Escape from Rehab

Mom sent me a text message yesterday morning. Mom is notorious for bad-news texts. Once, while I was in the middle of international transit, she sent a text about an escaped convict who was trying to kill our family. I juggled my bag and phone while jogging through the CDG Paris airport to make a connection, and called her for clarification and to recommend a discussion with the local police.

The morning's text: "Please pray for Lee. She and another woman disappeared from the program last night."
So I called her. Lee's been in the rehab program for six months. In October, she was hospitalized and nearly kicked out of the program for suicidal plans. Yesterday, dad sent me the rehab's newsletter which featured a smiling, well-groomed, beautiful Lee prominently on its pages.

I love Lee. I thought the drugs thing was a phase. She was so bright and empathetic and articulate. She seemed so clear and perceptive about people.

I've known her for so long. I played surrogate mother to Lee when mom was sick and dad traveled. She used to sleep in my room because I protected her. When parent-teacher conferences came round, I would be the family rep. I read books out loud and made her meals and took her to school. There is a niche carved out in my soul where Lee belongs. I had confidence that Lee would join the ranks of the world's problem solvers. I thought she was smart enough to get close enough to drugs to sample and understand, but not so close that they would be the boss. I was wrong.

I got onto Facebook and left her a message with my phone number and instructions to call me. A few hours later, I noticed that she'd replied. But I'd been out.

This evening, we caught one another on FB. She texted me a phone number and I called.

She didn't sound like her. She was laughing when she picked up, but became serious quickly when I reminded her that I was worried.

She started with urgency and panic. She was suffering in the program. She had to get out.

Was she being harmed? Well, there wasn't one particular incident. She was working 54 hour weeks, lifting produce at a grocery store. There wasn't any therapy except twice each week when people stood around and yelled at each other. It was more  of a pattern.

She wasn't court-ordered to the facility. She was free to leave at any time. Why sneak out in the night? She was afraid that she wouldn't be able to get her things if she tried to leave during the day. And they would yell at her.

I was the only person who could help her, she said. The program's director had mom and dad believing his bullshit. I had to be the one to rescue her.

This tugged at my gut. Of course, if I could rescue her from the past five years, I would do it. Even now, I would give anything to save her - actually save her.

What did she want from me? She wanted me to fly her back to my house and let her sleep on the floor. She said she was sober. But I didn't believe her. Her words were too pressured; her tactics of manipulation too glib. This is not my baby sister. She is a drug addict. I don't have a job or income. I'm starting a business out of my home. I can't have her here. Not especially when I don't know this person.

I've spent the day working, and alternating with juggling conflicting expectations and behavior from people. I've found her a transitional home in Arizona where she'll be required to work her way through the program. My parents are unhappy. They don't believe that she's being abused. They think she just wants an escape.

Perhaps they're correct. But I have no way of knowing where the truth lies.

So I wrote to Lee tonight. God only knows if she will hear me.

"Lee, I want you to know something.

I hope that you're being honest with me. I hope that I'm doing the right thing by vouching for you and supporting the path for you to leave Welcome Home.

I love you and I want you to be healthy and well. I would do anything to be in a situation where we could live nearby and spend time together and I could see you really and truly happy.

I want this to come because you commit to being free and clear of the drug lifestyle - and because you remove yourself from anything that diminishes the bright light that you are.

If you go to this facility in Arizona and commit to the program, and work towards being healthy and clean and sober, and begin to patch up your broken relationships with the people  you've hurt, this will go a long way to gaining my trust.

If you don't make this work - if I find that you were manipulating my love for  you so that you could return to a drug lifestyle and drug habit that removes you from me - this will harm your relationship with me very badly.

It will mean that I will not be able to support you again.

I knew you once very well. I knew the soul of you. And you know me. Please choose to be a part of my life.

Please put yourself in a position to be close with me again."