He was constantly calling me and the other residents on our little excuses and justifications.
“It’s your life, take responsibility,” Bob would say, peering from beneath the big floppy hat he wore almost all the time.
“Quit feeling sorry for yourself. That’s just another way of hiding. Haven’t you hidden long enough?”
Dr. Drew was impressive. He is an educated man and a well-trained expert. But he hasn’t been through addiction the way that Bob has. Bob 100 percent knew his stuff. He was all about the treatment, not the showbiz.
One day, the three of us were discussing my childhood and my family, trying to get at the roots of why I had always felt so sad and vulnerable and insecure.
“When you were a child, do you remember any particular trauma that you witnessed or went through?” Dr. Drew asked.
“Nothing major,” I said instinctively.
I thought for a second.
“I’ve seen a couple of my friends get cut,” I said. “I’ve seen a couple of my friends get beat up real bad. I’ve seen dead bodies in the projects and stuff like that. Is that what you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Drew said.
“But as far as real trauma, no,” I said.
Bob Forrest spoke up. “Have you ever had any family members get shot? Anything like that?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten.
“I witnessed my sister getting shot.”
They both sat up immediately.
“Tell us about your sister getting shot,” Bob said.
“Well,” I said. “Her husband did it. I saw it happen. I was in the kitchen. I was five years old.”
I told the whole, gruesome story of that horrible day. About being in the kitchen and G. W. coming in and firing and me grabbing Derrick and hiding in the bathroom and thinking G. W. would come after us and staying in the bathroom until the red-faced policeman came in and crouched on the floor.
I couldn’t believe I had forgotten to mention that.
“You don’t think that’s trauma?” Bob asked.
“I guess so,” I said.
“Let me ask you this,” Dr. Drew said. “When you get high, don’t you always go into the bathroom? Wasn’t that a safe place for you? You think those two things might be connected somehow?”
That was amazing. Bob and Dr. Drew had just drawn a straight line from the fear and anxiety I’d felt as a child to the drugs I’d used as an adult. No one in any other rehab or treatment center had ever thought to make that connection. It was like a little light went on in my head.
My whole time in treatment, our conversations kept coming back to my family. “Stay on the point of greatest urgency,” Bob explained.
“So your son, he was in jail for trafficking drugs?” Dr. Drew asked me in one of our later sessions. This time, he had asked Dr. John Sharp, a psychiatrist from Harvard Medical School, to join us. Dr. Sharp would be overseeing my aftercare when I left Pasadena.
“Trafficking,” I said. “Not using. He sold to an undercover cop. I think that’s what it was.”
Drew looked a little skeptical. “So he was a trafficker, but never a user?” he asked.
“No, he never used,” I said. As far as I knew, he hadn’t.
Drew didn’t press that point.
“Why are you guys apart now?” he asked. “Why did he move out?”
Dwight Junior and I had never discussed that directly. In fact, there wasn’t much we’d discussed while I was sober. I knew he was upset with me, but I could only guess why. He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. This was typical for both of us. It was how my dad and I had been.
I told Dr. Drew what I recalled. “He went to Tampa for Thanksgiving, and he never came back. But somewhere inside me, I think he moved out because of my use.”
Dr. Sharp jumped in. “You might be right,” he said. “But you might be wrong. So it would be good to find out.”
“That’s a great idea,” Drew said, brightening up.
I wasn’t sure what they meant. But I said, “Yeah, okay.”
The door opened behind me. Dwight Junior walked in.
Looking back, I can see how Dr. Drew and his team were working almost from the beginning to hatch some kind of reunion. But when my son walked through the door, I was totally surprised. He looked good. Tall and confident. He had on a red T-shirt that said TRUST NOTHING WITH TEETH.
I truly couldn’t believe he was walking through that door. “Wow,” I said, getting up to give him a hug. “What’s up?”
People always said I had a big smile. My son smiles just like me, maybe bigger. They probably didn’t need lights in the room to catch us on camera. We provided our own Gooden electricity. But I didn’t know what to say. “Hey, what’s happening?” I said again.
“Hey, what’s happening?” he said back. “Good to see you.”
“Flight was all right?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah, long,” he said.
When people don’t know what to say, even fathers and sons, sometimes they just fill up the spaces, whether it’s important or not.
Dwight Junior sat down. “Thanks for coming,” Dr. Drew told him. Then he got right down to business. “So, Dwight Senior was telling us a couple of things,” Dr. Drew said. “What was the reason you moved out in November?”
I think Dwight Junior was surprised by the question, how direct it was. “Um, actually, um,” he began. “I had to go back to Florida for some… um… personal issues. So I had to go home.”
Drew always pressed hard. He turned to me. “Dwight,” he said, “did you have some concerns about why he left?”
“Yeah,” I said, turning to my son. “I was just saying to them that I was thinking that you probably left because of my drug use.”
Dwight Junior looked both relieved and frightened to hear me say that.
“To be honest, um, hmm, yeah, it’s… it’s a hurting feeling to see that, to see what was going on,” he said, clearly reaching for the right words to say what he meant. “Then at the same time, I felt like I couldn’t, I couldn’t, like, I felt I couldn’t really help.”
He spoke to Drew directly. “I wanted to say stuff, but then again I really didn’t want to be hard on him because I didn’t want that to be an excuse for him to try and go use more. So I really didn’t say much, so it really took a toll on me inside, and then again, I really didn’t want to leave him alone to be in that situation by himself either.”
Hearing that almost doubled me over. Growing up, my son had felt like he had to take care of me. Not only had I not protected him, I had made him feel like he had to watch out for me. That is really, really messed up.
Dwight Junior had every right to be furious with me. But as a kid, he was afraid I couldn’t handle his anger. It would add to the pressure I was under and give me another excuse to use more drugs. He had to eat his own feelings all those years. He couldn’t blame his dad, although all the blame was mine.
My God, what a burden I had placed on my kids! At least Dwight Junior and I were clearing up some difficult business. My son had a right to that.
Dr. Sharp looked directly at me. “You said you wanted to apologize to him for something.”
My son was on my left. I looked straight ahead, unable to look him directly in the eyes.
The two professionals were not making this easy. They’d probably say easy isn’t their job.
“Yeah,” I said. “The thing I wanted to apologize for was…”
“Direct it right to him,” Drew said.
I looked at Dwight Junior, though still not directly into his eyes. “The thing I want to apologize for is, number one, going back to oh-five when we were together in the house and I was isolated a number of times. You would cook breakfast I think basically to try and get me out of the room and I wouldn’t come out. I was choosing my drugs over you and your sisters and brothers. So I just want to apologize for the actions I went through with that.”
At that
point, I could see my grown son begin to tear up. I wanted to lean over and hold him. He had grown up with only half a father, maybe less than that. He deserved so much more. But I needed to finish what I was trying to say.
“And also that time we were both incarcerated, I know we had dreams about playing professional ball together,” I said. “My deal was to play as long as I could until you got there. But then to end up spending time with you in jail. That’s something I never said I was sorry for. But I’d just like to apologize for it now. You don’t have to accept it now. Accept it on your time. But it’s something I had to let you know. I love you for sharing with me how you feel. Even if it’s something I don’t want to hear, I need to hear it. I have to hear it. I do love you.”
Whew.
That was a long time in coming.
It felt so right to be saying it.
I had a feeling my son was getting what I was saying. He was crying as much as I was. “I love you too,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said, patting him on the back.
We all took a minute to catch our breath.
Then Dr. Sharp spoke, to my son this time.
“It really affects you, Dwight, to hear that from your dad,” he said.
“Yeah,” he said, really losing it now. “It’s rough because I always wanted the best for him. I always knew if he was a different person, we could’ve been at another level right now. I’m not trying to down him. But due to his actions he kinda slowed up the process for everyone. He was the leader. He had a name, a good name, and then I’m Junior. So I have to live everything out—all his wrongs, all his rights. I have to live it out.”
Drew stepped in, now asking me, “Do you give him permission to tell you his feelings even when you’re using, even when you’ve fallen down, even when you’re in trouble?” Damn, I hoped he’d never have to do that again. But whatever happened in the future, I wanted that much to be clear.
“Yes,” I told my son, “you definitely have my permission for that. Anytime you see me headed that way—”
“Even if you’re well,” Dr. Drew interrupted.
“Yeah, even if I’m well, or you see me slipping, or you see any signs, whatever, let me know.”
I totally want that. I think my son does too.
“Well,” Dr. Drew told Dwight Junior. “I think the plan is to allow him to be open and honest with you. To express feelings both ways.”
Dr. Drew looked at me. “Good job with the apologies,” he said.
Then back to Junior: “Good job being open with your feelings about having to struggle with his condition and how that affects you emotionally.”
Family was my road to recovery. But that wasn’t necessarily true for everyone. For family day, all eight of the cast members got together at the nearby Happy Trails Catering with our children, parents, spouses, siblings—anyone who would agree to visit and sign a release to appear on camera. But if the presence of family was meant to calm everyone’s nerves, it had exactly the opposite effect. Happy Trails turned unhappy in a hurry. My roommate, Jeremy, introduced his sister Taylor to Amy, who said she and Jeremy were becoming good friends. Taylor wasn’t sure who Amy was.
“You didn’t introduce yourself as ‘Buttafuoco face shooter,’” she explained.
Oh, boy!
Lou, Amy’s husband, heard that and flew into a rage. “That’s disrespectful,” he said.
Jeremy’s sister said she was only making a “sweet, funny joke.” But Amy wasn’t laughing and neither was Lou. Soon, Lou was up in Jeremy’s face like some kind of mobster.
“Be careful the way you talk to my wife,” he warned. “It’s my wife, and I take it personal. Just be cool about that. Do we have an understanding?”
“I’m comfortable with my truth,” Jeremy replied evenly, “and I pray you get comfortable with yours.”
They might have been a little too California calm for Lou.
“I’ll kill you, you motherfucker!” Lou screamed. “I’ll bury you where you stand!”
That sent Jeremy’s sister into a panic attack. Hyperventilating into a white paper bag, she phoned the police and reported Lou’s foulmouthed threats. The cops showed up, demanding to speak with Amy’s husband.
Dr. Drew, who wasn’t usually opposed to a little drama for the cameras, did not seem pleased at all. This was getting out of control. The two people who’d lit the fuse, Lou and Taylor, weren’t even addicts or officially on the show.
Through it all, I was sitting a few feet away with Dwight Junior. Dr. Drew came over and tried to calm everyone down.
“The last thing we want is big trouble over nothing,” he told Jeremy. “You be cool.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jeremy said.
Before we left Pasadena, Dr. Drew called together all eight of the celebrity rehabbers and asked us each to write a letter to our addiction. That seemed a little weird to me. I understood why we might write letters to those we loved and hurt badly. In my case, writing a letter to my son had helped me say things I never would have been able to say if I hadn’t written them first. But a letter to my addiction?
Dr. Drew used me as an example for the group. “Dwight,” he said, “your disease has had such, such a dramatic effect on your life. Knowing you now, and everyone would agree, you’re one of the greatest guys anyone would ever want to meet.”
I wasn’t sure about that. Not after some of the things I’d done. But the other people all nodded, which made me feel good.
“You really are,” he went on. “And one of the greatest baseball players of all time. And this goddamn disease deprived you of being those things that you are. It just robbed you.”
“I’ve been in this a long time,” I said. “I had to dig deep, deep inside myself. I know I have a good heart. But I haven’t been good to myself.”
Or to others, I might have added.
“That’s right, Dwight,” Dr. Drew said. “That’s right, man. You deserve better.”
Michael Lohan spoke up. “You’ve got a great heart,” he said. “You’re a gentle giant. You really are.”
I started crying again. “Thanks,” I said.
“Let it out, big guy,” Michael said.
Even though I thought Michael was an attention hog, he did have a way of connecting. With his volatile daughter, he’d been around a lot of emotional uproar. He was far more experienced at that than I was, not that I wanted to use him as a role model.
“It’s tears of joy,” I told Michael. “This time. It’s tears of joy that I don’t have to get that way anymore.”
Dr. Drew looked relieved to hear that.
“You’ve got a good-bye letter for us?” he asked me.
“Actually, this letter’s to myself,” I said. And then I read it. For Dr. Drew. For his team. For the others in my little group there. For my fans. For my family. Most of all, for myself.
“Dear Dwight,” the letter began.
“I am writing you this letter to let you know how much you are missed. Everyone you feel you have hurt has forgiven you. It’s really time you forgive yourself and understand it was your disease most of the time. You tell yourself all the time you want to get better. You want to be a better father, but it all starts with you. If you’re not right, you can’t be right for anyone else. So please, start right now. I ask God to forgive you and to forgive yourself and to continue to grow. You deserve it. I love you very much. Welcome back.
“Love, Me.”
The others all started clapping. I was crying. Others were crying too. I was finally able to say what I had been trying to say about where my life had gone.
Not to let myself off the hook.
Just to recognize what I had allowed these drugs to do to me and to give myself the strength to begin my life again without them.
24
Staying Strong
YOU SEEM TO BE DOING GOOD,” Bob Forrest told me before I left the cocoon in Pasadena. “But you’ve been doing good a hundred times before.”
; He was right about that.
“I’m going to keep in regular contact with you,” Bob said. “I’m very concerned about whether you stick to it this time or fade away.”
Bob was right to worry. I was worried too. More like terrified. Getting off drugs was never my biggest challenge. Staying off was. My win-loss record in that game was 0 and some number I didn’t even want to think about. I kept coming out to the mound, and the batters kept hitting me out of the park.
I felt a little better knowing I wouldn’t be disappearing off Bob’s radar. Of all the people at Celebrity Rehab, he was the one I left feeling the closest to. In the fight against addiction, there is no substitute for some battle scars. And I definitely left the show feeling as though my life had changed. I was genuinely pumped about my ability to live clean and sober. I had confronted shame and guilt that I’d been carrying for decades. I had said some painful and difficult things. I felt like my son and I were on a positive path. I got fresh insight into why I’d chosen so often to hide in the comfort of drugs. Dr. Drew, I thought, was dead-on about me and the bathroom. For the first time ever, I could see all that plainly. I’d been given this chance to pull myself out of my downward spiral. If I didn’t, I knew there wouldn’t be too many rest stops between here and that cemetery at the bottom.
Not bad for a cable TV show.
But would the progress last? That was the big question hanging over me. And I was the only one who could answer it.
I knew I had to think of my recovery as a lifelong journey, and that journey had barely begun. Twenty-five years of bad habits would never be reversed in three weeks, no matter how smart the counselors or how psyched I felt now. Dr. Drew and his team were good, but not that good. I wasn’t even close.
Thankfully, the Celebrity Rehab people were clued into that. I didn’t have to push or plead with anyone. From the moment I first spoke to Ben-the-booker on the phone until our last-day send-off in Pasadena, everyone made it clear: follow-up was a vital part of what we were doing. The counselors had pushed Jessica extremely hard when she said she didn’t need follow-up treatment. They knew Sean would have an extra-tough time, going home to a husband who was just as addicted as she had been. I’d been on this road before, and I knew: I would need major reinforcement for a good long time. Until I tried living on the outside, I wouldn’t really know how I’d do without my alcohol and drugs.
Doc: A Memoir Page 24