Open Door Retreat

We are pleased to bring you an incredibly honest and revealing interview with Judith Hillard about her battle with cocaine addiction. Judith’s story sheds light on the fact that addiction knows no boundaries when it comes to race, class, education, or background.

Judith was the eldest child of a Protestant minister, a straight-A student, student body president of her high school, homecoming queen of a large university, and the girl everyone wanted their son to marry. The recipient of several advanced degrees, she taught English, public speaking, educational research, and leadership for many years. When she became a cocaine addict, she nearly lost it all.

Judith now runs a non profit organization called Addiction Overcome that exists to offer hope and resources to addicts. In this amazing interview, Judith speaks openly about her battle with cocaine addiction, how she managed to stop using for good, and the strategies she uses today to stay strong in her recovery.

When did you know it was time to get serious and quit… was there a certain event or realization?

To tell you the truth, the motivating factor came after my father had “suggested” I write my story for the past 12 years or so was a book my friend and board member gave me to read. It was called A Million Little Pieces by James Frey (you know, the guy who duped Oprah and therein sullied the reputation and good name of addicts everywhere).

I read it, though finishing it was a chore, and this rarely happens to a gal who cranks out at least a book a day — reading, not writing one, that is. I finally called Sheryl and asked her if ever she began to care about this guy. She answered quite truthfully that No, she never had. I was put off by his language, his profanity, his abuse of every rule of grammar and punctuation I was ever paid to teach, and his apparent asthmatic reaction to capital letters.

This guy was no e.e. cummings and therefore had not earned the right in my rather arrogant opinion to bastardize the English language and its parameters in a first and not very good first book at that. Lying in my bed that very last night of laboring through it, I said to myself, “I could do better than this in a first draft.”

I got up, tied a robe around my waste, and started writing. I finished the rough draft in two and a half weeks, and though it needed several read throughs and some corrections, and admittedly I had not set a very high bar for myself, I believe I was right about besting his paperback copy, then in its fourth printing or something insane like that because Oprah endorsed it and a huge publishing house accepted it.

What was the most difficult part of recovery?

Staying stopped. I stopped so many times, but then the thought would cross my mind that hey, I could pick it up again and control it rather than the other way around. It was like a fresh thought, one I’d never had before. Then I would buy a new load, never knowing if it was clean or not, too deeply cut to give one much of a charge through the hours ahead.

When the “fresh” craving hit for more cocaine, quantity and quickness were the motivators, not quality. If a dealer had said, give me until noon tomorrow and I’ll have some perfect product even a bit cheaper… I would have laughed in his face and told him to move it over to my place right then…. not even stopping for red lights.

You see, I wanted to return to life and family, friends and norm… so I would make plans and maybe even rough out a menu, guest list, etc…. but it never turned out as I hoped. I would have no stamps an no energy to procure any. I would decide no one would come anyway. I would forget how to plan a meal or cook it. In those moments, the ONLY thing that mattered was getting and readying and using more cocaine. No phone call, obligation, appointment, person, plan, lack of funds on hand, NOTHING counted for more than that baggie, or folded shiny magazine page of powder. I didn’t even care if I got shorted, so of course I did.

What was the biggest lesson learned during your recovery process?

Probably to humble myself enough to listen. I was well educated, employed, clever…. and most people I found fault with either immediately or fairly quickly when they let me down. And believe me, my expectations were not very high. I just didn’t give people much room for error. I was hardest on those I cared about the most as well. So learning to listen to those wiser, more grounded in recovery or spirituality or the craft and art of writing — those have been significant moments for me.

Which of the 12 steps really impacted your recovery the most?

Ironically, the one before any of the twelve…. the word ADMITTED. I couldn’t admit anything in the full throes of my addiction; so admitting that my life was unmanageable and that I was not in control was impossible. I couldn’t admit that my job was in danger, my health was thready at best, my apartment was filthy and not fit for the animals I kept there with me for companionship or comfort or out of habit, I’m not sure. I couldn’t even admit that I should go down to the basement and move the laundry out of the washer and into the dryer.

Later, I would say that step 12 could have been the one that made the biggest impact, but nobody wants a newish person to get involved in a twelve step call. I think that is a mistake. Because no matter how bad you are, there are people out there who are in worse shape by far. A sponsor or concerned person with time should have been taking me along to AIDS wards and dialysis centers and hospice houses to sit and talk with people who were literally days and hours from death because of this disease. That might have spoken to my self-centered, attitudinal self in a way no book or meeting or person still surviving could have.

What are your relapse triggers?

Well, I cleaned them so far from my life that I don’t accidently or on purpose stumble upon them anymore because I came to a place so low and so close to the bone, that I knew I didn’t any longer have a margin for error. A trigger might be enough to blow my head off. So I had a friend from church whom I trusted and asked her to help me clean the rest of the physical filth out of my home with me while my child was in school.

From old torn and stained t-shirts I thought would make good rags to syringes unopened to bottles of Ocean to the antique Raisinette tin I carried drugs and paraphernalia in, to pill crushers, to the legal syringe red box I had for my MS drugs, to bottles of hydrogen peroxide which is a great remover of blood stains, to any prescription bottle I did not immediately recognize as mine and necessary to my healthy life, to phone numbers in my cell or squirreled away somewhere.

We tossed it all in bags and my friend hauled them away without me knowing where she went. I also had to tell my drs (new ones) to always lock up their needles and syringes and saline bottles and sodium chloride bottles away in cabinets preferably never alone in the rooms where patients wait. And I had to tell the dentist the same thing, I’ve known him since I was in college, so that was hard. I don’t allow triggers in my mind or doors any longer.

How has your life changed now that you are sober?

I didn’t have a life when I wasn’t. I didn’t sleep or eat or go out or call anyone or write Christmas cards or remember why I love musicals and It’s A Wonderful Life and Christmas and children and new shoes. I love every detail of my life today. There is no comparison. It’s like comparing oranges to used cat litter.

What do you do now to prevent relapse?

I have a long and deep phone list of people I’ve known a long, long time and a few years and some I’ve just recently met. Depending on what is troubling me, I choose someone from the long or medium list and call one of them. If that person is not at home, I try another and so on until I find someone.

If I can find none of them and it calls for experience with either me or the disease, I’ll call one of my parents or my sister closest in age to me. I know I will hard truth from any of those people — or one of my dear friends who gets it and gets me and is not afraid to tell me the truth and give me an assignment or something to read or write if the situation calls for it (someone like Lauren for example).

I can be sort of intimidating to some, so I hone it to those I really trust and whose honesty doesn’t over-reach or offend me. If I am just feeling sorry for myself and in the blues, I call someone with no time or very little and ask about them. I become a sounding board for a person who is suffering far more than me in that moment and that always helps me get out of my own way and turn my twiddly problems into something selfless and hopefully meaningful for someone else.

I might even go to a book on addiction and read a chapter or two. That generally gets me into the groove of writing my own thoughts and reflecting on helping myself through the rough spots. Often it is the tiniest nuisances that cause the steamiest reactions from me; which is perhaps why my daughter tells me to chill out so often.

Tell me a little about your book!

I think I just did. The God shaped and sized hole we all carry in our souls can ONLY be filled by God. Anything that mimics Him or makes us feel like him for a few seconds trembles at the sight and sound and mystery around so much love for someone so flawed and imperfect who had so many gifts right from the start…. someone arrogant and selfish and always ready to feel different.

Now I love the way I feel, even if I’m exhausted. It’s honest exhaustion. I love my people more and everywhere I go, I talk to folks and my circle of “my” people grows exponentially. It’s funny, but when I tried so hard to look perfect and not make mistakes and have the most gorgeous man on my arm at parties and weddings, I was boring. I was plastic and about as conversant as a Barbie doll. Now that I stopped caring what people think of me in all situations, I am real and people find me approachable and therefore much more lovable.

Today, I am more lovable. I make mistakes and shrug them off. I tell my child when I’m wrong, which is often. My parents never told me they were wrong. And often they weren’t. But sometimes they were and would NEVER admit it to people who weren’t really people yet because we were just children. I think the littler they are when I meet them, the more important I’m supposed to be in their lives. For them I try extra hard to be me and to be real.