'I've got to be honest with myself'

Women begin their recovery at Charis House.

By Jennifer L. Boen of The News-Sentinel

News-Sentinel photo by Ellie Bogue Charis residentBonnie Holliday is a resident of Charis House, the women's division of the Fort Wayne Rescue Mission.

Hunched over the oak library table, her pen intermittently moving across a notebook, Bonnie Holliday looks every bit the college coed prepping for an exam.

Although the 39-year-old is not in college, she is preparing for the most challenging test of her life: living drug- and alcohol-free.

Her thoughts spill onto the pages like medicine into a wound: "How did I get to this point? What changes must I make? What if I fail again?"

Other sisters in this sorority-of-sorts called Charis House, run by the Fort Wayne Rescue Mission, are at the beginning of a journey with her. They include Leslie Wentworth, Lisa Yoder and Michell Edmontson. All are starting -- or restarting -- the intensive residential program that offers six months to a year of classes and counseling for homeless women or those who are trying to beat addiction. Despite their good intentions, some of them won't make it this time either.

This education is more than remembering to make the beds, do laundry and wash dishes. It's also learning to breathe deeply before responding to criticism and to work through feelings of inadequacy after a failed marriage or years of abuse.

The women need these skills to live and work responsibly in the community. Many of them are court-ordered for addiction treatment. Not Holliday -- she's here on her own initiative to get better.

Some residents in the program have no chemical addiction but are homeless because of legal or family problems. Some choose only the emergency program, staying a few weeks until permanent housing is found.

"If someone nags me or gets on my nerves, I'll start writing," Holliday says.

"I'm here to learn about Bonnie. I have a lot of work to do," says Holliday, the mother of five children ages 5 to 17. Her mother has custody of the three oldest, and a sister cares for the two youngest.

Shifting from her notebook, filled with meters of poetry, she turns the pages of her paperbound Recovery Bible, which integrates the concepts of Alcoholics Anonymous' 12 Steps with Scripture.

She received the Bible when she came to Charis House two months ago, the same day she was released from Rockville Correctional Facility for Women north of Terre Haute. She spent three years there on a drug conviction.

This is not the first time she has come through Charis House's doors on West Washington Boulevard. In 1999, after living 45 days in a drug house, she turned herself over to police. She was put on parole and court-ordered for treatment. She stayed clean at Charis for a year, but after moving back into the community, she relapsed and was arrested for dealing. She was still on probation for the previous charges, and the judge this time gave her the three-year prison sentence.

"When I was caught, I was actually relieved. Either I was going to keep going to prison, or I was going to die." She did her time, and asked the judge not to put her on parole or order treatment. The judge granted her wish. For the first time since 1996, she is no longer under the watchful eye of a guard or probation officer.

"It's good to be sober and clean," says Holliday, eyes clear and a broad smile across her face. "I've been in other halfway houses, but there's something about this place, something about Pastor Patty (Crisp, the executive director). God is in my life. In prison, I was on my knees, asking him to take away the smoking crack, the cocaine, the drinking. I thank him for waking me up and helping me be safe. I thank him for getting rid of that craving."

Lots of help

Holliday is up before 5 a.m. most days "to pray and talk to the Lord in the smoke room." She begins her morning chores early, leaving the bathroom smelling of disinfectant.

But the most taxing work takes place in the hearts and minds of the women.

"I've got to be honest with myself," Holliday says in Recovery Dynamics group one morning. The group builds on what the women learn in Alcoholics Anonymous.

It's the first step: recognizing she is powerless over her addiction. Other groups, such as Choices and Boundaries, teach assertiveness and setting limits. All require homework.

"The culture of Charis House is respect," says Executive Director Crisp. "The 'A' word is acceptance. The 'C' word is choices, and we leave out the 'J' word, judgment. You're not a victim, and we're not a judge."

Charis (pronounced care-iss) House is a Christian-based program; its name means grace. But the message of God's love and forgiveness, and the need to depend on God instead of self, is offered by staff without coercion.

"We present the message of salvation. Daily chapel attendance is required of all the women, but they don't have to participate. They can just sit there," Crisp says, noting Jewish and Muslim women have lived within these walls.

During chapel, case manager Cindy Hartman tells residents God forgives them and will always love them.

The message is a hard one for many of the women to understand. Most have been physically or sexually abused. All have scars of emotional abuse, Crisp says. Their concept of God, if equated with a loving parent or friend, is distorted. They trust very few people.

Trusting others

Learning to trust -- especially herself -- is key for Leslie Wentworth. When she was 12, her father, an alcoholic, committed suicide. Wentworth still remembers that day. She said goodbye to him in their Indianapolis house, then boarded the school bus. She looked out the bus window and saw him walking down the sidewalk. She was the last person to see him alive.

"I felt guilty. I blamed myself," says Wentworth, 44. She started smoking cigarettes around 13, then marijuana. Alcohol binges eased the pain she shared with no one. By her late 20s, her drug of choice was cocaine.

Like Holliday, Wentworth has come to Charis before. This time, she's been here about seven weeks and has already relapsed, using drugs again.

She was on a city bus one evening, heading back to Charis when she met an acquaintance. He asked if she had money and told her he could get her drugs right away.

"Just hearing that it was available, I thought I'd just do one."

Relapses

Relapses are common -- and expected, client services director Toni Lovell says. The desired outcome of relapses is a deeper understanding of how vulnerable a person is, how recovery cannot be based on one's own power over addiction.

Wentworth returned to Charis House before the 9:30 p.m. curfew. Seasoned staff -- some are former residents who have remained clean -- suspected she'd been using and ask her for a drop, or urine test.

She was taken to the cramped bathroom in the downstairs hallway. Her case worker watched as Wentworth urinated.

Wentworth knew a dirty drop would mean she'd have to leave. Cocaine takes at least three days to leave the body. Staff might not allow her back in.

"I tried to put bleach on my hand," she says later, describing one way women attempt to thwart the test. By letting urine flow over the hand, she tried to affect the chemistry of the test.

In only 30 seconds, the results, specific for various drugs, came back.

"It didn't work. The Lord didn't let it happen," Wentworth recalls of her foiled attempt to get a clean drop. Because she's under drug-court supervision, Charis was mandated to inform her probation officer.

That evening, word of Wentworth's relapse quietly spread. The TV in the upstairs living room seemed a little quieter. Lights in bedrooms went out sooner. It could happen to any one of them.

Wentworth spent a week in the City-County Lockup.

Because Wentworth has skipped a court-ordered weekly urine drop, if she messes up another time or two, "they'll probably send me someplace else, probably prison. I've got a lot at stake here," she says.

Wentworth, who is single with no children, is now on Sisters of Support. That means she cannot leave Charis House for several weeks without a staff member or someone further along in recovery going with her.

From her jeans pocket, she pulls out her relapse-prevention plan. It lists her relapse triggers and specifies the contract she's made with herself and staff when triggers come.

"People -- people and places -- are my triggers. Talking about the drugs is definitely a trigger and not getting to (AA) meetings. If I have any problems, I call someone immediately, my sponsor or someone here," she says, showing several phone numbers.

The importance of a sober and accessible AA sponsor, someone who is stable in recovery, is a need they'll have forever.

"When are you recovered?" Crisp asks during Recovery Dynamics. "Not on this earth. It's only when you die and go to heaven."