Through The Shattered Glass

by Jeanie Clarke

  Karen Burge Cole, former wife of Chris Adams: “We were only married for six weeks when he died. I remember at his funeral hearing someone behind me say that I was a newlywed widow. It was so sweet of Jeanie to let all of us including Chris’ parents Cyril and Jean stay at her house the night before the funeral.”

  Depressed at the prospect of not having the chance to attend Chris’ funeral, I desperately wanted to go back to Texas. But I couldn’t.

  Having violated the divorce order with Steve, I was certain that law enforcement authorities would be waiting at the airport to arrest me if I returned. I could not risk the chance of being locked away in jail and having the girls taken from me.

  I went to see a solicitor to understand my legal rights. Even though Steve had not yet bothered to arrange my extradition, I was increasingly fearful that he would try to take away Stephanie and Cassidy, if given the chance.

  The lawyer suggested that I should try to obtain a domestic court order to overrule the Texas one, in order to prevent an extradition of the girls. But he couldn’t guarantee that the Texas order would not be upheld if I returned to the States.

  With no guarantee of immunity, I wasn’t going to travel unless I could get a formal agreement in place. The lawyer advised me to draft a letter to Steve, requesting that he agree to my return with no repercussions.

  Cruelly, Steve refused to liaise with the English court or even write a letter to put my mind at rest. Even though I was thousands of miles away from Steve, he was still exerting control over my life.

  As a result of Steve’s stubbornness to avoid communication with the legal system, I was subsequently granted a Residence Order of the Family Court, which gave me sole custody the girls under English law.

  It was not the resolution I was seeking from my custody dispute with Steve. I wanted the girls to grow up with regular visitation from father. Unfortunately, Steve could never agree to share our children, so I had to fight to stop them from getting ripped away from me.

  No longer faced with the continual worry about being extradited, my house in Arlington was put on the market. I told Jade that she could clear the house of anything she wanted, and arranged for the remainder of my personal belongings to be shipped across the Atlantic.

  With a heavy heart, I accepted that I could never return to Texas. I was determined to find happiness now that I was home in the United Kingdom. I set about purchasing a new house in Southend. We needed a permanent residence in order to bring some overdue stability to our lives.

  There continued to be very little communication from Steve until his volatile marriage with Debra had ended in February 2003. Without her smothering influence on his life, he felt free to call me with a request. World Wrestling Entertainment (previously the WWF), were going to be producing a DVD feature on him. Entitled The Stone Cold Truth, he wanted the documentary portion of the disc to feature a segment on his relationship with his family, and asked if the girls and I would be filmed.

  I agreed to be interviewed, and the crew filmed at the house and along Southend seafront. Between takes, I sneaked away to top up with pills. Embarrassingly, I returned in an impaired condition before the production team asked me their list of questions.

  The following year, Steve returned to Britain for a WWE tour and stopped over in a nearby hotel in Southend. Finally, it gave Stephanie and Cassidy time to see their dad, and Steve and I were able to coexist in a civil way for their benefit.

  For the girls’ sake, I hoped that he would visit when it was not in the middle of a wrestling tour, so that they could get the chance to properly reconnect. Unfortunately, that never happened. When Steve was not contractually obliged to go to England, he never visited his children. Not once.

  Nevertheless, despite my shortcomings, I did what I could to bring the girls up as best I could, but it became a struggle as my dependencies worsened.

  Despite obtaining the Residence Order, I still harboured a fear that I would lose the children, and did what I could to keep them content. I was worried that if I confessed my addiction, I would be deemed an unfit mother. I couldn’t bear the thought of them being taken away to live in the States.

  Unfortunately, some of the decisions I made to conceal my problems were not in the best interests of the girls. I had often spoiled them with gifts and money to ensure they were kept content, but had neglected to teach them responsibility or the value of hard work. Even though I wanted them to be happy, I had failed in my duties as a parent.

  As a result, the girls became a victim of my addiction. My life was becoming less manageable, as I began to take more pills in order to function. I even resorted to buying the prescriptions of other people.

  At the start of the year, I had learned of the tragic passing of Chris’ ex-girlfriend Brandi. She had died in January 2003 of an overdose, leaving behind her daughter Julia. Her death should have given me the wake up call to accept my own problems, but it didn’t.

  Then the worst happened. I ran out of pills, and my body went into shock. The debilitating physical symptoms of my withdrawal returned, as did the horror of drug-induced psychosis. I was crippled by fear as my hallucinations intensified.

  Stephanie and Cassidy were still so young, and afraid.

  Not knowing what to do, they called one of my friends for help. Upon arriving at my house there was only one course of action, to alert the emergency services. Moments later, an ambulance arrived to take me to the hospital.

  For the next six years, this became a recurring incident.

  My greatest fears were becoming a reality; the girls were rapidly losing their mother.

  23 BREAKING POINT

  For so long, I was worried that my daughters would be torn away from me. It was a paranoia that accelerated my downward spiral. As I was fighting to keep my two youngest children from being taken, my relationship with my first-born daughter was starting to deteriorate.

  Even though I had moved to the United Kingdom with Stephanie and Cassidy, it was decided by Jade that she would remain in the States to raise her son Blaise with her boyfriend.

  After they split, she continued to live in Colorado, but she frequently visited us in Southend. We went on a number of holidays together and we kept a close bond until she met Adam Bryniarski.

  Bryniarski was a Coventry wrestler who competed in the States under the name Adam Windsor. They had chatted online for a few months before starting to date. Adam practised judo, and had claimed to know Jade’s uncle, Neil Adams.

  She fell deeply in love with him but couldn’t understand why he would not let her visit his home in Florida.

  A few weeks later, she called in floods of tears. It turned out that Adam was married to another woman and was still living with her.

  My first instinct was to try and protect Jade, who will always be my little girl.

  I invited her to come to back to Southend as I wanted to give her my support. Once she arrived, I let Jade know of my apprehensions towards their relationship, and told her that I did not really care for Adam’s secrecy.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have voiced my opinions, but I did.

  Within days, Adam started sending roses to the house, and was pleading with her on the phone to be with him.

  The situation was very reminiscent of how Steve and I started our relationship. I told Jade of my concerns that she might end up repeating the same mistakes that I had made.

  Jade however was blinded by love and just felt that I had gone too far by interfering with her business. Being older, Jade was fully aware of the addictions which I fought to hide over the years. She viewed me as a mess, a mother who had failed to become a reliable role model for her and expressed that I had no right to criticise any aspect of her life.

  Our disagreement over her new relationship was the final embarrassment for Jade and, at Adam’s urging, she decided to cut ties with me.

  Nevertheless, Jade and Adam continued their affair and later decided to marry in Coventry.

  In the weeks leading
to the ceremony, a policeman arrived at the door with a restraining order. It would prevent me from attending my first daughter’s wedding. I was heartbroken.

  It is incredibly sad how things turned out between us. Even though I was initially wary of Adam, I wanted Jade to know that I will always have love for her.

  As my relationship with Jade fell apart at the seams, I was comforted by my friend Marti. She and her husband Dory provided me with so much emotional support during a difficult time for me.

  Marti Funk, wife of wrestler Dory Funk, Jr.: “My family and my friend Jeanie went through some tough periods in our lives at a similar time. We both hit a low point with our respective problems, but she was always a thoughtful friend whenever we called one another. We hope she knows how much she means to Dory and I with her friendship and understanding. Someday we are going to hug and pray and give each other blessings for surviving the years of sorrow.”

  Just as I had lost a daughter, I heard some horrific news about Chris’ ex-wife, my dear friend Toni.

  Toni and I had remained close beyond our time working together in Dallas and I was incredibly fond of her. She was like a sister to me.

  Sadly, her life had taken a turn for the worse under very familiar circumstances.

  Toni had started taking prescribed medication during her time in the wrestling industry, which rapidly progressed to larger amounts and onto harder drugs. It escalated due to a mountain of personal problems stemming from her painful divorce from Chris, and the tragic death of Kerry.

  Like me, Toni thought that running away would solve her problems.

  Attempting to start a new life in Kentucky, Toni had since remarried, but could never rid herself of drug addiction. Her fix was a drug called OxyContin, a powerful and very dangerous narcotic that is time-released. When chewed, it discharges an overpowering hit all at once, up to three times its intended strength.

  Even though I was paralysed by my own addictions, I kept in touch with Toni to offer all the support that I could muster. It saddened me when I learned that she had become so hooked that it caused her to divorce yet again and lose all custody of her daughter.

  Just when it seemed she had lost everything, it would only get worse for Toni.

  On 24th June 2010 at the age of 45, she died, leaving behind a son and daughter.

  Once I learned of Toni’s death, I was left with an empty realisation. Overdosing just like Linda and Brandi; Toni became the third girl linked to Chris who had passed away after being hooked on drugs, another example of the tragic legacy that he left beyond his own sad ending.

  I was troubled that there was a chance that I would follow a similar path to Toni, and give in to the temptation of even harder drugs.

  It would not be long before I would be faced with the choice.

  As my mum had become increasingly frail, she was starting to need some assistance around the house. I would help her do the shopping, and when I would visit I started to see more of my sister Valerie. Despite being siblings, we had only sporadically seen each other since we were kids.

  In the years since we lived together as teenagers, Valerie had struggled to survive her own deeply unhappy adult life. She had lost a child, had met a series of abusive boyfriends and needed an escape.

  As her life completely fell apart, she became a regular abuser of heroin and crack cocaine. Her impoverished life was actually a saviour; her addictions had been reined in by her limited income.

  After one visit in July 2012, I offered Valerie a lift home.

  During the drive, she asked if I had ever tried crack. I told her that I hadn’t and asked her what it was like. With my sister, we sourced some crack cocaine and our smoking of it became a weekly occurrence. It quickly spiralled out of control to the point where I needed to take it several times a day just to function.

  I still cannot fathom why I decided to experiment with crack. It was the start of a dark journey into an abuse of recreational Class A drugs on top of my addiction to other pills. I had now fallen into an abyss which was leading me to an early grave.

  Rapidly, I wanted a bigger hit. The insanity of progression led me to try Heroin.

  By November the following year, I had completely lost manageability of my life and my recklessness was starting to be a danger to others.

  In one instance, I had been driving and lost control of the vehicle whilst driving and had hit the curb, destroying the wheel. I stayed in the car, and just sat there, motionless.

  I didn’t even notice the tow truck pull up behind me as I was in a deep trance.

  The tow truck driver led me out of the car as he arranged for the car to be impounded. After I stood up, I dropped down on my face, falling over with the grace of a tree. He suspected I was drunk, and called the Police.

  While the car was impounded, somebody must have broken into it. There was not a sign of the stash of drugs I had concealed in the car’s glove compartment, even though it was searched following my arrest.

  I was taken into the station, but there was not a trace of alcohol on my system. I was quickly released due to a lack of evidence.

  Crack had taken me to the point that I could no longer function. I had long stopped paying bills, cleaning the house and caring for myself or anyone else. Physically, I was a wreck. I would often go days without a shower, I had lost around thirty pounds in weight, and I became gaunt and ill-looking. I just didn’t care. Instead, I holed myself up in my room, isolating myself from responsibility and normal life.

  I feared the inevitable; it was only a matter of time before I would take a bigger hit than my body could handle, leaving my children without a mother. I had always resented my own mum for yielding to alcohol when I was a child.

  I had become no better, an addict who was neglecting her wonderful children.

  For years, I was torturing the children in my own, selfish way without even realising it. I was failing them as a mother and knew that they deserved better.

  As the winter drew closer, the only thing keeping me going was the thought of seeing Stephanie and Cassidy together again. Stephanie had been living in Los Angeles since 2011, and was due to be home for the holidays.

  By Christmas Day 2013, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I opened the door to the bedroom, where my daughters were sitting and watching the TV. They turned to me and their young smiles sank as they saw my defeated face, streaming with tears.

  “I’m a drug addict. I need help. I’m sorry, but please help me!” I blurted in desperation.

  The girls empathised with my vulnerability and could finally see me for the broken soul that I was. We all cried and hugged each other.

  After sixteen years of denial, I had managed to utter the words that lifted such a huge weight from my shoulders. The guilt of sneaking about, lying and having secrets could now be over. It was painful burden for the three of us to share, but there was no other choice.

  I had finally hit rock-bottom.

  Once the weight of my revelation had registered, the girls were incredibly supportive, despite the shock. They immediately asked what I needed. I just told them that I needed help to keep me away from the drugs.

  Stephanie and Cassidy put me under ‘house arrest’ and had me confined to my bedroom. I promised not to touch any drugs. This kept me away from doing crack, but I was still managing to use pills in the house.

  They were keeping a close eye on me, taking turns to ensure that I stayed put. Years of concealing my addiction meant that I was well versed in being sly, so I started hiding my pills. When the girls weren’t about, I would sneakily consume them to get my fix. I would frequently search in desperation for these scattered pockets of tablets, my muddled thoughts forgetting where I had hidden them. I was a pathetic mess, lying not only to my children, but to myself.

  Sam Houston, former WCW wrestler: "Before long though, after taking the pills, you start to believe your own hype and believe you’re a superman or you’re the chosen one but you’re just as susceptible to anything as a
nyone else. Because we’re bigger people and because we have a better tolerance or that our metabolisms are faster we can consume more but eventually it all catches up.”

  A week later, Stephanie returned to the States, and I only had Cassidy to watch over me. It wasn’t long before I took advantage, and smuggled some crack into the house. Cassidy caught me smoking it in my room and, after a series of broken promises, she eventually gave in and sought help.

  She contacted the rehab clinic on 10th February 2014.

  We had to face facts; there was no way I was going to beat this on my own, even with the love of my daughters.

  I needed professional help, and it was now forthcoming. I received a call saying that my daughter was so worried about me. I was scheduled to get picked up the following day.

  I could not have asked for anymore help from Stephanie and Cassidy. After accepting the truth on just how crippled by addiction I had become, they immediately tried to help me overcome it.

  I was so blessed to have the undying care of the girls. They were my guardian angels. Persevering with their mission to save my life, I felt guilty as I did not believe I deserved another chance. In seventeen years, I had done everything possible to destroy myself, and just wanted an easy way out of my suffering. My mind started to dwell on some of my friends who had followed a similar path, but had been less fortunate.

  I was haunted by the fun times and laughter that I had shared with Toni, Chris and Gino in Dallas, but memories were the only remnants of these three friends who had created such a happy time in my young life.

  My mind then started to reminisce on other friends within the industry who had passed before their time, and the scarring grief felt by the scattered trail of broken families.

  I felt the pain of Kevin Von Erich, the sole survivor of a proud dynasty, who had to say goodbye to each of his brothers when they had barely a chance to become men.