In Recovery:  Part 1 – A Problem

From jail, to the end of my treatment in 3 different V.A. Treatment Centers, this part of My Story uncovers the journey of my recovery. I vividly, and candidly chronicled my day to day struggles with recovery, mental health, amends, and dealing with the V.A. empire on my blog from October of 2016, to the end of 2017. You can find these musings in the Archives. However, in the coming weeks, I look back at those experiences and give you a more coherent story of my life In Recovery. I look back on that year with more insight as to what was happening, and share with you the principles and actions that built the foundation for my ongoing recovery.

Before RecoveryPart 1: A ProblemPart 2: Jail TimePart 3: Reality CheckPart 4: VA Program
Pt. 5: Jamaica PlainPt. 6: Brockton IPt 6: Brockton IIPt 6: Brockton IIIPt. 7: Cherry St. I
Pt. 7: Cherry St. IIPt. 7: Cherry St. III
Little House of Horrors Residence 05/2013-04/2016

May 12th, 2016, started out like any other day:  I woke up hungover, walked the two miles to the car dealership, and moved about my day as a Car Salesman.  It also happened to be the day I had to report to my Probation Officer, as I was on probation for 2 OUI’s (Operating Under the Influence), and had a pending Domestic Abuse case that was falsely brought about by this woman (the 5th such accusation, 4 dismissals).  Normally, this would have been routine:  I would show up, chit-chat briefly with my P.O., and go about my merry way.  But when my P.O. said “We have a problem”, I never anticipated that I would be hauled off to jail.

About a 1.5 months prior, I had literally escaped from an abusive relationship with a woman, and her little house of horrors on Grafton Street, Brockton Ma.  After 3 years that saw my alcoholism take me to new depths of depravity.  This woman, also an alcoholic, would be the catalyst for many, many nights of physical as well as mental abuse and torment.  Early in April of 2016, after I had gotten myself admitted to the Brockton Hospital, while she was working, I tore through the house collecting everything of mine I could fit into a dealership SUV, and left.  To say the next month was difficult was an understatement.

I ended up hiding out in a $50 per night motel, all the while still abusing alcohol.  It was a struggle to get to work everyday.  The woman would rage at me on the dealership property, and would beg me to come home.  She promised she would not appear in the pending case in June.  She just wanted me back.  She would grill some of the employees to find out where I was living.  She flooded my phone and email.  I tried to give her what money I could, but her anger and resolve to find me increased daily.  Back at the motel, I continued to drink, reasoning  that I could now do it in peace; for she was no longer around to berate me.

But I digress.  My P.O. said that “We have a problem.”  I had to appear before a judge for a possible Revocation of Probation Hearing.  Why?  Well, after blowing off the woman for over a month and a half, she finally decided to exact revenge on me.  She filed a false 209a (Restraining Order-the oft-abused tool in the toolbox of the crooked legal system, just ask all those fathers trying to overcome Parental Alienation), lying her way through countless details that just were not true. 

However, anyone who is familiar with the Criminal Justice System, knows that a 209a is a “Guilty Before Innocent” document that has gotten thousands of innocent folks incarcerated; with barely a chance of surmounting a defense against such a document. 

So, for all appearances, it seemed to my P.O., that I had violated the stay away order from the pending Domestic Abuse Case.  What she didn’t understand was this:  After the woman bailed me out of the jail she put me in with her false accusation of abuse in February, we resumed life TOGETHER, in her home.  She knew damn well we’d just resume “business as usual.”  Now, unsuccessful in getting me to return back to what I called the “little house of horrors”, the 209a essentially sealed my fate.

The point of my post is not to sow sour grapes.  It is to illustrate the chaos that alcohol can reap upon the alcoholic.  This short post is barely a microcosm into my 3 years with this powerful toxic, narcissistic, and abusive woman.  I had no idea how bad life could get for me, until I shacked up with another raging alcoholic.  My disease brought me in front of the judge, in an empty courthouse, at 4:30 p.m.  With no lawyer, and no chance to defend against the 209a, I was handcuffed and transported to the Plymouth County Correctional Facility.

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