Q + A

Melanie, one of our Storytellers and an open-hearted blogger ( The Addict in My Basement) was approached by a youth group to answer a list of questions about what life is like being the mother of an addict.  

Melanie's honesty cuts through the fog.  She is real. She is raw.  She is a warrior in a fight against an epidemic that touches so many lives.  

When did you find out your daughter was an addict? And what was your reaction?

I found out my daughter was an addict about 6 years ago. Maybe 5 actually. She asked me to meet with her and a therapist she was seeing. I thought she was going to tell me she was pregnant. I had totally prepared myself for that.  I was not prepared to hear that she was a heroin addict. I’m not sure I even processed she was an IV user for some time. And, I don’t think I really reacted, per se. I think I went into problem solving mode. I remember saying ok what do we do now? What is our next step? It took me months before the reality of it hit me.

Now, after so many years, do still have fear of getting the call?

Oh god, yes. More so now. I am more aware of how likely it is to happen than I was back then.  The one thing you can always rely on is that addicts eventually die, if they don’t get clean. So far, that hasn’t happen to my daughter. She uses and uses and uses to the point where she should be dead but isn’t.  I was definitely in the “it won’t happen to me” camp in the beginning. Now, I am considering myself extremely blessed that it hasn’t happened.

How do you live with that fear?

That is a really good question. And the answer is sort of complicated. A parent that has not been dealing with recovery would be terrified to the point of paralysis, as I was at first. But as time goes by things happen and they change the perspective. I know that there are not many parents that will admit it, but there were times when my daughter was not even human anymore, and I would think to myself that she would be better off dead than like this. Those thoughts are normal. Many parents in support groups will tell you that it is normal. It doesn’t mean we hate our children or we want them to die. It simply means that even parents have limits. At this point, if I were to get a call that JoDee had died I would be devastated. I would grieve for the rest of my life. A piece of my soul would be gone. However, I wouldn’t be surprised.  There wouldn’t be shock, just sadness. Parents that lose children to a car accident or to addiction but had no idea they were addicts will be shocked.  There is very little that shocks me now.

Knowing your child is potentially going to die, and not being shocked by it, or thinking they would be better off not on this earth must be difficult as a parent. Do you suffer from guilt?

I suffer. Every day. Guilt is only a piece of that.  Every time my boys, and my husband and my step-daughters are all eating dinner, and laughing, or doing things around the house, or planning something and JoDee isn’t participating either because of active use or being in treatment, it is somber. For me. There isn’t a time that will go by that I won’t think that I wish she was there. I wish she could be there with us, but it has taken me a long time to be able to understand boundaries and why for some people they are more important than others.

What do you mean by that?

I mean that addicts are an entirely different breed of humans. They are a category and a level so completely different from anything I have ever known, it requires its own set of rules.

Are you being evasive on purpose?

No, Sorry. I’m not. It’s hard to explain in a way that non-addict parents would understand. On a normal day, my older son, who is in college, needs my guidance, and help. He might need me to help him with homework, or remind him to get his oil changed in the car, make his bed, typical things a parent would do or say to their semi-adult children.  Adult parenting an addict is the absolute opposite of all other parenting.  I can’t help her. With anything.  Addicts are manipulative and demanding. They believe we (as non-addicts) owe them something.  That doesn’t happen because they are bad people, it happens because that is what becomes of addicts. So, to give her the most help is to not give her money, or a place to live, or enable her in any possible way. That goes against everything I have learned in my 23 years as her mother.  It’s painful.

How do you do that? I imagine that it is hard to do.

Um. I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t do it.  Sometimes my gut is telling me that I should let her suffer in the park at night alone but then I find myself getting in my car and driving to where ever she is saying I won’t ever do it again. I become as much of as an addict to her disease as she does, except I don’t have the moments of complete euphoria or whatever they feel. And I can still live a somewhat normal life, something the addicts can’t do. It’s a weird dynamic.  In the later years I have become able to more frequently say no but it’s hard. And I won’t say I am better at it because no one is good at this. Ever. No one would ever want to be.

What do you tell people?

About her addiction? Or about my family?

Both. When speaking about your family to friends how much do you share? And how much do you share with new acquaintances?

Well, at first I did not tell anyone anything. And I didn’t want too. Not out of embarrassment because it never really occurred to me to be embarrassed but out of protection. I thought I would be able to preserve JoDee’s dignity and reputation and future if I kept it a secret but the truth is that addiction feeds of the lies we tell, or the truths we hold in. I realized that telling the people who love her the most was important so that they could help her when she was clean and support me when she wasn’t. The support of my friends, both the friends I knew pre-addiction and the friends I have made since, have saved my life.  Those who are in the know, so to speak, I am honest with. If they ask, I will tell them. For those that are new friends or someone that won’t be in my life forever, I tell only what I feel I want too. I already put our life on blast with the blog so it’s really not that often someone doesn’t know.

How does your family feel about your life being on blast, as you put it?

Oh. When I was approached about the blog, I spoke with everyone first. I did not just start putting our shit out there for all too see without discussing it with them first. JoDee was supportive because she thought it would help other addicts or their families, and she was right. It has.  My children and I were all on the same page. We agreed to it, and knew what we were getting it too so I use our names. At the time I started the blog I wasn’t married to AC so I didn’t want to use his kids’ real names out of respect for him and their mother. Now, it just sort of stuck.  I actually call AC, AC most of the time.  If I am going to post something that involves someone outside our family, like my son’s girlfriend, Cinderella, I ask first. I never post without consent. Most of my family reads it.  However, there have been some mixed feelings from those outside our circle.  I have had people question my motives, and feel that it could be harmful to JoDee.  Some feel it gives her a platform to misbehave because people read about her misdoings. Some feel that it makes it harder for her to recover because all the things she does in active addiction are aired out like dirty laundry, something many addicts have expressed to me that they would not have had that done to them.  I know that the blog seems all exposing but believe it or not, I do hold back. I do not put out every single thing she has done, sometimes I just allude to something. Or I have skipped things entirely because I know she wouldn’t want them shared. It’s a balance.

Of all the things that have happened, what would you say was the worst?

Definitely the first time she went missing from a rehab out of state.  She went out to a program in Arizona and I was so dumb back then I really thought this was going to be the answer to our prayers. 30 days into the program she ran away. My 18 year old daughter was missing in a state so far from home it could have been on Mars. I had no way to reach her by phone, and no way to tell her it was ok to come home or call me. That was physically paralyzing. Literally. The moment I heard she was missing I locked myself in my bathroom and screamed and cried on the floor. I know that sounds like a reaction most parents would have but that isn’t like me. I’m not a big crier. I was afraid to leave the house, or talk on the phone, or move in case she was to call. It was absolutely awful.  In the end she came home and the cycle continued, so it probably seems strange for that to be the worst when she has nearly died more than once but there was nothing to compare to that. It was …. Shocking.  It changed me. It changed who I am and how I respond to things, and how I see things.

Wow. That must have been intense.  Did that ever happen again?

Oh yes. Two more times. Which really seems ridiculous even to me. I knew she might run when we sent her to Florida. I knew it was a possibility because JoDee is a runner but she really wanted to go to that program so I relented. She was gone in a week. And several months later she wanted to go to a program in California. I was dead set against it but she wanted to go and there was a gentleman helping her from an addiction recovery program who persuaded me to give it a try. She ran after a couple of weeks and stayed out there for several more weeks because I wouldn’t buy her a plane ticket home, though I did eventually.  Once when we were talking about this exact thing she said that being on a run in California was one of the worst for her. By then, I was a pro at her being gone.

What would you say to a parent that just discovered their child was an addict?

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what is about to happen, what you have already been through, and what could happen. And find a network. Find other parents like you. Meeting mothers that were going through the same thing as me was paramount to me living this long. Even if you only talk to them on line or by phone, it’s a huge relief. To be able to tell someone else how much you hate addiction and possibly your kid that day and know the person on the other end isn’t judging is priceless.  There are often times that two parents aren’t feeling the same or reacting the same. It doesn’t make the other person wrong or bad, just not the person that is going to relate to you the most. Find someone who is like-minded.  And don’t give up. As long as your child is breathing, there is hope for recovery.  And my final piece of advice is to follow your own instincts. When faced with difficult situations and tough choices do what makes YOU feel good or better. Do whatever you think is best without deciding if is best for the addict. Odds are good if the addict is happy with your school of thought, it’s not the right one. If an addict is pissed off at you, you are probably saving their life.

Last question:  What do you want people to know about addicts?

They are people. Before my daughter was stealing your wallet from the purse left in the shopping cart, or stumbling on the street drooling on herself, she was am honor student, a gymnast with a wall of awards, a sister and a daughter. She was someone, just like you and me, and she is still someone. She may be a shell of the person she used to be, but she is in there. She is still a person.  We can hate the things addicts do to us and themselves but we can’t hate the addict. There is no world where hate fixes anything. Being strong, and diligent, and maintaining boundaries are not the same as hate. In fact, it’s the opposite. It is showing them that you care enough to love them.  Stupid junkie, losers, leeches, thieves, bums, dirty, gross, untrustworthy, and on and on are things that they may become during active addiction but it isn’t who they are at their core and the real person can come back. It’s hard. It is not just putting down a needle and walking away. It’s a way of life. It’s an alteration of the brain which lacks the ability to be the person we used to know. But they are in there. We can be mad and angry and I know society as a whole is angry but when people throw hate around and refuse to see addiction as a disease we all suffer. I suffer as a parent, she suffers as the addict, the mental health community is suffering with lack of funds, and programs. It is going to take all of us to fight this disease and stop the epidemic.  In N/A they say if you can’t help an addict don’t hurt one, and the truth is that is great advice.



If you or someone you love suffers from addiction there are programs, people and communities out there to help. https://findtreatment.samhsa.gov/locator/link-focSelfGP

Melanie Brayden-Cortes

Melanie lives in Danvers, MA with her life partner, her three kids, 
his two kids, two cats Diego and Blu and their dog Bud. 
Her oldest child, her daughter, is a heroin addict. 

Melanie began a blog, The Addict in My Basement, 
to chronicle her struggles as the mother of an addict. 

The Kitchen Window

I have always felt the heart of a home is the kitchen.

Not just because meals bring families together or that food is generally common ground for the ages. It’s because that’s where happiness settles.

Living rooms are places we watch TV.  Bedrooms are where we sleep, rest when we are sick, or sulk when the world is mean.  My kitchen is the focal point of our home. It’s full of light, open and welcoming. I have always loved my kitchen.

The kitchen window faces my backyard. It’s above the sink which is beautiful because I can watch the kids in the yard, stomping on marigolds, or as a football launches into my tomato plants. The large stock fence was never painted and is weathered from years of storms, snow, sun and gardening. I could look out that window to see the fruits of our labor as the cucumbers grew up the netting vine, the cantaloupe spread out as it grew flowers.  The rich green grass boasted of the love, tenderness and attention we spent growing it.

Where the kitchen was the heart, the yard was the soul of our family.

I was standing at the kitchen sink, admiring the fresh red spots I could see from the window indicating I had tomatoes ready to pick. The juiciness would mean a thick, savory sauce would be on the menu for dinner tonight. I was counting the number of red spots I could see from the window in the sea of green plants when the phone rang.  I sighed as I dried off my hands on the dish towel and took one more look out the window before I answered.

When you hear the words "your child over-dosed on heroin and is at the emergency room, come now because she might not make it" your life changes forever.

I spent countless days, nights, weeks and months trying to chase recovery for my daughter. By the time I realized that the one that should be chasing clean time, and a better life was my daughter and not I, my utopia in the yard had changed dramatically.

The tomatoes perished without the loving hand to water them and pick the ripened fruit. The mint grew wild, taking over and strangling the cilantro and basil. The cantaloupe's flowers wilted and died, not producing buds to grow into melons. The cucumbers shriveled and hung limply on the vine. The eggplant curled, and withered. Cooking with them now would produce a grainy, bitter, taste, much like the way I viewed my life.

Looking out the window in my broken-hearted kitchen, into the backyard with the tattered soul, was a reflection of our true selves.

My daughter would never be the same. My life would never be the same.

The love and attention I had put into my garden, I had also put into raising my daughter. No amount of love or begging would be bring either her or my garden back now.

Melanie Brayden 

Melanie lives in Danvers, MA with her life partner, her three kids, 
his two kids, two cats Diego and Blu and their dog Bud. 
Her oldest child, her daughter, is a heroin addict. 

Melanie began a blog, The Addict in My Basement, 
to chronicle her struggles as the mother of an addict. 

Messages from the Grave

Learning a lesson is sometimes really hard. There are lessons in life that are learnt easily, like the time I was so proud of myself for unclogging my kitchen sink. Single mother, first time something mechanical/plumbing happens that requires serious attention. I was not calling a man. A man was not fixing this drain, damn it, I could do it myself. I got a bucket to put under the drain trap; I found tools to unscrew the pipe from the drain. The drain came apart, dirty water littered with food and God knows what else poured in to the bucket. I used a wire coat hanger that I straightened out to stick up the pipe and hallelujah out comes a big ball of spaghetti and potato skins, stuck at the elbow! I threw the junk away; cleaned up my mess and proceeded to dump the shitty water back into the sink. Instantly my feet were soaking wet and I heard a loud splash. I never reassembled the drain to the pipe so the water rushed out all over me, the floor, the bottom of the cabinet, soaking everything including my pride. But I learned a lesson. I can fix the drain and make sure the drain and pipe are back together before pouring anything down it. I only had to do that once to learn that lesson!

There are other lessons in life that are harder to learn. We don’t always learn them right away. I have learned a lesson from someone who was once very important to me. Unfortunately, I learned it long after he died. My daughter is a heroin addict. She suffers from a terrible disease. She would risk her life and probably the life of those around her if it meant copping dope.  We have enjoyed clean time, and we have suffered through relapses.  During those relapses I have begged and pleaded for someone to help, for us to be able to find a cure. I have called on those who have passed before us, praying for them to watch over her and guide her so she can live. In those moments, I can’t help but think of the souls that have been lost to addiction. I know many people who have lost their battle and I am sad for them, but there is one person who I feel sorrow for. One person whose passing was the most stunning and shocking. One person whose life was important to me and important to people that I cared for. And in those of my darkest hours it is not him that I pray to, it is him that I beg forgiveness.

This person struggled with addiction for as long as I knew him. He was probably the first person in my inner circle that I would have seen in active addiction. I just didn’t know it. I wasn’t aware enough, or present enough, or educated enough to understand what it really meant. I remember when he was actively using and we would all drink and party and have fun. And then it went too far and he was in recovery. He had to stay in recovery. He had a family and a life. He thrived. He succeeded. And then he relapsed and he stole and he lied. I was angry at him. I thought he was no good. I judged. I made judgments. He found recovery again. This time stronger, more involved. I saw his time at meetings as time away from his family, not home with his kids, his wife. I never said anything out loud, but I didn’t understand. Not understanding is ok, as long as you work to understand. I didn’t. I held my own opinion because I was holier than thou and I had a right, an entitlement to judge. When he would leave Sunday dinner to go to a meeting, I rolled my eyes. When his kids or wife were sick, but he left them alone, I was disgusted. What could be more important than his family?

Then his family broke up. I didn’t see him as much, which was sad for me. I loved him like I loved his wife. I was close to both of them equally. It was a loss to me. It was a great loss but divorce is tricky and sides are taken. Right or wrong, I didn’t see him anymore. If I did I was polite. I was happy to see him doing well, I saw him with a new woman and she was pretty and kind and she made him happy, and I was happy for that. I was glad he was doing well.  I never knew he wasn’t doing well. I had no idea how bad things were for him. I didn’t try to find out either.  He knew the devil was calling his name. He knew he was in over his head. He was angry and bitter and he missed a happiness he once had. Not from lack of love, he had a woman who loved him and children who adored him. But the evil in drug addiction blinds a person to those things, all you see is desperation.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He may not have died with a needle in his arm, but the needle took his life all the same. His was an act of fraught. His act changed the course of many lives. I can’t describe the anger I felt at that. I wouldn’t be able to do justice to the range of rage. As I walked through the motions of his death, cleaning his apartment, picking his clothes for burial, helping arrange the funeral, and finally, placing his ashes in a grave I was furious. I almost couldn’t contain my anger. Because I was ignorant. It wasn’t until five short months later that I found out about my daughter's heroin addiction.  Before it was my child, before it was my family, I didn’t get it. How could I? Even though we were close, it wasn’t the same. There is no way to see the wrath of addiction unless it’s in your house, your blood, your life.  I was unforgiving until I realized I was the one that needed forgiveness. I wish I could tell him that I don’t judge him. I want him to know that JoDee has shown me why it’s so hard. I always thought he made a choice to put drugs before his family which ruined his life. But it is so much deeper than a choice. It’s something unseeing and not tangible that drives the car of desire we all ride in. No one can see it or touch or smell it or feel it because it is buried in your soul.

About a year ago I was sitting in the hospital room with JoDee, during another one of her overdoses, and I started praying to him. I kept asking him over and over and over why he didn’t do something from the other side to help her. Why couldn’t he send her a message or an epiphany or something to show her that this was a road to death? I told him I was sorry I was so angry when he died and I understood better now. I cried until I fell asleep. And suddenly there he was. Standing in my driveway, staring at the sun. I asked him where we were and he told me the past and the future. I asked him what was going to happen and he told me to prepare for the tornado. He told me a storm was coming and I needed to be ready and be strong. I asked him why he couldn’t stop it, why didn’t he do something. He said to me that he was doing something; he was showing us what happens if we aren’t honest, if we don’t speak about what we feel because the darkness lives inside lies and pain. He started to fade away and I yelled not to go because I was afraid. He gave me a hug and told me I was forgiven. And then he was gone.

I have never dreamed about him since then and I don’t know that I will. He has so many people that want to see him in their sleep, I will be grateful for my one visit. He looked like he did when things were good for him. He looked like he was at peace. I woke up with a feeling of appreciation for his struggles. I learned that there are people we loved and cared for on the other side, but they can’t help. Addiction can’t be stopped by praying it away. I had to stop wasting energy praying for a miracle that wasn’t going to happen. The miracle happens when the addict follows the steps, asks for help, and finds reason to live. I have to fight to keep my daughter alive until there is nothing left to fight for or until she learns to fight for herself. It was a hard lesson to learn and I’m not sure I would have gotten there if he hadn’t shown me that. 

Today I am happy to report she has been clean just shy of 60 days. Just for today, we can celebrate our success, mourn our fallen loved ones, pray for those still struggling and be grateful we are still here to do it.

Melanie Brayden 

Melanie lives in Danvers, MA with her life partner, her three kids, his two kids, 

two cats Diego and Blu and their dog Bud. Her oldest child, her daughter, is a heroin addict. 

Melanie began a blog, The Addict in My Basement, to chronicle 
her struggles as the mother of an addict.