by Nic Sheff
Anyway, Annie wants me to do this family weekend thing with both my mom and my dad next month. They’ve agreed to come even though I haven’t been with the two of them together in over five years. I’m nervous about it, obviously. There is so much I want to say to them, but words seem like they could never express my sorrow and regret enough. Even just saying I’m sorry feels so meaningless—like I’m trying to put a Band-Aid on a shotgun wound. Repairing any of the damage I’ve done to them seems impossible. In fact, building my life back seems impossible. I keep thinking just over and over about how I’ve managed to ruin everything once again. I’ve torn my world down, then built it back up, then torn it down again, then built it back and on and on. It feels so overwhelming.
The thing is, though, every time I think I’m just gonna give up—that I can’t possibly do it, that I’m just going to curl up alone somewhere and waste away, well, I always keep trying. I mean, for some reason I manage to make it through another day and then another day after that. I’m not sure what there is, inside me, that enables me to keep pushing my boulder up the mountain. I guess I’ve managed to retain the tiniest bit of hope that this time, this time, I can climb a little higher and then higher still. This time I won’t fall back, or tumble down as far. There is a will to live in me that, though weak at times, propels me forward. And the longer I’ve been here, the more committed I’ve become.
Even more than my relationships with the therapists, it’s the clients who really make the most difference for me.
The people here are just incredible and, well, I don’t feel like such a freak after being around them. Everyone is just as fucked up as I am—if not more so.
The bond among all of us is amazing. In a way, my days here have been some of the best in my whole life. When we’re not in groups we’re hanging out at the “smoke pit,” talking shit and laughing like crazy. These are people who I’ve really started to trust and when they tell me things about myself, I listen. I respect them and I respect the work they’re doing here. So I wonder: Why can’t I listen to their advice about Zelda? Why am I so afraid to lose her? I suddenly feel like I’m cheating this place and all the friends I’ve made here and Ray and everyone if I don’t start getting honest. I ask myself the question: Can I stay sober and resume my life with Zelda?
I think about what our life might be like after I get out of here. I’ll be back in Sober Living, no car, no phone, no career, no promise of any future. Can I imagine Zelda sticking around through all that? Honestly, I can’t. Besides, I feel so completely inadequate compared to her. The only way I can feel confident around her is to get high. Without drugs, well, it’s hard enough to face my own life on a day-to-day basis. I think being around Zelda would be absolutely impossible for me. I mean, just trying to live outside this treatment center seems almost unimaginable. Mostly I’d prefer to hide in bed all day.
But I manage to get myself up. The shaking has subsided and I want to wash away the sweat from my body. As I strip off my clothes in the bathroom, I look down at my foot.
I think maybe I hit my toe against something while I was blacked out in detox. The nail has gotten all discolored—sort of yellow and dead-looking. It hasn’t grown at all over the past month. I’ve been waiting for the nail to just drop off, but it actually keeps getting worse. It’s changed colors and there’s a sort of greenish-white pus underneath it. I guess the thing must be infected.
I took only one shower when I was at the detox. It was the first day Zelda was coming to visit me. I wanted to look good for her, you know, and that must have been when I got this goddamn fungus in my toe. It kinda makes me sick to look at it, but there seems to be some irony in the whole thing.
I rinse off under water that’s as hot as I can possibly stand, then I get dressed and walk down the dirt path to Annie’s office. I smoke a cigarette. By the time I get down there I have so much I want to say, it’s like I can’t possibly get my thoughts out fast enough. Annie has to remind me several times to breathe, which is pretty hard.
As I start talking about Zelda, Annie asks me a very simple question. “If you felt that inadequate with her, why did you stay?”
I look at Annie, sitting there across from me in that cramped office, with her splotchy makeup and turned-up pig nose. I know the answer, I think, but I’m embarrassed to say it out loud. I’ve known it all along, I guess, but to voice it will make it real. And how can I ever take it back after it has been made real?
I am with Zelda because I think that, if she accepts me, I will finally feel good about myself.
I tell that to Annie.
I voice it aloud for the first time.
“Why?” she asks. “Because of who she is?”
I am ashamed, but I nod my head. There is something so pathetic about admitting this that I want to just disappear—fold up on myself—implode somehow. Annie doesn’t let me. She makes me uncross my arms and legs and sit up straight. She makes me hold our eye contact.
“I’m not good enough on my own,” I say. “I mean, I am just nothing.”
I’m crying a little now, the tears hot on my face.
“You’re not nothing,” she says. “Stay here with us, Nic. Trust in this process. We can teach you how to feel confident about who you are. You don’t need to escape through drugs, or sex, or anything anymore. Don’t deny yourself the gift of recovery. You deserve it. You deserve to love yourself.”
“How long did you think I should stay again?” I ask.
She smiles.
“Three months, at least.”
I look down at the paisley carpeting.
“Okay…yes…fine,” I say.
Annie gives me a hug and I don’t pull away.
DAY 642
My parents are set to arrive for family weekend in a couple of hours. I have to say, I’m pretty goddamn nervous. I haven’t seen my mom since she drove me to the airport and I haven’t seen my dad since before I relapsed. When my mom told my stepdad she was coming to visit me, he threw a fit, saying he was going on a hunger strike. It seems pretty ridiculous to me. My relationship with my stepfather feels just completely irreparable. It’s sad because he is married to my mom and he will always be connected with my life. My mom agreed to come despite Todd’s protests and I feel very grateful to her for that. I’ve come to believe in the Safe Passage Center more and more with each passing day and I imagine that the family weekend here will be really powerful.
Of course, I know that my recovery will be looked at skeptically by my family, especially my dad. He’s already been through these kind of programs at other rehabs and they have never made a difference. Still, I feel like this place here in Arizona is special.
I am changing here—or maybe not changing, but reconnecting with who I really am. Someone who has been lost to me for a long time. I am separating from my past life. I haven’t spoken to Zelda in a few weeks and already I feel like I have been able to disentangle myself emotionally from her.
I wake up early the day my parents are scheduled to visit—so early, in fact, that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. I go make coffee in the community kitchen. There are actually a few other clients up, reading the paper or whatever. We say good morning to one another.
Then I basically smoke one cigarette after the other for the next three hours and drink way too much coffee. I’m not sure what I’m going to say to either of my parents. We have a session all together with Annie at nine thirty, and then we’re doing the family program for the rest of the weekend. There are two therapists who facilitate the whole thing. There are usually only three families who participate, though this weekend there are going to be four. The first day we all write our goals for the weekend, then each family does an art therapy exercise. The second day each family takes turns sitting in the middle of the circle and having an hour-long therapy session in front of everyone else. No one observing the session can comment during the hour of therapy, but afterward we all get to give feedback. The third day we do a movement exercise and then
do some sort of project helping us make plans for the future. I’m sure it is going to be really intense and, well, I’m scared.
It is cold this morning. The wind in the desert mountains chills me to my core. It feels like I can never get warm. I just keep smoking cigarettes.
I see my dad pull up in his rental car before my mom. He’s driving a big blue minivan and he parks right next to where I’m smoking. When he gets out of the car I just stare at him. He looks older. His hair is thinning and almost all white now. He looks tired and he’s dressed pretty conservatively—his button-down shirt tucked in and all.
He sees me right away and starts walking over. I have to look at the ground. I feel so sorry—so full of regret. My dad says, “Oh, Nic,” and then hugs me tightly. I smell him. It is that smell of my dad I’ve always held with me. There’s nothing I can say now. I want to cry, but I’m maybe too scared to let the tears out.
“How are you?” he asks.
I shake my head, saying, “I don’t know. Good, I guess. I mean, considering everything.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You look good. You have life in your eyes again.”
I put my arm around him. “Thanks, Dad. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
We walk together through the compound and I introduce him to various people. I ask him about Jasper and Daisy. He tells me they’re fine but doesn’t really want to talk about it. Neither one of us even mention Karen.
I take my dad down to Annie’s office. My mom hasn’t shown up yet, but that’s not surprising. Annie greets us and tells my dad she feels like she already knows him since they’ve talked on the phone so much. Annie has actually spoken to me about my dad calling—maybe trying to be a little overcontrolling or something. I asked my dad not to do it, but he didn’t really listen.
Anyway, we sit down and Annie smiles at me.
“So,” she says, “how’s it feel to see your dad again?”
I look at her and not my dad. “It feels sad. But, I mean, also it’s just really great, too. I missed him. He’s my friend.”
“And how do you feel?” she asks my dad.
He looks at me, then at the floor, then back at me.
“I feel the same way,” he says. “I missed Nic. He is my friend. But there’s a large part of me that is also just completely blocked off to him. I don’t trust him and I don’t want to let him in because I don’t want to be hurt again. I’m not sure I even have the ability to let him in. And, honestly, I’m skeptical about this whole weekend. I feel like I’ve been right here before and it has never made a difference.”
I swallow hard. Of course, I expected this and I completely understand, but it is still very sad.
“I thought you’d feel that way,” I say. “And you know, I’m not sure what to tell you. I think you will see that things are changing for me. I hope you will give me a chance.”
“Nic,” he says, “I’ve given you so many.”
“But you are here,” Annie says to my dad. “You are here supporting your son and that means you are open, if only the tiniest bit.”
“Yes,” says my dad. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
There’s a knock at the door and Annie gets up to open it. One of the counselor’s assistants, a girl named Laura, has led my mom down to Annie’s office. My mom comes inside, telling us she’s sorry that she’s late. I stand up and give her a hug. She’s wearing sunglasses and a knit poncho with her jeans tucked into a pair of thigh-high boots. She looks very pretty and young and hip. I wonder what my dad is thinking.
When my mom takes her seat, Annie tries to catch her up on what we’ve been talking about.
“Nic’s father has just been expressing his concern that this weekend is going to be a waste of time, that Nic cannot change. How do you feel about that?”
My mom sighs. “I agree. I have the same concern. Nic, I love you, I really do, but we’ve done this so many times.”
“I know,” I say, not looking at anyone.
“I don’t think you do,” says my dad. “I don’t think you do know. I have a life I have to live. I have to be a father for Jasper and Daisy. I have to be a husband to Karen. I have to work. But when you are using, my life is completely consumed by my worry for you. I can’t function. So I’ve had to shut you out. I’ve had to close myself off to you so I can survive. It’s just not fair.”
I breathe out long and slow. There’s a sick feeling in my stomach. My voice shakes as I speak.
“Dad, Mom, I do know. I understand. I talked to Annie about not even wanting you guys to come because I didn’t want to give you hope again. I’m afraid of that responsibility and, well, I can’t promise you anything. But we all have a lot of hurt, you know, and maybe just talking it out can help us heal or something. I mean, that’s what Annie has told me. And I don’t know if we will ever be able to have a relationship again. I want to. I think I do, anyway, but I know I can’t control that.”
“That’s right,” says Annie. “This weekend is about having a chance to confront the past and begin the healing process. No one can predict what will come from this.”
My mom shifts around in her chair over and over. “Well,” she says. “If we are going to be honestly talking about the past, then right away I want to say that I believe that if Nic comes back to L.A. he will die. I just don’t think he has a chance if he stays with Zelda.”
“I agree,” I say quickly. “That’s one of the things I’ve come to understand here. I know that I have an addiction to these sick relationships and I am working on that here.”
“Yes,” says Annie. “Nic has made a lot of progress along those lines.”
“Good,” says my mom. “Because I don’t feel comfortable with Nic being in L.A.”
“And,” says my dad, “I don’t feel comfortable with Nic moving back to San Francisco. He’ll just be too close to Karen and me and the kids.”
“All right,” says Annie. “Well, those are all things you can address on the third day of family weekend, when you make plans for the future.”
I don’t say anything. My parents don’t want me in the same city as them.
We finish the therapy session with Annie around lunchtime. I take my parents up to the lunchroom and show them where to eat and all. I leave them there to smoke a cigarette. James sees me and gives me a hug, saying, “So, how was it?”
“Rough, man. This is gonna be even harder than I thought.”
I put some headphones on and listen to music to just calm down. I smoke a cigarette, listening to this Daniel Johnston song. I listen to him sing, “When I’m down, nothing matters. nothing does. Please hear my cry for help, and save me from myself….”
I’m crying now as I finish my cigarette. I turn off my CD player and go splash water on my face, then I walk into the lunchroom and sit down next to my parents. We haven’t all been together since I graduated high school. And, even then, Karen, Jasper, and Daisy were there, so it wasn’t just the three of us together. I actually can’t remember a single time in my life where I’ve been alone with just my two parents and we were sitting down together eating lunch or whatever. I’ve heard both my mom and my dad say so many hurtful things about each other. I always felt so divided between the two of them. When I was with my mom in L.A. my allegiance was to her. When I was with my dad’s family in San Francisco my allegiance was to them. I always just wanted to make everyone happy, but then I completely tore everyone apart. How did my good intentions turn into such an explosive nightmare? I am the only one to blame. There is this pressure building and building around me and I feel like I’m being crushed from all sides.
The three other families who are in the family group with us are already sitting down when we get to the room. The two therapists greet us. They are both short with flowing dresses and they look very new agey or whatever. The smaller one with fading blond hair is named Patricia and the other woman is Teresa. Teresa is taller but thinner and has short black hair and thick glasses.
I sit down between
my mom and dad. The first thing we do is go around the circle and state our goals for the weekend. When it comes to my dad, he repeats what he said in Annie’s office. He has a ton of anger toward me and is skeptical about this whole process.
“But I do love Nic,” he says, choking up. “I love him so much. I’m just scared. I’m really scared.”
He cries and then I cry too and I glance over and see that my mom is crying. I hate watching them cry. It is just so defeating. It feels like all the life is just drained out of me.
I sit low in my chair. My dad finishes and now it’s my turn to state my goals. I have a hard time talking through my crying.
“I just, well, I don’t know what I want from all this. I mean, I have been hurt by my parents, but then I have hurt them back so badly. I guess I want to use this weekend as a chance to address some of the resentments I have toward both my mom and my dad. But also, I want to show them how sorry I am. I don’t think they will ever know just how much I regret what I’ve done to them. I am sorry, but that doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. And I want them to know how hard this is for me, too. Living with myself is hell. It’s not like I’m just having a good time when I’m using and saying ‘fuck you’ to everyone. It is all pain. I mean, maybe four years ago when I first started this was all fun. But now it is just desperate and pathetic. I have been completely out of control and it is the worst feeling in the world. I’m not trying to say, like, ‘poor me’ or whatever. I want to take full responsibility for what I’ve done. But I just need my parents to know that this has been very hard for me, too. We have all suffered just so much.”
My dad actually puts his hand on my shoulder and that makes me cry harder. He is still crying too and now my mom gets ready to speak.