One of the Beautiful Boys

I've moved on to another book.  Not unusual.  Generally, there are several in various stages of unread in the hopper.  Well, they actually sit in two stacks on my headboard.  If they ever fall from their spot in the middle of the night, they might poke an eye out . . . or possibly relocate my nose.

In September, I touched on "Tweak" by Nic Sheff.  A first person auto-biographical account of a young man's descent into, and eventual ascent out of, a serious drug addiction to meth and heroin.  His father writes professionally and penned his own account on the matter: I'm finally digging into that.  Page by page.  Not so much a chapter at a time as a memory or feeling at a time.  My own. 

The senior Sheff incorporates detailed and well-researched information in his writing.  I understand his brand of intellectualizing mixed with liberal doses of emotion.  An attempt at balance in a wildly imbalanced world.  I like what I'm learning, or rather THAT I'm learning.  But I don't really like it.  The book.  The perspective.  The parental posturing.  That it is, or was, a New York Times Bestseller makes sense to me.  That other sensitive writers and famous people lent their names and comments to its jacket in praise and appreciation, I get. 

And I also get my lukewarm dislike.  I believe I can slice that pie into distinctive thirds.  The initial wedge: I read Nic's take on it all first.  His stripped-down writing just brought it all home with the suddenness of a mainline injection.  From a writer's perspective, he delivers the goods in a manner I generally don't use, maybe can't do, but I admire it greatly.  His brevity is barren, direct, with no wiggle room for mental wandering from the thing at hand -- except to possibly wander ever deeper into his struggle.

The second wedge: David Sheff writes like a parent.  Makes sense, seeing how he is, after all, Nic's dad.  One would think that being a parent myself might induce more of a sense of simpatico with the patriarch's material.  But reading of his mistakes -- he takes responsibility in hindsight for his errors along the way, some of them pretty significant -- positions me squarely into the role of child, shoving me several decades back into the era of errors me and my siblings experienced at the hands of our adult influences.  They didn't generally intend to do harm, these loving grown-ups at the helm of our lives, but all the same damage was done, often with powerful impact.  Sorting through it all, sifting the grain and leaving behind the chaff, has been a lifelong process.  Some of us experienced more successful than others in emerging on the good side of things in less pieces.  So, the kid in me commiserates with this young man long before the adult in me is able to align with the father.

Finally, the last in this trio: the germ of truth from which this entire book springs is the idea of how love meshes with co-dependency, how they become so enmeshed that making a positive identification of either element becomes impossible at a certain point, and how tortuous the path of extricating one from the other can be.  With the proclamation from my baby brother about the real nature of his drug addiction, namely the fact that he IS an addict and he admits it and he's NOT even close to recovery and not even sure he is capable of going into recovery, I had to jumpstart an entirely new level of self-examination.  It started out as a stall in the development of our book.  No writing save for the blog has happened since that day of our conversation.  That stall opened up the door for doubt as to who I ever was to Gary and who he ever was to me during all of these many years.  That doubt engendered a moderate level of sustained depression that began to concern me and my husband.  And, threading its way through all of that was the big bad foul word: co-dependency.  I bristled at the thought that I could be that to him and vice-versa.  It was a label for the subject of many of our in-depth conversations in the past months.  It was the few strategically placed vertebra in the spinal column of our adult relationship.  It was the elephant in the room of our presently evolving friendship.  In a nutshell, it could kill or be killed.

I'm still figuring that one out.  Don't judge.  Just know I'm on the right track and getting help for myself to parallel the help Gary is getting for himself.  We each have to run our own races in this track meet.

Having outlined my mixed feelings in detail, however, it is more than fair to point out that the great research of which I wrote earlier is fascinating to me because the moment I read it, all manner of affirming bells and whistles go off in my head.  The lines jump out and instantly fall into step with a timeline of which I'm quite familiar: Gary's life from adolescent child to arrested development thirty-something man.  The following quotes solidified a few key points for me and are worthy of being passed on.

On the matter of users, specifically those with undiagnosed underlying mental illnesses, who begin their drug use as kids and continue into their adult years:

"Many symptoms of these [mental] disorders appear to be identical to some of the symptoms of drug abuse.  Also, by the time experts finally figure out that there's a problem, drug addiction may have exacerbated the underlying ailment and fused with it.  It then becomes impossible to know where one leaves off and the other begins."        

"Considering the level of maturity of young adolescents, the availability of drugs, and the age at which drugs are first used, it is not surprising that a substantial number of them develop serious drug problems . . . "

"Drugs shield children from dealing with reality and mastering developmental tasks crucial to their future.  The skills they lacked that left them vulnerable to drug abuse in the first place are the very ones that are stunted by drugs.  They will have difficulty establishing a clear sense of identity,  mastering intellectual skills, and learning self-control.  The adolescent period is when individuals are supposed to make the transition from childhood to adulthood.  Teenagers with drug problems will not be prepared for adult roles . . . They will chronologically mature while remaining emotional adolescents."

"The worst time for a person to be tampering with their brains is when they are teenagers . . . Drugs radically alter the way teenagers' brains develop."

"Treating people whose drug use began when they were teenagers is further complicated because deconstructing or rerouting established pathways have biological as well as emotional and behavioral roots."


Pg. 98-99 from "Beautiful Boy" by David Sheff

This explains much.

Dear Donna . . . .

Dear Donna Gross:

Though I don't know you, and now will be denied that pleasure, I thank you for the heartfelt interaction you had with my brother, Gary, during the times your work schedule intersected with his present stay at the Napa Valley State Hospital.

You've been a constant on my mind and in my heart since Gary told me the news of your rape and death on the 23rd of this month.  While I was preparing gifts and ice cream cake for the 21st birthday of my eldest child, you were engaged in a losing battle for survival.  A schizophrenic patient with a violent history, including sexual assault and attempted murder of a woman, robbed you of chewing gum and $2 before also robbing you of your life by strangulation.  There are other facts too sordid to immortalize here.

I've often been accused of exercising too much empathy and thinking too deeply into situations.  But in your case, my empathy knows no bounds and my thoughts on your final moments lead only to terrible sorrow . . . and there is not a one who would accuse me of going too deep or feeling too much.  From what I know of you through Gary, however, my lasting impressions regarding one Donna Gross will not be those of a discarded body thrown behind a hedgerow outside one of the many buildings on the enclosed forensic unit of a psychiatric facility.

I remember whole conversations about you, a woman I never met, with my brother.  In his long career as a ward of the state of California in the capacity of prisoner, a social exile and outcast, he has long known only suspicion, mistrust, disregard, and judgement.  For obvious reasons, personal revelations between him and anyone outside of his family circle or brotherhood behind bars was simply not going to happen.  Not possible.  For a variety of reasons which are sensible enough.  But this specific isolation from social peers created a wedge between him and everyday citizens.  Especially those with any kind of authority over him.  Kind words delivered with any amount of true civility or concern were rare, and thus easy to recall with clarity.  Especially if they were meted out by one of the fairer sex, as their presence is transient and limited in a prison setting.

The entire string of events leading up to his eventual release from prison, his short stint of freedom, the tragic episode leading to his return to jail, and the drawn out but incredible process by which he was declared a patient of the state as opposed to a convict, created further confusion and loneliness within my brother.  He found himself a client at your place of employment for the past 14 years.  And among the many employees with whom he made contact, there was you.

Gary says you were the kind of person who could find good in anyone.  He said just the other day that you would have most likely had something positive to say about the man who killed you.  There was pride and appreciation in his voice as he spoke.  You earned his respect, his caring, and his grief.

What you did for him in those open talks in the halls of the hospital ward was to plant a seed which said, "A perfect stranger who knows my past and my present, where I come from, what I've done, is willing to treat me as a fellow human being.  Maybe there IS hope for me.  Maybe change IS on the horizon."  You stood before him as a flesh and blood person.  Making eye contact.  Smiling.  You shared your very personal story with him.  The death of your son.  The drug addictions which robbed you of meaningful relationships with two daughters.  The grandchild you were raising.  The fulfillment you genuinely felt in the daily enacting of your job there at the hospital with its varied residents.  You opened up about your spiritual grounding in Christ.  Speaking to your faith.  Bearing witness to its power by your very life and presence.  And you encouraged him to continue on his life's journey, all the while allowing him to express his doubts where his own faith was concerned, never once exerting pressure or lapsing into judgement.

Today, a memorial service was scheduled at the hospital for patients to attend.  I do so hope it happened.  I know that your tragic death has created a tense atmosphere in a place where tension and stress were the recipe of the day for both staff and residents.  The community and the state are watching, alert, crying out for action and change.  As in life, your passing will have an impact.  Gary and I often wondered how this staff, with its high concentration of women, and often petite women at that, wandered the grounds alone without escort or buddy.  By definition, a large portion of patients in a forensic ward will be there due to violence related to their illness.  And not all patients are seeking to improve through medication and therapy; and a few patients are most likely unable to heal despite all measures to the contrary.  It is beyond unfortunate that a financially burdened state's cutbacks resulted in a hiring freeze which directly affected the ratio of staff-to-client at the Napa facility.  Obviously, the need to have this addressed is urgent.

What I hope, Donna, is that the reasons you expressed for working there are not lost in the melee of angry and scared voices.  You knew the risks of your employment.  Yet you took them each day.  You witnessed the progression and eventual successful release of many patients there.  You took the time to know the reality of rehabilitation and treatment.  The men and women in your charge were not viewed as loss causes and societal write-offs by you.  You were there, in the trenches, earning a paycheck and administering hope.  The two can cohabit.  You proved it.

I'm praying for the end result here.  I pray you have found peace in a place those of us here can only contemplate either in faith or disbelief.  My deepest condolences go out to your family. To that precious grandchild whose heritage through you is rich and real.  Even through tragedy there can be beauty and growth.  Of this I bear witness.

I'm so sorry for your loss.  You were worthy beyond the price of rubies.

Godspeed,

Gary's grateful Sister G.

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