My feelings began to eat away at me. I just wanted a closer relationship with my father. I wanted to build a new father-son relationship. All of a sudden the congenial relationship I now had with my dad wasn’t good enough. For him, just knowing I was there was a good feeling. But it wasn’t enough for me. I tried to press him into a relationship he wasn’t ready for, and in doing so, I began to ruin the relationship that we had. I slowly started to detach from him.
I had begun withdrawing from Kim as well, feeling more and more unworthy of her love, too. We began to drift apart. I was steadily destroying every relationship that mattered to me. It made no sense, and I started my self-destructive cycle again. The more unhappy I became, the more I turned to drugs for relief. I started bingeing, all night. At times, I would disappear for days without anyone knowing where I was. Afterward I would regroup and stay sober and functional for a while, but inevitably I would lose my grip and begin bingeing again.
The addiction that consumed me had become a battle for my mind and soul. I was spiritually lost. I wasn’t chasing a high anymore. Drugs were no longer a relief; they were a source of paranoia, anxiety, and hopelessness. Late one night after bingeing all day, I called the paramedics because of a sharp pain in my head. I thought I was having an aneurysm. The paramedics came and examined me and confirmed that my blood pressure was extremely high. They asked me if I had taken any drugs, and I told them I had. They explained that I was having a severe anxiety attack and that I needed to calm down and get some rest. One of the paramedics patted me on the shoulder and told me, “You don’t need to do this to yourself. Mr. Robinson, asking for help doesn’t make you less of a man.” He was thoughtful and very kind.
I knew he was right, but I didn’t stop. I knew how much I was hurting everyone, but the more I thought about it, the more I would spiral out of control. I had never felt more alone. Deep in a drug-induced state, sometimes I thought I heard my mother’s voice, my children’s voices, my father’s voice calling me. Today, I believe in my heart I heard all the prayers and voices of those I loved calling me back from the darkness.
The ones I was hurting the most deeply, of course, were my children. They would get up in the middle of the night sometimes and watch me as I once watched my father, but I was oblivious to their presence too. I would be walking around the house pacing back and forth. The cocaine triggered spells of obsessive-compulsive disorder. It was frightening for them to see me that way. They didn’t know what was wrong with me any more than I had known what was wrong with my father when I was their age. The worst thing, though, was my disappearances.
My daughters knew something was seriously wrong. Everyone was making up excuses for me, telling them that “Daddy was sick”—the same thing my mother had said to me about my dad. They accepted the excuses. My children loved me with all of their hearts, just as I had loved my father. But like my father, I had brought the dark world of drugs into their lives. I was spiraling out of control. They were living with the same constant fear I had lived with as a child. The situation couldn’t continue indefinitely. The girls’ mother successfully sued for custody. The court determined that my children were no longer safe with me. I had failed my children on the most basic level, and I was overwhelmed with despair. Everything I cherished was going up in smoke.
The pernicious cycle put a tremendous strain on my relationship with Kim and my children. Kim and I were to be married, but that would not come to fruition. Eventually my relationship with her and my children became unbearable for all of us.
When she left, I continued my downward spiral. Everyone was concerned about me. My mother was sick with worry about what I was doing to myself, reliving her worst nightmares with my father. I knew I was breaking her heart, but I couldn’t stop. My father was worried, too. When my dad learned that Kim had gone home to Connecticut and my children were back with their mother, he knew something was seriously wrong.
He sat me down and said, “This is just not like you. What are you doing? What’s going on?” When I finally confessed that I had a drug problem, he was upset that I hadn’t come to him for help. He did not understand what I was going through. And he didn’t understand that he was the last person I could tell. I was too ashamed. My father told me that if I didn’t stop the cycle I was caught in, I would lose my family. I knew he was right. He told me, “You’ve got to get hold of yourself, or I’ll have to send you away to rehab. It’s for your own benefit.” When my father asked me if I wanted to go to rehab, I said yes. He told me he would make arrangements for me to be admitted to the Betty Ford Center. But deep inside I just wasn’t ready, and when the time came to leave, I refused to go.
My father wasn’t going to let me off the hook. He had no intention of sitting by and watching his son self-destruct. Once again, he took me aside. And once again, I found a way to pull myself up by my bootstraps. I stopped cold, and I regrouped. On the surface, my ability to stop without help seemed like a good thing, but in reality it was pushing me further and further away from admitting that I was an addict and was powerless over my addiction. But as long as I continued to believe I could stop on my own, I would never get the help I needed. And as long as I ignored my emotional pain that drove me, I would never be able to stay clean for long.
I was on the brink. I did not know if my life would ever be the same again, and I admitted myself to the Betty Ford Center. I was there for thirty days. I sought recovery with other high-profile celebrities and business people during my stay there, and I heard other shocking stories during the group sessions. I found out there were other people who were suffering just as much as I was. On the surface these people looked perfectly fine, but they too had serious issues. I realized that I was not alone in my suffering.
Unfortunately, in my case the Betty Ford experience was not enough. Being there brought up so many issues I had never dealt with that I came out thirty days later in worse shape than when I went in. I needed to go into a sober-living community. It never occurred to me to go to my father for help. If I had, I feel certain he would have helped me. But I didn’t, and within days of leaving Betty Ford, I relapsed.
My mother confronted me and said, “You’ve got to go back. You have no choice.” I knew she was right. Within thirty days of leaving Betty Ford, I moved into a sober-living program in Long Beach called Get Off Drugs (G.O.D.). It was not a twelve-step program; it was a program built around spirituality and abstinence. The sober-living house was in an area infested by drugs and prostitution. In the midst of all this confusion and corruption, G.O.D.’s house stood as a beacon of hope. Under the direction of Pastor Irene Robinson, who introduced us to the power of God and prayer, I would embrace Jesus Christ as my savior. In the chapel there, I would lie on the floor in front of the altar and pray that God would heal me of my addiction. And he did. I lived there for a year and a half, and during this time, I received counseling and began to get to the root of some of my most deep-seated issues. It was the first time I had any real clarity about my behavior and the trauma I carried inside.
For my first nine months there, I did not hear from my father. He was still angry and wanted me to get well without any interference from him. Eventually, though, he did call and ask me how I was doing. I knew he was concerned about me, but he never came to visit. The counselors at G.O.D. told me to be cautious about going back to work. They advised me that it would be a mistake for me to return to Ray Charles Enterprises. They felt it was a toxic environment for me. Being around my dad every day would trigger so many deep-seated memories and anxieties. Despite their advice, though, I wanted to return to Ray Charles Enterprises if my father would take me. I needed to reconnect and prove to him that I could still be a success.
In 1996 I returned to Ray Charles Enterprises. I continued to live in the sober-living home until I left on tour. My father welcomed me back with open arms, though on different terms. I would have the opportunity to build RCR Productions from the ground up. I would have to roll up my sleeves, pick myself up,
and prepare to go on tour to sell our merchandise. I needed to complete the designs I had already started and pick up the production of my merchandise. I learned that while I was in rehab, my father and Mr. Adams had continued the work I had already begun. It was a great confidence builder to know he still had faith in my abilities. I agreed to his terms, and that summer I went back on the road with the band. The merchandise was received very well. We were gone most of the summer, finishing in Atlanta for the 1996 Olympics. It was great to be working again and earning the trust of those around me.
Before I left on tour I began developing the Web site raycharles.com. I envisioned a site where his fans could keep in touch with him, stay updated on his concert schedules, and buy his merchandise. My father loved the idea.
Things were going well, I was in a new relationship, and my misplaced self-confidence led to two serious mistakes. The first mistake was to not have a support system when I moved out of the sober-living facility. I had been sober for two years by then, and I thought I was ready. The second mistake was getting involved in another relationship too soon. I flew back to D.C. that fall to see Lisa. I thought I was ready for a new relationship, but as soon as I got engaged, the same anxiety from the past began to resurface. I became increasingly short-tempered, and I recognized the symptoms. I told myself, “You need to check yourself.” It was then that I knew I had not dealt with all of the things I needed to deal with. I had never consulted a doctor about my anxiety attacks, so I sought release from the pain in the same place I had always gone. Abstinence from using was simply not enough.
As soon as I got off the plane when I returned from Washington, D.C., I crossed the line for the first time in two years. I knew the perils of using cocaine and I did it anyway. Once again, I was in that self-destructive state of mind. Worse, I brought my fiancée into my world of chaos. Against my better judgment, we were married in Las Vegas. Our marriage didn’t stand a chance, and within a year I was separated for the second time. Once again, I had hurt someone I cared about. I deeply regret it. I had become the King of Pain and was still searching for answers.
Eventually my relapse was obvious and I would show up to work under the influence. My father confronted me and said he loved me, but he could not watch me go through this again. I would have to work from another location. I would move RCR Productions to my loft downtown. I continued to work with my father, but from a distance.
I believe that I broke my father’s heart that day. He couldn’t understand how I could come so far and then let it all go. He told me that he knew I had worked extremely hard, that I had accepted his challenge and made a success of RCR Productions. He seemed proud of my accomplishments, but he couldn’t understand what was going on in my mind. He was struggling, questioning if my behavior was his fault, if he could somehow have prevented my relapse. Just as with David, he thought he had failed me. He was disappointed. My father couldn’t understand why I didn’t just stop cold turkey and stay clean like he had. I was disappointed in myself. That disappointment fed on itself, and for the next year I continued to run RCR Productions until my sister Raenee was brought in to run the day-to-day operations. It was only by God’s grace that I survived.
CHAPTER 16
If I Could
If I could, I would
teach you
All the things I’ve never
learned.
—MARTHA VANESSA SHARRON,
KENNY HIRSCH, AND
RONALD NORMAN MILLER
AS THE NEW MILLENNIUM BEGAN, MY HOPES ROSE ONCE more. I had been clean for two years, and I felt it was time to make amends with my father. I arranged to meet him at the studio on the weekend. Once again we reconnected over some new projects. We were still seeking a production deal for my father’s life story.
When I entered the office, he was sitting at his desk in his usual position, with one leg hanging over the side. He looked tense. I walked over to where he sat, said, “Hi, Dad, it’s been a long time,” and bent over to kiss him on the forehead. He looked up at me and rose to his feet. After a brief pause, he began to look over me as he had when I was a child. He ran his hands over my shoulders and down to my waist, then put his hands on my wrists and squeezed to see how thin I was. He nodded and said, “I see you’ve been taking good care of yourself.” He sat back down, and I sat in front of his desk.
I could see that his hair was grayer, and this day he looked tired. His voice was soft as he spoke to me. “I’ve been getting reports about you from your mother. Seems like you’ve been through some more personal discovery about where you’ve been and where you need to go. Well, I just want you to know I love you.” My father seldom expressed affection in words. Every now and then he would say, “I love you, dirty drawers,” as a term of endearment, but that was rare. I was touched by his words.
“I love you, too, Dad,” I told him, and then I began to talk to him. I told him that the bad choices I had made in life were not his fault. It was true that his behavior while I was growing up had an effect on me, but it had also shown me the dangers of addiction firsthand. No one knew better than I did how serious drug addiction could be or how much it affected a family. I had ventured down that road with my eyes open. And then I told him, “I know you were disappointed in me. I hope you can forgive me.”
He sat silently, looking at the floor. I knew without his saying so that he forgave me, but he couldn’t find the words at that moment. I had been through the same fire that had tried him so many years ago. We shared about our failures and also our triumphs.
We talked for hours after that, catching up on all we’d missed in each other’s lives. We talked about the past, about my children, about my plans for the future. I told him about the projects I still hoped to develop for him. He listened carefully, nodding. I knew he had to be holding his breath, hoping I would be able to follow through this time. He was willing to give me another chance, and I was determined to make the most of it.
I returned to my father energized and determined. I was ready to handle business. I plunged into a whirlwind of activity, moving forward on several projects at the same time. One of the first concepts I pitched was a project that eventually became the album Genius Loves Company. It came at a time when my father was feeling the loss of so many great musicians who were his friends. Dizzy Gillespie had died, and my father had begun to realize that he would never be able to play with many of his friends again. Don Mizell and I originally came to my father with another duet concept for a CD, and we sat down to discuss the possibilities. We talked about him doing duets with Paul McCartney, Steve Winwood, Natalie Cole, Willie Nelson, and other great artists. Ultimately, some of the artists we proposed to perform on the CD did. Once again, my father would perform with the artists he loved and respected. That was all he wanted to do. I took pride in watching the success of the CD. It sold more than three million copies and would become my father’s grand finale.
Another project close to my heart that year was the gospel Christmas concert DVD Ray Charles Celebrates Christmas with the Voices of Jubilation. Stuart Benjamin, of Benjamin Productions, brought the idea to me. It immediately sparked my memory of a conversation I’d had with my father a few years earlier. He was talking about gospel music, and he said, “Hey, this is how me and your mother met, you know.” I knew he loved gospel and that it had been in his heart to make a gospel CD with a gospel choir one day. He had wanted to make a gospel CD with his friend James Cleveland, but he lost his inspiration after Reverend Cleveland passed. I knew gospel would bring him back to his roots. Stuart asked me if my father had performed gospel before and if he would consider the idea. I could serve as a catalyst to inspire my dad to consider the project. After listening to a recording of the Voices of Jubilation Choir, he asked to speak to Stephanie Minatee, their choir director. Stephanie and my father would meet, and their personal and musical chemistry was instantaneous. “Christmas Jubilee” was born.
The Christmas concert was a wonderful experience to share with
my father. To his surprise, I came at Stuart’s request. I wanted Dad to know I was directly involved in helping Stuart promote the event for Benjamin Productions. I appeared on a morning show and conducted radio interviews promoting the concert. I spent a wonderful two days with my father while they rehearsed and prepared for the performance. He was so excited about performing with the Voices of Jubilation Choir. Stephanie, Vernon, Stuart, and I shared my father’s joy together, and the success of the gospel performance that evening. My father, the Voices of Jubilation, and the audience were moved by the spirit of the performance that night, which came from the depth of their souls.
I was proud of the work I was doing, but the greatest joy came from spending time with him. We attended a Green Bay Packers game one evening, something we hadn’t done together in a long time. It was incredibly cold that night, but we were given a luxury skybox for the game, where it was warm. My father listened with Vernon as I sat with my eyes glued to the field. I was a huge Brett Favre fan. I was with my father, and I had a wonderful time.
You Don't Know Me Page 25