picking up where I left off.
wouldn't mama be proud?
I’m hungover almost every time my sister goes into or leaves rehab. I get a text message or a phone call that is usually presided by many unanswered texts and calls. And I think, “goddammit.” Half because I’m disappointed in her and half because I’m disappointed in me for drinking so much the night prior.
Though she’s been many times, I’ve only visited my sister once in rehab. It was way back when I was still in school in Texas at the Christian college a half-hour away from my parents’ home, where they still lived with my little brother, who just had become a teenager. My sister was in rehab in Oklahoma, so we decided I would drive home and then we’d all go visit her together for “Family Visit Day” at the facilities.
I drove my rear-wheel drive X-Terra home, early in the morning, hungover, and smoking a clove cigarette with all the windows down. In my head, this is a scene from the film about my life that is set to Elliott Smith’s “Wouldn’t Mama Be Proud.”
Ash from my cigarette burns a hole in my favorite vintage t-shirt (plain, brown, soft, fits perfect, makes my tits look great) and I think, “Dammit, I am never going to find a shirt like this again.” (I never have.)
My family drove straight north to Oklahoma to get to our sister, their daughter—Sarah. A filled car with four of us, which felt empty, because we were missing one. It was a relatively quiet ride. We all had our letters we were assigned to write to Sarah and I wondered where everyone had them. My brother is nine years younger than me, so I wondered if he had to even write a letter (he did) and I hoped that this trip was just a blip on our family journey (it wasn’t) and that he would hardly remember it (unclear if he remembers).
Things I Remember About Visiting My Sister In Rehab:
It was the first time I saw “oreo cows” and my dad told my brother and me that their milk is best to dip Oreos in and we both rolled our eyes at him, but then we were like, "That’s not true, right?”
There was a whole art therapy section of the facilities and I was very taken back by my sister’s art. She’s (or was) a really talented artist! (not sure if she’s making art anymore.)
We all cried—a LOT—in our family therapy session. Sarah had letters for us, too. I don’t remember anything that any of the letters said. I just remember watching each of my family members cry and how hard that was to watch.
Standing around with all the other families, my sister leaned in close to our family and said, “Don’t look, but there’s a member of _________ (early aughts punk band) over there.” To which my father and I did this…
This is something half of our family is horrible at—being cool around celebrities. My mom and brother can keep it together. The rest of us… struggle…
Example: A few weeks ago, while at the Frozen play at a West End theatre, I saw Theo James with his daughter. Theo James of White Lotus. Cameron—the douchey husband. And here’s what happened at intermission…
Me: Evan! That’s Theo James.
Evan: Don’t go talk to him.
Me: I won’t!
Evan: Okay, I’m going to the bathroom.
(ten seconds later… in my head…)
SPOILER ALERT: He did not want me to talk to him. I made Marcie come with me as we walked a couple rows up.
Me: Hi, um, excuse me.
Theo: *ignoring me.*
Me: Hi, excuse me. Are you Theo James?
Theo: Uh, yes. I am.
Me: I’m a big fan. Huge. (omg kill me now.)
Theo: Oh, thank you.
Me: I was like, “That guy looks like Theo James! I bet it is.” So I just had to check. (seriously, Rachel, you have a problem.)
Theo: *nods*
Me: Okay, Marcelline, let’s go back to our seats!Evan showed up a few minutes later and I just hung my head and he said, “You went and talked to him, didn’t you.”
I remember my parents being so sad to leave that rehabilitation center. I was a little confused and a lot naive, thinking, “But this is just a blip. She’s almost all better. We’re almost all going to be together as a family again.”
It wasn’t just a blip. We have been a full family together just four or five times since that trip that was almost twenty years ago. Today, my sister is in and out of rehab more often than I would have ever thought. And I am hungover almost every time. What used to feel coincidental is starting to feel hypocritical. I try hard not to judge my sister as she struggles. For the record, I’m a HUGE fan of rehab and AA and NA and Al-Anon and generally recognizing the stigma we put on addiction and showing people grace and compassion. But I find myself getting so angry every time she stumbles. And then I pour myself a glass of wine bigger than most peoples’ weekly alcohol intake. It’s the pot calling the kettle black… if the pot has also had a low-grade kidney infection for about a decade.
Last year, I talked openly about how I had to take a break from alcohol. I wrote about it for KEXP, even. I made it 100 days. And then I made it 109 days. On the 109th day, my baby had a serious seizure that I witnessed. The next night, September 10th, at a wedding, we celebrated love as a family.
Then my mother-in-law picked up Marcelline and Evan and I had the night to ourselves with our friends. We found some space on the deck and watched the stars and talked about how I wanted to break my sober streak. We slow-danced to the band playing “Loving In My Baby’s Eyes” and then we both had an Old Fashioned.
It’s weird, because I kind of wished that I hadn’t had that drink would’ve kept my streak going, but I don’t for a second wish that I had been sober for our European adventure. I so enjoyed having wine with my BFF in her garden. I loved having sangria with friends after swimming in the Azores. I cherish having the best Negroni of my life with the love of my life at Lake Como.
But it’s time to pick up where I left off last year. So on September 10th, I pledged to be sober again. Two days down.
Sober for another 100 days? Probably. Or forever? No, probably not. But maybe? I don’t know. How many times will I go in and out of my own sobriety over the next 20 years? All my heroes keep getting sober. RuPaul has accredited all of his success to his sobriety. David Sedaris gave up booze. Lala is turning into my favorite on Vanderpump Rules. Angela Garbes is done with the drink. My most successful friends are sober. Is it time to be my own hero? My own successful friend? I’m not sure. But I do know that reentry has been hard and that the darkness of fall and winter is coming and that I struggle with depression—so I need this break.
And I also know that the next time my sister goes into rehab, I will be cheering her on with a clear mind and healthy kidneys.
A Little Woo:
Doors & Windows: *in an infomercial voice* Have things been weirdly difficult for you emotionally? Have you been accidentally breaking and losing things? Well, that makes sense! Mercury has been in retrograde, but it’s almost done with that ridiculousness. Get excited for September 15th when it’s direct again.
And the day before, September 14th (whilst I’m at Beyoncé), there will be a New Moon in Virgo. As that Cosmo article says, “The main point of this New Moon is to focus on welcoming chaos, transformation, and conclusions. There is no breakthrough without failure.”
When a door slams, a window opens. Right? This part hit me like a ton of bricks in my chest.
Oh, a lot can change in a year. What if your life suddenly changed? What would happen if you left your job, experienced a breakup, and learned that your rent is about to be raised? What would you do? Hopefully, you recognize that everything happens for a reason. That job might not have been a fit for you, and maybe you were losing interest. That breakup might have been a dodged bullet or a sign that you must work on yourself.
You got this. You are amazing and I believe in you. (me to me, but also to you.)
Quick Hits:
Jam of the Week: Nation of Language – Sightseer.
(this track gets better and better with every listen.)
Please Listen to This Podcast Ep.
(it was truly difficult to listen to, but it is so so important. besides beautiful storytelling, this podcast tells so much about addiction, about our country, about families, and about recovery.)My New Style Icon.
(speaking of fashion, NYFW has me thinking I’m someone else I’ve been: Collina Strada & Ulla Johnson.)I Wept Watching Coco Win.
(I also went out and bought a tennis skirt and got my tennis gear all ready. wanna play?)
Thank God For My Wednesday Jumpers.
(I knew my love-letter to you was deeper than I even knew.)
If I Lived in Paris This Store Would Be a Problem.
(omg, this candle-holder!)We All Knew One of These Guys in College.
(and now I can’t stop thinking about this either.)
Damn, it feels good to be back like this. And DAMN, I’m so glad you’re here. Love ya.
xxo,
rachel.