“No good deed goes unpunished”  Exit stage left

Exit stage left

This was supposed to be a collaborative blog talking about what it takes to help someone overcome an  IV drug addiction; finding the balance between helping and enabling; negotiating egos and family dynamics. What it takes to  navigate the dicey water of truths and lies, and a hostile health care system. While trying to keep my cousin alive, her children, my children and my husband happy, managing my own life  and my own sanity.

It has been an interesting and enlightening journey for my nearly 60 year old self. A journey I will relish telling from my rocking chair in the care facility I hope to one day be sitting in. I have sent baby gifts and offered parenting advice to drug dealers and their partners.  I can make authentic macaroni pie, and will bow humbly to anyone who makes Fou Fou from scratch – I am the  ride or die  of a Trinadadian drug dealer, who has asked me to teach him how to cook traditional Trinadadian food. I am loved and protected by the Somalian mafia. I know the protocols for ordering, buying, and selling street drugs.  I can recite a menu of buy and sell prices for black market pharmaceuticals. I am a 58 year old Irish Catholic woman, married with 2 children, and an entrepreneur. I have 4 trades and 4 degrees. When I walked away from dangerous men and drugs in my 20’s I never expected to become “connected” as I entered my twilight years, but here I am. Caterer to the “lords” friend to all “owned”  by none.  Diversity and Inclusion are passions I never thought this would be the place I would end up honing my skills.

Indeed as I sit here writing tonight I would give the world to have my old life back. .The life that I believed was lonely; but I had built an empire; I owned an Apartment building, a BNB, 3 businesses.  Today I am holding on by a thread to that which I once had.  I am losing 2 businesses, my $80 000 car is gone.  I have given 2 years of my life, my children’s, my friend’s and my past time’s to chase crazy.  One day I will tell this story in an amusing way, as it is so absurd it is nearly surreal.  It will be told with humour, and a little embroidery around the edges, but the reality is it is hard, sometimes frightening, too often incredibly stressful and may end up costing me everything.

Why am I doing this? How did I get here? I am guessing you would like answers if you have read this far  “ Blood is thicker than water”  That is what we are told.  Never are we told however, by the relatives who are manipulating us, what it will cost and why they do not reciprocate.  As I have walked this road more than once for my “family”.  I have come to the conclusion that there are two flaws in this premise.  1. Family has to accept you are one of them to be extended the privilege of that protection. Though they hesitate not to use the bond to get what they need from you.                                                                                                                                                                                                                

2.The quote is conveniently edited.  The quote actually reads : “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” 

My cousin, a high school dropout – with I believe 20 credits to her name, now a holder of a Bachelor and Masters degree in psychology . Until 4 years ago she was married with 2 kids and the owner  of a  successful private group home.  She had shortly before finished her masters and had handed over the business to her wife and her wife’s daughter from her first marriage to run while she began to practice as a psychologist. 

The stress and friction between her muslim wife and her daughters as well as a foster child with f.a.e and the added pressure of being the sole administrator of the business was too much for her wife and their relationship after nearly 20 years of being together and 7 years of marriage began to crumble. 

Seeking the affirmation and attention that she still was relevant in the relationship She turned to what she knew as a cry for connectedness she once felt.  She went back to IV drug use. For two years on a daily basis She would inject cocaine and at the very least once a day inject enough to hit the floor in convulsions.

This is what I walked into and how I started to chase crazy.