains, being serious was just not my thing. I became very good at a very young age at pushing everything so far down inside. I painted a beautiful fasaud for all to see. I was a mess on the inside, yet for a time managed to look the beautiful part on the outside. I did say for a time. For as you could see by the mugshot of me I was far cry from beautiful.
I was the girl who had a monster unleashed the day I was put in jail. I was the girl who lived for her next drink, and God was trying to wake for her sake. I was the girl who did not care about anything, but the next sip. I was decieved by alcohol, and was I deceiving because of it. Or another way to put it I drank to live, and lived to drink.
Desperate hands searched the bottom of her purse
Breathing fast, to drink fast and hard
Pound it down, hurry the feelings are coming
Desperate hands clamering the back of the car for a look to see if she had truly run out
Desperate hands finding new hiding places so no one could take her most prized possesion
Desperate to feel the warmth in the buzz, desperate oh so deserpate she was that girl…
Desperate was killing her, but desperate was what she felt she needed to live. Catch 22.
She was the girl with a drawer full of different masks for she had a lifelong invitation to the Masquerade Ball
By nature over the past several years I had become riddled with anxiety. My life was filled with chaotic compromise in every area. Anxieties that held me in captivity much like my jail cell.
I was sobering up. I had no alcohol to feed the uneasiness, pain, cries, anger, confusion, and loneliness. Anxiety made its way through the multitude of emotions, and I was wrecked with fear. My whole being given over to darkness. I saw no light, hope, or sanity. I was losing all sense of self. My head felt as if it hung lower than it had ever hung before. Locked behind closed bars. I did not have the key. I did not even begin to lift my weary head. If anything, I believe I sank lower in my cell than I had ever been before. I just wanted to stop breathing, to put an end to the waives of treacherous thoughts stomping on my heart.
My heart was racing, and I was panicked. I could see no way out. I did not look to my God. I played the woe is me card better in my crisis, so I thought. Self consumed, self loathing, foolishness, and a total disregard for the fact that I had a life outside the imprisoned self/cell.
I was enraptured by self. I shut down for a time. Everything that was taking place felt as if I was not part in it. I watched the process of the guards, saw others get booked, and I believe had some social interactions even. I had no idea what my life was to become, or what would become of me. I was as lost as lost gets. Might as well have put my mugshot with last seen date on the side of a milk jug. For I saw no hope, and I had no desire to keep on going. I was forced sober, and how could I do life sober? There was no drink behind these bars, and all my scars were becoming transparent to my own eyes, and I desperately wanted my heart to fail.
God was there as I was exposed, I was naked in heart without a drink. I wanted to shut down. There was no on, and off switch anymore. I was forced sober!!! How could I do sober? I couldn’t not yet!