My mother is seventy-six years old and she’s never tried alcohol or drugs, ever. I haven’t asked my father about his teenage years. But either way, us kids grew up in a sober household. So when I got fired, I had never tried anything except tobacco and only once. I smoked a cigar at age nineteen, a few days before my wedding. I was so congested afterwards and my eyes were itchy and watery right up until the day of my wedding. I had only smoked because my maid of honor, who was my childhood best friend, said I had to do at least one bad thing before I got married.
After I was fired, I sought solace in my family, at least the ones with whom I was on speaking terms. I had never previously been terminated and I was unbelievably upset. My anxiety was through the roof and I was grieving as though someone had died. But there is something in me which has been passed down the familial line. And eventually, that something made me get up with that “I’ll show you” spirit. I decided I was going back to nursing school. I also filed for unemployment and my request was approved.
I didn’t realize it then, but they did me a favor when they fired me. I got to spend more time with my kids, especially the youngest who had spent only eleven consistent months with me before I had to go back to work. I wish I could say that I relaxed and enjoyed the time. But actually, I lived in a state of fear as I worried that nobody would ever hire me again. I worried that the interviewers would think I was lying and that I had taken the drugs. And even if they didn’t, I still had to say that I failed to count off the narc drawer per policy.
This fear of being thought of as a drug addict is one that would resurface again and again. I don’t think the director of nursing or any other employee from that job, thought that I took the missing drugs. But my family thought I did. When I told them the awful story of Veronica, they secretly decided that since I had been fired, I was lying. Of course I didn’t know that until after they called child protective services and told them so. Again, I felt that soul piercing anguish. But once more, something made me get up and decide that I would show them.
It may sound like I’m skipping the in-between process of how I went from grief and betrayal to an “I’m going to show them” mindset. I allowed much of the the pain to fuel my path forward. And then I shelved the rest of my sad feeling-emotions because if I didn’t, I was going to fall apart. And if I collapsed, someone was going to find a way to take my kids from me. It wasn’t just my family trying. Their father and his family were trying to take them too. I was driven by my absolute belief that my kids belonged with me.
And now I’m going back to where I first started my story, which was the day I first smoked marijuana. I remember thinking, after all of these years of accusations, here I am finally doing drugs. And although we no longer lived in the same state, I didn’t keep my medical marijuana card a secret from my family. This information only confirmed in their minds what they believed they already knew. They were sure they had been right about me all along.
When I first got my medical card, I began researching the state laws about medical marijuana and reviewing discriminations cases. Through Facebook, I contacted a plaintiff who had won her lawsuit. She responded and sent me her attorney’s contact info. I also went downtown to the Arizona Board of Nursing to inquire about their policy. And with every new job, I gave my own marijuana laden urine. And the second time I did so, I was sent home during the first hour of orientation at my new job where they did the drug testing in-house.
I had been called into the office of the director of nursing. We went back and forth as I explained to her in detail how firing me was a violation of the state law. She said, and I quote, “I don’t care.” I remember looking at her while she was talking and thinking, this lady is an alcoholic. It was written all over her aging body. And yet there she was, condemning me. She gave a QT gas card to me as payment for my time.
Before I left, I walked back to the table, picked up my orientation folder and took it with me. If I decided to sue, I was going to need proof that I had been an employee if only for an hour. At the next job, they never batted an eye (at least not to my face) over my drug test results and my medical card. However, I remained hyper-vigilant as I overcompensated by striving for perfection. I felt the need to punctuate my sobriety while I was on the clock.
Eventually, this identity wound affected me in another way. I realized that my credibility around the topic of the MIMIC-OPPS could easily be called into question based on my “drug use.” And now it wasn’t only Marijuana in which I had partaken. I had underwent the transforming power of Psilocybin and Ayahuasca too. Regardless, of one thing I was certain. Living in silence was no longer an option. I can drop my rock, but I cannot keep quiet in hopes that doing so, will prevent someone else from throwing theirs at me.
If you haven’t been reading the entries in order, then you won’t know that I am writing about my Chiron wound here in this segment. You can go back to Chiron In Aries, A Wound of Power & Identity. Or, better yet, you can start with the entry before that, Chiron & The Thumbscrew. You can also go back to the beginning.