- Alcohol
- Drugs
Before I was born, I was bought and paid for. I was the proverbial “accident,” and my alcoholic mother arranged to go to New York with a friend for an illegal abortion. My father found out and spoke to his father. My grandpa offered my mother a wedding and the house of her choice as long as there was no abortion.
No one knew I had a twin sister on board with me. My mother drank the entire time she carried us. She also used to beat on her stomach and lift very heavy things in an effort to cause a miscarriage. It did not work, and my sister and I were born prematurely on April 1, 1955. We were both drunk. My sister only lived a few minutes.
Once I was home, my mother put a drug called paregoric in my bottles. It is an opiate that was sold over the counter. It was used to treat children with tummy trouble and coughs. I built a fast tolerance to it so my mother switched to brandy, gin, vodka or whatever was handy. I was a very quiet baby.
By the time I was 2, I could make my way to the liquor closet and get my own. My dad was a wonderful, compassionate, hard-working man, but he seemed afraid to speak up. He and my maternal grandmother had no clue how badly my mother was treating me after I was born. She hit me everyday. She said things no good parent should ever say to their child: “Why did I ever have you?,” “Get out of my way,” and, “Why don’t you just die?” She hurt me physically and emotionally.
Being born alcoholic, I could have died or been in a vegetative state. I escaped those but developed other traits that people began to notice when I was five. I had read the entire Compton’s Encyclopedia and the dictionary by age four. I would just sit in my room and read. My grandma bought me an organ, and I taught myself to read music and would write songs and play for hours as I drank.
In kindergarten my IQ was tested and was very high. I was placed in a special group of “smart” kids. We were doing algebra in the first grade. My teachers never noticed I was drunk. I never passed out, nodded off, threw up, had alcohol poisoning or had a hang over. I had never even legally purchased alcohol. I had no clue that everyone’s mom was not alcoholic, or that three and four-year-olds were not reading and memorizing the encyclopedia.
When I was eight, I spent a lot of time with my aunt, my dad’s sister. She was an alcoholic and was a popular bartender in a high end bar. I used to people-watch from across the street in her penthouse apartment. I could hear music and laughter and see them dancing. I always smiled as I watched and wished I could be with them.
At age ten I took money from my piggy bank, walked up the street from my home and rode the bus to my aunt’s home. I never intended to see her. I went straight to the happy, musical, dancing people. I wonder now what they thought of me, and I thank God I didn’t lose my life there. That night a “very kind man” asked if I wanted to feel better. I wasn’t sure I felt bad, but I said sure. At age ten I became a heroin addict.
I loved heroin. It never hit me, told me I wasn’t good enough, told me to die or told me to get out of the way. It was my friend. It was the mother I never had. It asked me no questions, and I told it no lies.
I did some bad things when I was using. I wasn’t a party person at all. I liked to be by myself and just do my thing. Heroin was my happiness, and alcohol was my security blanket. School teachers never noticed. Friends never noticed. No one ever said anything except how bad they felt about how I was treated by my mother.
At the end of sixth grade, I graduated high school with college credits. I thought that was “normal.” I was accepted to Ohio State University and went straight into medical school. I aced the classes, and it was easy for the “Doogie Howser” kid to get all the alcohol and heroin she wanted.
Being born alcoholic caused me to have a couple of odd and rare conditions, but I thought everyone could do what I did so I never asked anyone about it. Hyperthymesia allows me to remember my personal past better than most. My eidetic or photographic memory allows me to remember sounds, smells, page numbers and exactly where specific paragraphs and even lines reside in books. These things are both a blessing and a curse, and I don’t believe they are as rare as doctors and researchers think. My other condition is autism. My doctors tell me I am an extraordinarily high-functioning autistic. Until I read about Temple Grandin, I did not realize that not all people see pictures in their heads when they read or are spoken to. If you say to me, “I’m as right as rain,” I see you standing to the right of me in the pouring rain. I think in pictures, and I do math and things with patterns and memorization. I am fearful of groups of people, but what do I do? I’m a life coach and motivational speaker. I coach social and emotional intelligence for large companies. I’m an interventionist and sober coach, grief and loss specialist, writer, musician, artist and human being.
I was molested by two different men in two separate places from the ages of two to eight. I did not tell because they both threatened to kill my parents, brother, aunt and grandparents. I was raped twice during my addiction and got pregnant each time. My mother sent me away the first time and gave my daughter up for adoption. I have met her but have not been able to find her in a long time. The second time I gave birth right after I got clean and sober, and I kept my son. Sadly, he is alcoholic and a compulsive gambler.
Right before I got clean and sober, I came home to my parents’ house after work. I was pregnant, a teen and running an ER. I passed out right inside the front door. I remember my dad leaning over me whispering, “I am getting you help, and I am doing it now.” I could hear my mother screaming at my dad to just let me die. My dad took me to the hospital. They gave me Valium but said they could not admit me because of my heroin use. The next day, and for five straight days after that, my dad took me to a methadone clinic. On the first day, I was given a lot, and on the last day, I was given very little. On April 1, 1972, I was admitted to the hospital. This was also my seventeenth birthday. I gave birth to my son at the hospital. He spent five months in the hospital, and I was there for three.
When I look back, I don’t ask, “Why me?” Why not me? I am no better or worse than anyone else. Life happens. I wish it would have been different, but it is what it is. I am always turning stumbling blocks into stepping stones. I hang out with homeless kids, women in prison and homeless veterans that live on the banks of the Ohio River. They keep me honest, and I care about them very much. I sponsor women and really love being there for them.
My dream is to build a huge house and many smaller ones on a large amount of land. We would have a huge garden and lots of animals and make money to support ourselves. I want to include a state-of-the-art detox facility and have counselors and doctors living there too. I would have a school with wonderful teachers who actually cared about the students. I would help as many kids as I could and give them the chance at a life they deserve and will love.
This is an abridged story of my life, but I pray it will give at least one person hope. If I had not gone through all that I have, I would not be who I am now. I am still sensitive, but I know I matter and have value. Thanks for reading and know that if I can do it, you can. Hope and peace always!