At around 8:30pm last night we received a frantic telephone call from the girlfriend of a friend of ours. Apparently, the motel they live at was visited by the local police due to a complaint of someone throwing rocks at windows there. Everyone was required to produce identification; our friend's ID lead to a discovery of an outstanding warrant, which lead to him being hauled away to jail (again). Feeling bad because I know this guy is truly trying to get his life together at this point, I searched online trying to find out what the charges are and where he is being held, to no avail. Possibly he wasn't in the system yet; I will try to locate him today although by now his girlfriend might know what's going on.
Although my online search did not yield any information with regard to the arrest of the above mentioned person, it did lead me to the discovery of another person, a man I dated very briefly several years ago. A guy I broke up with because he had too many problems for me to deal with at that piont in my life. I'd punched his name into the computer out of curiousity; I wondered if he'd managed to stay out of trouble for awhile. Suddenly, there he was, listed as in inmate in a central Florida jail, probation revoked for some sort of offense committed. The picture was shocking-sunken cheeks, vacant eyes, lined face betraying years of self abuse. Someone else might have scoffed in self righteous glory, "Look at that stupid drug addict" or something like that. We all tend to pass judgement based upon appearances, no matter how much we don't care to admit to doing so. The thing is, I knew this guy once. I'd actually managed to crack the veneer briefly; I recall his eyes lighting up only once, when he told me the stories of his former days in the rodeo. These were the days before crack cocaine became his lover, his friend, his partner in crime. Before it robbed him of any hope at a normal or truly enjoyable life. I liked the guy beneath the surface; behind the machismo he was really just a vulnerable, lost soul. Unfortunately, the personality in command of this soul was now a violent, angry being, prone to sudden outbursts and vicious attacks. He once left five messages on my answering machine, each one increasingly nastier, because he called while I was out and was not there to answer his calls. He was extremely jealous, controlling and distrustful. In the days when I was just a friend of his, hanging out with his motorcycle club buddies, I witnessed (albeit from outside the bar-the guys inside the bar told me the story) him beat up a guy for dancing with his ex-girlfriend, to the point where the man had to be hospitalized. I'm truly not sure why I ever even considered dating this guy. In my life today, this is someone with whom I would never even socialize; I hate violence, and I stay away from the things that invite craziness and tragedy into my life-drugs, alcohol, denial of the serious issues that arise as the road of life dips and rises and winds. At that point in my life, I was vulnerable, having just broken off a five year relationship with a man who was a bit crazy but basically good hearted and sober, a guy who'd I'd gotten to know heart and soul in a very deep way. I was in pain, lonely, willing to accept this guy with all of his problems because I knew the other side of his personality, the side that was fun and caring. I suppose that his woundedness attracted me as well; I thought I could help him. I thought there was some hope of recovery. My moment of clarity began at around 1am one night. I'd been asleep for a couple of hours when the telephone rang. I'd gone to bed that night with a feeling that something was deeply wrong but I couldn't pinpoint what it was and tried to dismiss the thought. I was drawn out of my stupor by the sound of G's voice, telling me he was in jail, having been arrested for a DUI. The next day revealed the whole story: he'd gotten drunk at a bar with some coworkers, attempted to drive home, and crashed into an older couple, putting at least one of them in the hospital. I was shocked and angered by the fact that he didn't seem to care that he'd hurt someone. His main concern was getting out of jail, and he insisted that I call down a whole list of phone numbers he'd provided me with earlier (I can't remember why) until I found someone who would help post his bond. Thankfully, I had neither the means nor the collateral to get him out myself and further embroil myself in the chaos that was his life. Apparently, all of his friends had tired of his insanity as well; even his motorcyle club buddies refused to provide me with any help. Finally, I reached his sister's husband, who accompanied me to the office of the bailbondsman, posted the bond, and took the long ride with me across Alligator Alley to the county where the jail was located. On the way there we talked and he asked me why a "nice girl like me" would get messed up with someone like his brother in law. He suggested that I run as soon as possible, and as fast as I could, away from the relationship.
My moment of clarity arrived at the jail later that night. As a sensitive, I could feel the anger, the sadness, the despair in that place. Just sitting in the waiting area sucked the life out of me. I watched as women arrived with children to visit Daddies who had been locked away; I tried to imagine the trauma a child must go through seeing a parent in that situation. The sight of a baby stroller in jail waiting room was almost horrific to me; it touched me in a visceral way. Suddenly, I was struck with the certainty that if I stayed with this guy I would one day be one of those women, visiting G in some prison or jail, child in my arms or by my side, wondering how the hell I got myself into such a dysfunctional situation. I said a silent "no f***ing way" and, though I felt a bit sorry for G, vowed that this would never happen to me. A couple of weeks later the relationship was over, and the second breakup (I'd broken the relationship off previously but returned due to promises of a serious attempt at recovery and professions of some sort of love) took. I was aware through mutual acquaintances that G's life didn't improve after our breakup. He lived for awhile in a bus in someone's backyard. Eventually he moved back to his hometown in Central Florida and that was the last news I heard until last night when I found his picture and information online.
Wow. The emotions of sadness and gratitude hit me like a tidal wave. I hope that one day this guy will "get it". I don't believe that hopelessness exists where there is still life and consciousness; every addict/alcoholic has the same possibility of recovery if he/she wants it. That's the key. A person has to want it. I don't know if G does; I know he did once, in some way, but the monster was too great for him to fight off by himself, and he always tried to put up the fight alone, even when he was in a program of recovery. Time will tell.
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