people involved in the meth world. I told myself I was a good mother, and that I was sacrificing time I would rather be spending with him was for his own good.
The truth is I began to choose meth over my son.
I look at those words on the page, and they nauseate me. To come to terms with that, to be able to admit it, has been far and away the most difficult part of my recovery. Andy. My bug in a boy suit. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me and the best thing I’ve ever done with my life, and I chose methamphetamine over spending time with him.
I knew, somewhere deep inside, that something was happening to me; that I was changing into someone I didn’t want to be. I could feel myself being sucked into Garnett’s world, and it didn’t so much frighten me as it did disgust me. I was trading my soul - the very essence of who I am - for meth, and the more I sold out, the more I tried to smoke away my guilt and shame. The guilt was all about my son. The shame was about spending all the time I could in a basement either watching dirty movies or tip-toeing around a man whose behavior was becoming more erratic each day. His mood swings and “pace and mumble” sessions increased, and they scared me, but I tolerated them. I tolerated it all so that I could have my precious drug.
It was also getting harder to lie to my parents about where the money was coming from when I wasn’t working. The house that Andy and I rented belonged to them, and they were worried that I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent if I didn’t find work soon.
Then, my brother called.
When he disappeared, he’d hopped in his VW and, like Kerouac and Cassady, hit the road with no destination other than away from the responsibilities he decided he’d had enough of. The van broke down in Nevada, about 40 miles south of the Idaho border, in a speck of a town called Jackpot. Population: 1,500.
The town sits, surrounded by desert, at the base of a hill that rises up out of dull, dead sagebrush, at the end of a lonely stretch of a two-lane highway. From the top of that dirt mound, just before swooping down on the town like a vulture, you can see that the gambling oasis is less than two miles long. Jackpot may be a speck in the middle of nowhere, but it’s also collectively the biggest employer in southern Idaho. People commute from nearby rural towns to work at one of the five casinos. There’s also a post office, general store, gas station, school and liquor store. One of each.
It was in this gambling Mecca, at one of the casinos, that my brother was working as a cook and living with the woman who was his supervisor. He was even considering seeing his children again. Life was good for Chuck, as it usually was. He has a habit of breezing from one situation to the next with little effort on his part, simply ignoring whatever or whomever he leaves in his wake.
As pissed off as I was at him for leaving his family in Boise, let alone me, without a word of explanation or goodbye, I was relieved to hear from him. I was worried about him, of course, but the other reason, the main reason, was because of Garnett.
Garnett’s behavior was becoming even more erratic. He wasn’t showing me movies anymore. Instead, he started giving me books with stories in them about bondage and sado-masochism. He would talk about how his ultimate fantasy was to be dominated and that so far, he hadn’t found anyone willing to indulge him.
He was also becoming more agitated and secretive about his increasing trips when he’d leave me in the basement alone, getting high.
Since Garnett was the only person I spent time with, it was easy to forgive and forget with Chuck, if only to have a confidant who could perhaps shed some light on what was going on in the Gentlemen’s Club.
I drove down and spent a weekend in Jackpot, mostly staying in my hotel room with the curtains drawn, sitting on the bed getting high, but also seeing and talking to my brother. He seemed content,
The truth is I began to choose meth over my son.
I look at those words on the page, and they nauseate me. To come to terms with that, to be able to admit it, has been far and away the most difficult part of my recovery. Andy. My bug in a boy suit. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me and the best thing I’ve ever done with my life, and I chose methamphetamine over spending time with him.
I knew, somewhere deep inside, that something was happening to me; that I was changing into someone I didn’t want to be. I could feel myself being sucked into Garnett’s world, and it didn’t so much frighten me as it did disgust me. I was trading my soul - the very essence of who I am - for meth, and the more I sold out, the more I tried to smoke away my guilt and shame. The guilt was all about my son. The shame was about spending all the time I could in a basement either watching dirty movies or tip-toeing around a man whose behavior was becoming more erratic each day. His mood swings and “pace and mumble” sessions increased, and they scared me, but I tolerated them. I tolerated it all so that I could have my precious drug.
It was also getting harder to lie to my parents about where the money was coming from when I wasn’t working. The house that Andy and I rented belonged to them, and they were worried that I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent if I didn’t find work soon.
Then, my brother called.
When he disappeared, he’d hopped in his VW and, like Kerouac and Cassady, hit the road with no destination other than away from the responsibilities he decided he’d had enough of. The van broke down in Nevada, about 40 miles south of the Idaho border, in a speck of a town called Jackpot. Population: 1,500.
The town sits, surrounded by desert, at the base of a hill that rises up out of dull, dead sagebrush, at the end of a lonely stretch of a two-lane highway. From the top of that dirt mound, just before swooping down on the town like a vulture, you can see that the gambling oasis is less than two miles long. Jackpot may be a speck in the middle of nowhere, but it’s also collectively the biggest employer in southern Idaho. People commute from nearby rural towns to work at one of the five casinos. There’s also a post office, general store, gas station, school and liquor store. One of each.
It was in this gambling Mecca, at one of the casinos, that my brother was working as a cook and living with the woman who was his supervisor. He was even considering seeing his children again. Life was good for Chuck, as it usually was. He has a habit of breezing from one situation to the next with little effort on his part, simply ignoring whatever or whomever he leaves in his wake.
As pissed off as I was at him for leaving his family in Boise, let alone me, without a word of explanation or goodbye, I was relieved to hear from him. I was worried about him, of course, but the other reason, the main reason, was because of Garnett.
Garnett’s behavior was becoming even more erratic. He wasn’t showing me movies anymore. Instead, he started giving me books with stories in them about bondage and sado-masochism. He would talk about how his ultimate fantasy was to be dominated and that so far, he hadn’t found anyone willing to indulge him.
He was also becoming more agitated and secretive about his increasing trips when he’d leave me in the basement alone, getting high.
Since Garnett was the only person I spent time with, it was easy to forgive and forget with Chuck, if only to have a confidant who could perhaps shed some light on what was going on in the Gentlemen’s Club.
I drove down and spent a weekend in Jackpot, mostly staying in my hotel room with the curtains drawn, sitting on the bed getting high, but also seeing and talking to my brother. He seemed content,
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