The very night before a large family vacation and two months prior to my sentencing on the pill diversions, I managed to get a DUI for not having the energy and concentration to renew the car registration. Also for having a blood alcohol level well over the legal limit.

I am not proud of these facts. I was due to be sentenced on my drug charges, and prior to this, I was an undisputed candidate for the county’s diversion program. That would have consisted of an 18-month supervision which, upon completion, would have wiped the slate clean.

My husband couldn’t find me where we had agreed to meet to do some necessary shopping prior to the trip to Delaware and was in a panic until I was able to call him hours later. We were leaving early in the morning with family in tow. There was nothing we could do. Telling anyone else and ruining the trip for them was not an option. We just did it. We left the car in the impound yard and early the next morning departed as planned. My parents were going in a second car. It was the strangest experience. On the one hand, we had a lovely stay and had a great time with my cousins, one of whom was visiting from Switzerland with her family, as well as my aunt and uncle and cousins who lived in Delaware. On the other hand, Eric and I were essentially drunk the entire time. We knew what we were going to be facing when we got back home. Or, at least Eric did. I had chosen not to face it at all.

We returned several days later and retrieved the car. That’s as far as it went. I felt like human dirt. I didn’t want an attorney for this DUI charge. I didn’t believe that I deserved a defense. I had taken what was a salvageable situation and destroyed it. I was also far too humiliated to call him and confess. I was done. I gave up. Eric, as usual, had to take up the charge of rescuing me from my own self destruction. We went to my lawyer’s office, and he did his best to deal with the situation. The lawyer told Eric later that he found himself conflicted in representing me because, while I seemed incapable of doing anything to help him to help me, I was too sweet for him to get angry with. So he did what he had to do and chewed the fat with the DA handling my case.

I had about six weeks to wait before sentencing, and I was getting worse every passing day. I shut down. I had been beaten on, stepped on and tormented for so long that I just retreated completely into myself. I drank and cried.

My attorney had given us a grain of hope. The DA was willing to recommend giving me more time to prove to the judge I could at least take some steps to redeem myself. We were willing to take what we could get. So, early in September, we returned to court.

At this point, I am having a very difficult time keeping the order of events straight in my mind and my husband is as well. So here’s what I do remember, in no particular order. The events are only coming as separate snapshots in my memories. I stood before the judge and was granted a two-week stay prior to sentencing. My attorney showed us the recommendation of my probation officer, which was that my sentence be three months in jail. Somewhere along the line, I recall stepping out of court and immediately falling apart completely in my husband’s arms. This would indicate that I was shown the recommendation prior to entering the chambers, but none of the pieces are falling into anything cohesive. It might have been the same day or another during which I met with my probation officer. I was an absolute disastrous mess while she questioned why I wasn’t going to AA and NA and doing this, that and the other to prove to the judge I was trying to rehabilitate myself, when the only thing I needed rehabilitation from was the very system that was crushing me. I don’t believe I said a single word to her outside of blubbering “I’m too sick to leave the house! I’m too sick!” I wasn’t able to walk out of my front door, much less get into a car and drive into an AA meeting where a bunch of strangers would be wanting to make small talk with me. I was very, very deeply into my depression and anxiety. But there’s a sticking point here; this must have occurred at least a month prior to my final sentencing, because my memory crystallizes cleanly after one very bad day.

I had been to see the psychiatrist twice, I believe, and had been placed on Neurontin (an anti seizure med that is used to treat everything from chronic pain to depression to migraines) and Effexor. I had no relief from these drugs. I know at some point not long after this very painful court visit there came a Saturday morning that I don’t recall clearly. I wasn’t drunk. I was just so very deeply disturbed that I don’t actually believe I can access the part of my psyche that was in charge during this time. I am more than happy to not revisit it, and one’s conscious mind is quite good at repressing what it needs to. But my husband called the psychiatrist sometime between 6 and 7 a.m. on a Saturday, wrapped me in a blanket, carried me to the car and drove me the hour to the doctor’s office. He took one look at me and doubled all my meds. I don’t think I spoke at all. I felt physically ill as well as emotionally, and the car ride and the wait for the new scripts was very difficult. I cannot emphasize how strong my husband was. During all this time, he had to still drive hours every day to work and then drive 11 hours every other weekend to see his son. It was all at least as hard on him as it was on me.

We finally got home, and I started the new dosages with no expectation of relief. But I found myself rapidly improving. By the second day, I was cleaning the living room with my husband and functioning as normally as I had in years. I eventually dropped the Effexor, but I’m still on the Neurontin and will happily take it the rest of my life if need be. I went to the AA meetings. I entered an outpatient rehab and continued to see my therapist, who was clearly delighted to see me functional again.

...To be continued