Can we have a new heaven and a new earth, please? We broke ours. We're sorry, though.

Today at work I sat for an hour listening to one of my clients talk about how he almost killed himself Friday night, then went and smoked crack and tried to sleep with a prostitute, and then almost killed himself again. I say "tried" to sleep with a prostitute because, apparently, the (massive amounts of) antidepressants, antipsychotics, and anti anxiety meds and/or the crack prevented him from actually being able to have intercourse with her. Because that's what I want to hear about. My client's sexual problems. With prostitutes.

Now Maggie, you're thinking, don't the vast majority of your clients continue to use drugs while under your care? Can't you safely assume that many of them are also engaging in risky sexual behaviors? And you're right, many, if not most, of our clients continue to abuse drugs and/or alcohol while they're in the program. It happens. Heroin isn't like biting your nails; it takes a hell of a lot more than will power to give it up (and I KNOW how hard it is to stop biting your nails! But I think heroin is, in fact, harder to quit). And, of course, drug abuse is only a symptom of other issues that are going on. You need to treat the whole person, all of their illnesses, in order to end a pattern of destructive behavior. Sometimes it takes 2, 3, or 47 tries. Sometimes it never happens.

So why was I particularly shocked that this client did this? Because he was a model client. He's been at the shelter for about 4 months now, and I've been his counselor the whole time. He has a host of mental illnesses, but has come so, so far in his functioning, emotional stability, recovery, and self confidence. He now has a job moving medical supplies at the Veterans' Administration (he's a Veteran) and has completed three differnet mental health and social skill programs at the VA. He comes to our weekly meeting religiously, and calls me to tell me if he will be back late, if anything changes with his meds or appointments, and one time just to tell me he was on the bus. "Hey Maggie. I’m on the bus. I just thought you should know." And then he hung up. Strange? Yes. But I would rather 400 clients like him than one I never see or hear from, who doesn't trust me or tell me what is really going on.

This client trusts me. He tells me what's going on. He told me not only about his suicidal ideations, but his drug use, and WAY too many details about the sex (or lack of). Crack is not an aphrodisiac. Who knew? When he told me, I could tell he was in so much pain, that he felt ashamed and worthless. He wouldn't look me in the eye. He asked if we could keep it between us, which of course I couldn't do. Even if I was willing to overlook the drug use, which I was not, suicide is not something that can EVER be taken lightly, particularly not in a client with his history and illnesses.

After I assured him that I was not disappointed in him, that he is the only person he answers to, that him being honest was more important than using, he seemed to feel better. After he left the office I was talking to another counselor. She asked me if I thought it happened because I wasn't there. I have transferred buildings and am now only at my old shelter, where he lives, once a week. Last week I wasn't even accessible by phone, because I was in the Midwest visiting friends. This client is freakishly attached to me, and has had a very hard time since I transferred to the new building. He (apparently) asks where I am all the time, if I'm ok, when I'm coming back. This other counselor asked if I thought tat I was his crutch, and if having the crutch removed contributed to his depression and self doubt, which led to him seeking a prostitute, which led to him smoking crack.

No. I didn't cause it. I can't control him. I don't know, maybe if I had met with him on Friday afternoon I could have said or done something to make things turn out differently. But maybe I couldn't have. Maybe I would have made it worse. We shouldn't use people as crutches- not our friends, not our family, not boyfriends or girlfriends or spouses- because NO one will ever be there all the time. No one will. You can't ASK that of someone, and I refuse to try to pretend like I could live up to some unrealistic expectation to be a super-counselor. I mean, I'm not even a SOCIAL WORKER, I'm just some kid. White girl from the suburbs moves into the big bad inner city trying to make good, right? I can't even fall asleep without straining my ears for gunshots, or walk with total confidence to and from work. I can't fix him, or anyone else. No one can. I can't do it.

I hate this.

Given the choice, of course, between (not) having sex with a prostitute and smoking crack or suicide, I would rather he smoke the crack. But I don't like the choices.

Sometimes I don't even remember why I'm here. I would rather live in some crappy apartment and work as a receptionist or telemarketer or ANYTHING other than this. I feel so tiny and worthless and powerless and vulnerable. And then I remember that I'm here because I love Jesus, and he calls us into these places, that Jesus lives with the crack whores and the drug dealers, and that's where I need to live, too, for now. I need to love them and serve them and work for them, even if it does nothing and means nothing, because that's what people who love Jesus do. We love people. We serve them.



(and then sometimes i try to remember why i love jesus. and sometimes i don't know. why would i love someone who asks me to do this? why would i love and follow someone who leads me here? and i try to remember and i try to remember and all i can think is i'm here and i love him because he promises something else and he promises something better, a world without crack whores or dead babies or drug addicts.)

so where. is. it.