Page 40 of All the Way to the River

S o I did what God told me to do.

I called somebody and asked for help.

Actually, I called a whole bunch of people and asked for help.

I sat in Tompkins Square Park for the rest of that day (leaving Rayya to live or die alone in the apartment, or to burn down the entire building, or to get hauled off to prison, for all I knew), and I called just about every kind and wise friend I had ever known.

I called everyone I could think of who had ever suffered from addiction or had loved someone who suffered from addiction.

I called everyone I knew who might be called “spiritual” or “wise” or “an old soul.”

One humbling and difficult conversation at a time, I told each of them the truth.

(Fun aside: I realize now that this was step one.

We admitted we were powerless—that our lives had become unmanageable.

) Until that point, I had not been telling the truth to anyone, because I was too ashamed of the horror story I had gotten myself into, and also because I was protecting Rayya’s reputation.

Until now, I had been pretending that everything was basically fine and under control over at our house: Yeah, sure, Rayya was dying of cancer, but we were rising to meet the challenge!

I had been communicating with my friends and family through a series of cheerful emails and texts that were essentially press releases in which I was still portraying Rayya as a stoic and inspiring hero and myself as the tireless and ever-competent caregiver.

“Image management” is something addicts care a lot about, and I am no exception.

But all that had to stop now, because there would be no image left to manage if both Rayya and I ended up dead through murder, suicide, or murder-suicide.

I was sobbing and full of shame and anger when I called these people—tears and snot running down my face right there in public—but I called them anyway.

And through their responses, God continued to speak to me.

I was too jangled and exhausted to keep track of exactly who said what upon that day, but I remember every bit of wisdom that was communicated to me, because it was the beginning of an awakening that was long, long overdue.

I remember one of these good people saying to me: “You had a dream, and now the dream is dying. You dreamed that Rayya’s love could save you from a lifetime of pain, but it can’t.

You need to let that dream go. But before you let it go, you must grieve it.

You must hold that dream in your arms and weep over it, like it’s a baby who died before its time.

You must feel all the unbearable pain of it, and all the pain that came before it, and you must not shut that pain down.

This pain will be where the healing starts. ”

Someone else said: “Cocaine addicts are assholes. Total assholes. Each drug has its own specific impact on people—and you just don’t have enough experience around drugs to know it.

Heroin makes people checked out and useless, alcohol makes people stupid and violent, weed makes people paranoid and hungry and lazy, but cocaine is the worst because it makes people into total fucking assholes .

So that’s what you’re dealing with when you’re facing down Rayya right now.

You’re not talking to her— she’s already long gone.

You’re talking to the total fucking asshole who is cocaine. And nobody can talk to cocaine.”

Someone else said: “Guess what? A lot of drug addicts and alcoholics in recovery get cancer, or other terrible diseases, and they all have to figure out how to manage their pain while also staying sober in their program. Rayya is not the first addict who ever went through this, and she won’t be the last. She’s not terminally unique, so don’t let her trick you into thinking she’s some kind of special case.

Every addict thinks they’re a special goddamn case.

But there’s nothing special about her. She’s just an addict with cancer—like many, many others before her.

If Rayya wants to die clean and with dignity, she needs to get humble, go back to the rooms, and work with a sponsor to find a pain-management plan that will allow her to stay in her sobriety—but are we even sure she wants that?

And if she doesn’t want that, there’s nothing you can do to make things better except maybe get the hell out of there. ”

Someone else said: “Don’t you see what’s happening here?

A great being is dying, and she’s off-gassing all her toxicity before she dies, because her soul doesn’t want to take all that garbage into the next life with her.

It’s got nothing to do with you—this is just the process she needs to go through.

No matter how much she likes to front that she’s the toughest chick on the block, Rayya doesn’t want to die, and she’s furious about it.

If she wasn’t yelling at you, she would be yelling at a tree.

Stop personalizing it. Stay out of it. Let her rage.

It will eventually pass, and when she dies, she will die empty and free.

Just take care of yourself in the meantime, but allow her to vent. ”

Someone else said: “What they say about the stages of grief is true—denial, anger, negotiation—all those things do happen. But they don’t happen in tidy order.

They sometimes happen all at once. That’s what’s happening to you and Rayya right now.

You two tried to cram an entire lifetime together into a few months, so everything is condensed and super intense.

All the joy, all the sorrow. You’re experiencing everything combined, all at once.

And it’s a lot. Quite probably, it’s too much.

Caregiver collapse is a real thing, and you are on the brink of it.

If you don’t get some rest soon, you’re going to end up in the hospital yourself.

Take some time away, and let the chips fall however they will. Go get a massage.”

Still another person said: “Rayya could very well die now behind a locked door as a degraded and angry junkie. That would be a very sad end for her. But there’s only one thing that could make that death even sadder—and that would be if you were sitting on the floor right next to her, also behind that locked door, trapped in that nightmare with her.

That would be really tragic, because now we’re talking about two destroyed lives, instead of just one. Don’t let it happen.”

Someone else said: “Here’s what you need to understand about other people’s addictions: You didn’t cause it, you can’t control it, and you can’t cure it.

There’s nothing you can do to manage Rayya at this point, and the more you try to control the situation, the more you will lose.

When it comes to other people’s addictions, whatever you try to control ends up controlling you. ”

Another person said: “You know, there’s a twelve-step recovery fellowship for people whose lives are impacted by other people’s addictions. Get online today and find yourself a meeting. I would suggest going to a meeting tonight. They’ll be able to support you.”

And one final person said: “There’s a twelve-step recovery room for sex and love addiction, you know.

It’s just like AA, but for people with relationship addictions and sexual issues.

Have you heard of it? I have a friend who goes there.

I think you might be well served to check it out.

I’ve known you for more than thirty years, Lizzy, and I’ve watched you suffer a lot of pain over this kind of stuff.

Maybe you have a deeper problem than just Rayya.

Maybe it’s time you got yourself some help. ”