‘Yeah, thanks, PJ,’ I humbly agreed.
PJ was as good as his word. He stood in the witness box and he never objected to bail. He told the judge that I came from a good family whom he had known for the past eight years. I was a young girl who had gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd, he said. He had witnessed my addiction spiral out of control and he thought that my life depended on me going to Italy.
I couldn’t believe my ears. But when I thought about it, PJ always did have a soft spot for me. When he was finished in the witness box, it was Father Adrian’s turn. He told the judge all about the community and how strict it was and about how it was my only hope.
But the judge wasn’t having any of it. ‘This girl stands before me with a list of charges and outstanding warrants and she has also been sent forward to the circuit court for burglary of a phone shop. Give me one good reason why I should send her on a tour around Italy. No, no, no. She’s not going and that’s it. Put her back into custody and I will deal with her tomorrow,’ demanded the judge.
And this is how things went for three days. I went from custody to court as everyone fought for me to be released. The judge was adamant that I not go to Italy. I had been given too many chances already, he said. But my solicitor wouldn’t give in. She told him that this would be my last chance; if I didn’t go to Italy now, I would never get clean from drugs. She assured him that he would receive monthly reports on my progress. In the end the judge reluctantly agreed. He put tight bail conditions on me that depended on my staying in the community for one year.
_____
It was Friday afternoon and I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I had my charges out of the way, but now I had to apply for temporary release from Mountjoy Prison. My mother and my grandmother had, in blind faith, booked me onto a flight to Italy for eight o’clock on the Saturday morning. As soon as I got back to Mountjoy Prison I put my application form in for temporary release. The hours passed and I paced my cell hoping that things would go according to plan. But nine o’clock came and went and I was certain that I was going nowhere. After asking the officers if they had heard anything about me being released, they told me that it was too late. My heart sank. Fuck it anyway, I thought. I had got my hopes up for nothing. It would be impossible to get clean in prison and there was no chance of me getting clean on the outside.
I spent the rest of the night with the other prisoners, many of whom I knew from Ballymun, reminiscing about the good old days when we went to raves and before the heroin had us in its grip. And for a split second I felt as though I could see myself from outside my body. I no longer stood out like a sore thumb: I was just like all the other prisoners upon whom I had once looked down my nose. I looked like them and I acted like them. I had lost all my pride and my inhibitions. I had become a horrible, selfish person who abused my family and any friends I had. And for the first time in my life I could clearly see just how sick I was.
That night I prayed to God, begging him to help me. ‘Please God, give me one more chance. I promise I’ll do my best this time.’ I drifted off to sleep and as usual I dreaded what the next day would bring.
Looking back now, I may have been at rock bottom with my addiction and about to face a lengthy spell in Mountjoy, but I’m not really sure that I was ready to give up drugs. I now know what being truly ‘ready’ is: deciding of my own will that I wanted a life free from drugs, that there was a life beyond heroin. Then, I was simply desperate for a way out of the degradation of prostitution and thieving and the wreckage of my life. And it looked as if my prayers had been answered.
_____
My cell door opened the next morning. ‘C’mon, Rachael, it’s your lucky day. You’re getting tr,’ shouted one of the officers.
‘What? How come? What time is it?’ I said, hopping out of my bed, still half asleep and convinced that they were making a mistake.
The officer explained, ‘Your mother put a block on you being released before now. Herself and your grandmother are outside waiting for you, so hurry up.’ My mother had obviously been afraid that if I had been released earlier, I would just have made a run for it back to my old life. Perhaps she was right. I grabbed my belongings as quickly as I could before the officers found a reason to keep me locked up.
As I hurried out of the prison I could hear the other prisoners shouting across to one another. ‘Here, Elaine, are ye listenin’? D’ye ever see the fuckin’ likes of it? Getting TR at four o’clock in the fuckin’ morning! Ye’d wanna be a fuckin’ rat to pull that one.’ But I couldn’t care less what the other prisoners thought of me. My prayers had been answered. I was taking this opportunity with both hands and making the best of it.
_____
I was so sick after my flight and the withdrawals that I hardly knew what was going on. I found it strange that my mother had come with me—usually she would get somebody else to do her dirty work, like Laurence or Mick. I watched her carefully, trying to figure out what her motive was. Had she finally realised how much I needed her to be my mother, or was she just trying to get rid of me again? Either way, I didn’t care. Like a child I was just happy that she was with me, regardless of her reasons.
Father Adrian gave us directions to meet the people from the community in a little hostel in Turin. Two men arrived late on Saturday night wearing military jackets and looking like they weren’t to be messed with. I said my goodbyes to my mother and my grandmother as they handed me into the care of these strange men. I had no idea of what I was getting myself into, but nothing could be worse than where I was coming from.
I had fallen asleep on our way to the community and when I woke up I could feel my withdrawals kicking in. This was the part that I dreaded the most. For me, the withdrawals were what I lived in fear of every day: I had never left myself long enough without heroin to feel the severity of going cold turkey. I wouldn’t rest until I had enough drugs to keep the sickness at bay. I had taken ninety mls of methadone before I left Mountjoy: it was still in my system and keeping me going but the dope sickness had started and the rest was in the post.
I was informed that I was being taken to a house called Savliganno. When we arrived I was greeted with a firm handshake by my appointed guardian angel, Dubrilla. She appeared to be in her early forties, with shoulder-length grey hair and tanned skin. I guessed she was eastern European. With Dubrilla there was no beating around the bush. ‘You are very welcome to the community, but don’t for one minute expect it to be easy,’ she said. ‘All of your belongings will be taken from you and you won’t get them back until the time is right.’ She approached me with a cup of tea. ‘Drink it. It will help you sleep. You will realise yourself that in Community Cenacolo there is a reason for everything. Now it’s late, so you should try and get some rest.’
Less of the fuckin’ attitude, I wanted to say to her, still with the prison chip on my shoulder. But I used my head and I did as she said.
I felt as though I had only closed my eyes and opened them again when I saw Dubrilla standing by my bunk bed. She was staring at me. ‘I thought you were dead. You have mascara all over you,’ she said while she touched my face.
Ah, fuck off away from me, I thought, wanting to throw a tantrum. ‘It’s too early, Dubrilla,’ I said.
‘You have already slept over by three hours. It’s nine o’clock and you have to get up.’
‘I can’t move, Dubrilla. I’m in bits,’ I protested.
‘I know, but if you lie in bed you will feel worse. Look how beautiful the day is,’ she said as she opened the blinds. ‘I want to show you something.’
I dragged myself out of the bed and I went to where she stood. ‘Bellissimo, eh?’ she said, pointing to the view. We were surrounded by the Alpine mountains and the sun blistered down onto layers of golden cornfields. ‘We have our own greenhouse and we grow our own vegetables,’ she enthused. I had more interest in the man on the moon than in her little pep talk. I just wanted to jump back into bed, close my eyes and never wake up.
‘Oh look! There are the girls going for their walk,’ she said. I followed her pointing finger and saw at least twenty women walking in a perfect line of twos. ‘They’re walking the rosary,’ she said.
‘Come again?! What do you mean, “Walking the rosary?”’
‘Every Sunday we go for a walk and say the rosary. And now that Lent is coming, we will be doing it a lot more. It’s really nice,’ she said, staring at the girls with a smile on her face.
‘Why are they in twos?’
‘Because Jesus always sent his disciples out in twos.’
Ah, this is just fuckin’ great, I thought. I’ve just walked myself into a mad cult. I had heard of places like Community Cenacolo, where everyone spoke in tongues and prayed over vulnerable addicts, putting the fear of God into them and brain-washing them. As if reading my mind, Dubrilla grinned, ‘Don’t worry, we won’t force you into doing anything. I’m sure that you will do it when you are ready. But it will be expected of you to work, just like everybody else. For the first week, while you are sick, you will work with me in the factory. We make car parts,’ she said. ‘Then you will work in the garden. The fresh air will make you stronger. So let’s go! I will give you some clothes.’
Dubrilla handed me a pile of old clothes. ‘I know it’s not easy when you’re stripped of all your material goods,’ she said. This was unbearable. It was one thing going through my sickness, but expecting me to wear long flowing skirts with Jesus sandals and no make-up was just torture. ‘Just trust me,’ she said.
When the other girls returned from their walk, Dubrilla introduced me to them all. Most of them were either Italian or Croatian and they couldn’t speak a word of English. Thank God, I thought, at least they won’t be able to preach to me about the Bible or anything. And there was no way these girls were addicts: they all looked so healthy and happy. But as weak as I was, I was struck by their simplicity. I was curious about the glow that they had in their eyes.
I tried my best to be friendly, but my sickness was getting worse. My insides felt as though they were about to empty out of me and my joints were drying up and needed to be oiled. Dubrilla stayed by my side until six o’clock came. She told me that it was ‘junkie talk time’ in the chapel. I had visions of people levitating and collapsing mid-prayer. I was intrigued and I didn’t want to miss out on anything, so I went along with them. Everyone sat in a circle and spoke about how her day had gone. I didn’t understand what they were saying, but in Italian it sounded good. Then the girls knelt down and said a rosary. I had come directly from prison to this. I was way out of my comfort zone. But I joined them out of respect.
After the chapel it was dinner time. The smell of the food was making me heave. I couldn’t leave Dubrilla’s side until it was time to go to bed. I knew that I wouldn’t sleep, but when the time came I was relieved to get away from everyone. I lay in my bed staring into the darkness, frozen with fear. I really wanted to get clean, but I didn’t want to become a holy Joe. Nobody would want to know me then, I thought, but then, no-one wants to know me anyway. Sure I don’t even deserve to be on this planet after all the bad things I’ve done. And my family had seen that a long time ago. ‘You’re nothing but a scum-bag,’ I told myself. ‘You’re better off dead.’ I remembered myself as that little girl in Temple Street hospital, every Sunday in the chapel with the nuns, singing away to my heart’s content, oblivious to what lay ahead. I pushed back the tears. If God loved me that much, why did he fuck off on me like that? Why hadn’t he helped me a long time ago? ‘Because you don’t deserve God’s love, that’s why?’ I answered myself.
My head wouldn’t stop racing and I felt as though I were being suffocated by a cloak of negativity. Eventually I got some sleep, but when I woke up it was still dark outside. I was lying in a pool of sweat and my hands were swollen from clenching my fists so tightly. It was time to get up. I was told to get washed and dressed in my work clothes and to be in the chapel as quickly as possible. We started the day with the Joyful Mysteries. But I was far from joyful and in no humour to go to work. The day dragged on as myself and some other girls worked in an assembly line. I desperately tried to distract myself from how shit I felt by talking to Dubrilla. She told me the story of Sister Elvira, who had founded the community, and of the revelation that had come to her to help hopeless drug-addicts and how she had transformed people’s lives the world over.
Still I couldn’t stop thinking of drugs. I kept making excuses to go to the toilet, just to get away from Dubrilla, but she trailed behind me everywhere I went. I was craving everything: drugs, a cigarette, my clothes and my make-up—anything to make me feel a bit better. However, I had no choice but to persevere. By the time I got to bed that night I was physically and mentally exhausted, but my mind still wouldn’t slow down. I wonder if blind people dream? And if they do can they see in their dreams? My mind rambled around and around. ‘Oh, shut up!’ I argued with myself. I wanted to chop my head and my legs off so that I wouldn’t feel the pain.
Before I knew it, it was morning time again. Dubrilla came to my bed, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, and I just wanted to hit her. ‘Don’t even ask me to get up, ’cos I can’t move,’ I growled at her, my hair stuck to my head.
‘You can stay in bed for two more hours, but you’re being put in the garden today,’ she replied.
Before I knew it I was sitting in a field with a pair of scissors in my hand. ‘What are the scissors for, Dubrilla?’
‘For cutting the grass.’
‘Ha, ha, very funny.’
‘No, really, I’m telling you the truth.’
‘Why can’t I use the lawn-mower over there?’ I said.
‘Because this will help you to grow in patience,’ she replied, smiling.
I was being pushed to my limits and I felt like stabbing myself or Dubrilla with the scissors. The hours passed by with me cutting the grass, trapped in my head. It was scorching outside but I was shivering with the cold. My nose was running, I couldn’t stop yawning and my back was aching, all symptoms of withdrawal.
‘You’re not allowed to kneel down,’ said Dubrilla, as I tried to get comfortable on the grass. ‘You have to kneel up.’
Oh will you just get out of my face; you probably don’t even know what drugs look like, I told her in my head. I couldn’t see Dubrilla, or even the grass that I was cutting. All I could see were my thoughts, whizzing past me like a movie on fast-forward. ‘Ah, I can’t do this, Dubrilla. I want to go home,’ I wailed.
She didn’t look surprised. ‘Umm, why do you want to go home?’
‘Because I miss my family.’ She looked like she was going to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I suppose you have a really good relationship with your family, do you?’
‘I do, yeah,’ I lied.
‘So why did your family leave you here then?’ she probed.
‘Because I have a drug problem,’ I told her, feeling irritated.
‘And you don’t have a drug problem any more, do you not? You don’t miss your family, Rachael, you miss the drugs.’
Fuckin’ bitch, I said to myself, as I started to cut the grass again. The last thing I wanted to hear was the truth.
‘You are on your third day now, Rachael. Two more days and the worst will be over.’
‘Yeah! thanks.’
_____
Even though Dubrilla drove me mad, I dreaded night-time and being left alone with my demons. My mind would spin, a dizzy mixture of self-analysis and random rubbish: What’s it all about? Why are we really here? Why is bread called bread? And who thought of that word? Bread, bread, bread... I couldn’t shut the thoughts off. The taste of heroin in the back of my throat was taking my breath away, and no matter what way I lay I couldn’t get comfortable. It would have been better if somebody had skinned me alive and poured vinegar all over me. At least that way it would be over and done with. The muscle spasms and agitation dragged on and on, getting worse by the hour. I was endlessl
y heaving, but nothing would come out of my stomach except green bile.
It was still the middle of the night but I could hear commotion coming from the other dormitories. Dubrilla entered my room. ‘Rachael, you have to get up. It’s adoration time.’
I had no energy to get up, but I was glad of the distraction. My legs felt like a ton of bricks, but I dragged them down to the chapel along with the other girls. The chapel was small and simple, with oak wooden floors, an altar and an open eucharist. The candles created an ambience and I could barely see the other girls as they knelt down in front of me. ‘Oh blood and water, which gushed forth from the heart of Jesus as a fount of mercy for us, I trust in you,’ they chanted over and over again.
I don’t trust in you. I’m glad you died on the cross, I thought bitterly, before correcting myself. Oh my God, how could I think such a thing? That just proves that I’m evil. Only evil people could think such things. No, I didn’t mean it. God, please forgive me. I began to join the girls in their chant. I tried to visualise Jesus sitting before me, just as he was in the picture that my grandmother had of him at home. He was smiling at me, with rays of blue and red light coming from his heart, shining directly into mine. My head was beginning to slow down. I could feel the chanting break through my walls of fear and anger, until I felt raw inside. Then adoration was over, but I couldn’t get up. I told Dubrilla that I needed to be left alone. I waited until everyone was gone and in the silence I cried my heart out, crumbling to pieces before the eucharist.
_____
The next morning, after getting a couple of hours sleep, it was as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I got dressed and headed downstairs to the kitchen. I passed the conservatory and suddenly I came to a halt. It was the first time in years that I had seen a sunrise. I hurried outside to get a proper look. The sky was cerise pink with swirls of lavender, and as I felt the warmth of the sun on my face my spirit seemed to come alive. I was still very weak, but I hadn’t felt this good since I was a child. Something was shifting within me, I could feel it. I wasn’t sure if it was down to the adoration or the good cry that I’d had that morning, but whatever it was, I was holding onto it. I made a decision there and then to give Community Cenacolo my best shot.
Dying to Survive Page 14