Free The Big Fix by Tracey Helton Mitchell Page B

AIDS era, and I was adamant about using condoms with tricks. But a few times he convinced me to skip it with him. That day at the ATM I had taken out $40. The irony was not lost on me, or on him, I’m sure.
    Home for me at this point was a single room in an oldhotel that had been converted into a sober living facility by the Salvation Army, where I could be required to submit to urinalysis at any time to prove I was clean. I had rolled up to the place one year ago, fresh from the treatment center, with two garbage bags of possessions that were either donated or paid for with my small income. For the first time in my life, I was attempting to be self-sufficient. My mother, of course, wanted to find some way to help me. My demonstrating that I was actually clean made her more determined to find ways to insert herself back into my life. She didn’t need to give me anything in order to do that, though—I wanted her there. In that first year of recovery, I learned so much about my own dysfunctional relationships through the way she and I interacted. There was a fine line between providing someone with support and creating an unhealthy dependence. In feeling my way through recovery, I was trying to distinguish what that meant.
    People discouraged me from moving back to the Tenderloin, but I had no choice—rents were lower there. Still, my rent was $360, which ate up almost all the money I earned at a call center doing phone surveys. I had found the job in the paper with the help of the rehab’s job coach. I am not sure what the qualifications were to be the job coach, but there were rumors he was sleeping with male residents. The job paid $7 an hour. It was more than minimum wage and just enough to pay all my bills. It took twenty-nine years, but I was finally finding some independence.
    I was surprised at how easy it was to get my job, even as a convicted felon. I was hired on the spot in my first interview. At first, my ego led me to believe I was so charmingthey just had to hire me. The reality was quite different. They simply needed bodies. The turnover rate became apparent as I watched people walk out in the middle of a shift on a daily basis. Well, I figured, the bar is so low that I can excel here. I reminded myself that I had convinced junkies to buy heroin from me despite the fact that I looked like an extra from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. Therefore, I must be capable of finding a way to get people to complete these surveys. I could be very convincing when I needed something. I turned that survival tactic into a workplace asset. In fact, it wasn’t long before I was made a manager.
    The other major benefit of the job was that it gave me enough downtime to work on learning my positive affirmations. I needed those, since I still felt as if my grip on my new life was precarious at best. The rehab center had sent me through a program designed specifically for criminal offenders. This week-long course showed me that I needed to learn to modify my behavior or I would end up back in jail or prison. When I completed the class, I was handed a set of four flashcards in a waterproof holder that fit in my pocket. Fake it till you make it was a catchphrase that chimed in my head. Okay, yes. I was willing to try it. I had flashcards with these phrases tucked away in my pocket (I was not yet confident enough in my femininity to carry a purse). I spent hours upon hours flipping through these cards between calls. I was hoping that changing the way I thought about myself would change the way I lived my life. I was back living in the Tenderloin; the steps of recovery needed to be inside me.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I enjoy my clean and sober lifestyle.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I enjoy being clean and sober.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I am a good person.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I wanted these things to be true.
    My cravings for drugs were very sporadic, but they were still there. Since I