Book Five, “My First Secret Keeper” is a celebration of Life. The summation and near conclusion of my journey within the Drowning in Madagascar Series. The road I have traveled. The people I have met along my journey. Some have altered the trajectory of my life. Their stories changed me. Their stories enriched me. I saw myself in many of these unique individuals. They are an integrated part of my story. And it is to them, that I dedicate among others, the totality of my collected works. Everybody deserves a voice. Everybody deserves to be heard. And so do you. Book Five will give my readers a unique chance to make their own individual voices heard. Do you have wisdom you can share? What has helped you heal? Are you a loved one who is haunted by an endless self-punishing narrative of ‘What If’ Questions? If you had been given the chance to do things differently. To change your words, to alter your actions. What would you do? Do you want to pay it forward? Wisdom and Strength are to be drawn from multiple sources, providing depth, richness, relatability, and context through mutual shared life experiences.
Although this Blog and my Newfound Advocacy is in it’s infancy, I have no doubt that this journey that I have started out of a desperate need to make my own voice heard will expand in ways that I cannot possibly forsee. My Faith has overcome my Fear, but I am not devoid of it. No one truly is. But I can silence it. My Mission Statement was that I was to use my voice to facilitate those of others who have suffered in the great capacity that I have. At a certain point in time, I will give anyone who has a story in their heart and in their head the chance to make their voice heard. Your stories can be submitted and reviewed for publication within Book Five, “My First Secret Keeper“. Your time is Now.
So What is a Secret Keeper Anyway? Book Five in my Series is entitled, My First Secret Keeper. You will find out who this person is within these pages. During my preliminary and ongoing research for my book, Drowning in Madagascar I have met many people who have inspired me, changed me for the better, and have even changed the trajectory of my life. I have drawn wisdom, strength and unique connection from these people, my Secret Keepers. Some people I am drawn to. People that I feel will be receptive to my message of compassion and acceptance. I tell them my story. I tell them they are now a Secret Keeper. And I give them a card. I encourage them to spread my message. Why? Because if you are a Secret Keeper, I saw something special in you. My Book is already Dedicated to you. These are their stories. Our Collective Stories. This is Us.
I want to give anyone who has a unique story of their own, or a unique message that you would like to share a chance to be heard.
My Book will also talk about how we can facilitate the healing of our loved ones who suffer from Addiction and Mental Health struggles. I wish to draw strength and wisdom from as many places as I can. I have said this before, and I will continue to say it again and again. We cannot merely love the people we care about to a place of wholeness. Neither can we shame them enough to a place of reform. As my Secret Keepers I need your help. What have your loved ones said or done that has inadvertenly pushed you away, despite their best intentions? What have they done that has proven effective and opened healthy communication?
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My Secret Keepers
I am sitting in the waiting room of a hospital where I am scheduled to have a job interview in the oncology unit. I am a little bit early so I sit down at a table and prepare to work a little bit on my book, even though I should be doing my homework. Right in front of me I witnessed a confrontation between a young man and two security guards. One of them is rather large and intimidating, the other is smaller and slightly less so. They are attempting to calm him down, to no avail. They are trying to explain to him why they have to look through his belongings, as there were suspicions that he was carrying drugs inside of his backpack. Naturally, the young man objected defiantly. The confrontation escalates, although it never gets violent. Realistically, these beefed up security guards would not have let it. The young man may have thrown in a few F bombs and other explicitives in there, being as upset as he was. Even though the lobby is not particularly crowded, I can easily hear the conversation. I can’t help but listen intently as the young man talks about his girlfriend upstairs. She is in ACU. She has severe sepsis and she might die. “I need to be with her.” This young man says to them. “She is expecting me to be with her. She’ll freak out if I’m not there. She’ll probably walk out.” The security guards would not budge. They continue to try to explain their suspicions, stating that they saw a substance in a needle he had in his possession. That part I didn’t quite make out to be quite honest. But they would not let him pass, and this young man was getting increasingly frustrated. I could see him start to tear up. I could see tears of frustration as he half screamed, half whimpered, “you don’t know what it’s like to be addicted to drugs.”
I heard a voice say calmly “yes I do.” I am on my feet before I am aware of what I am doing. And for a moment, nothing. All three of the men turned around and looked at me for a moment, looking dumbfounded. I said it again “I know what it’s like to be a drug addict.” They are surprised because I am dressed in my scrubs and I have a badge. I look like I could be an employee of the hospital, not someone who would openly admit that they are a drug addict. I am surprisingly calm. I am not afraid, despite his hostility. And I am not ashamed. “Are you the charge nurse?” He asks me quizzically. “No,” I told him. “I am you.” I reach into my briefcase and pull out one of my blog awareness cards. He looks over it carefully as we continue to talk. I see him pull out a pen from within his jacket and circle what I had typed on the card, right near the top. The words, “The highest form of Intelligence is Empathy.” We part. “If you go up there, will you tell my girlfriend that I am here? That I care about her?” I nod. “I will do my best. I can’t promise anything, but I will try.” I reach in to shake this young man’s hand, and he says to me, “I can do better than that.” He pulls me in unexpectedly and we embrace. I am surprised. And I am glad.
I think about this young man for a great deal of time as I drive the hour and twenty minutes home. I kept thinking about the tears on his face. The tone of desperation in his voice. I drive. I roll up my pant leg. I rub my fingers up and down the surface of my leg. They are not smooth. They are not soft. They are textured, scarred, blemished. I feel them, as I rub my fingers up and down, up and down. And I am not ashamed that they are there. They tell a story. And it is one that I am proud to tell. I saw myself in this man today. I turned tears of frustration into tears of gratitude. I know that my story led me here for a reason. And I can’t wait to see what happens next.
My Secret Keeper “V” -May your Dear Friends Rest from this Imperfect World
This post is dedicated to my newest “Secret Keeper” from Kentucky, who had an engaging and friendly voice that drew me in immediately. Instinctivley I knew that he would be receptive to my message. It is by no coincidence that last night as I was doing my nursing homework, I received a random phone call from Kentucky, several states away from my location. Normlly, I would not have picked up the call, but for some reason last night, I did. Similarily, he confided that he was off of his shift a whole four hours earlier, but that he just felt like, “talking to people.” It is for this reason, that I do not believe in coincidences. Not when it comes to what I am trying to accomplish through this blog, and through my book.
He was soliciting Nursing Assistants and asking me if I was interested in any available positions. I had told him that my schedule was pretty full, and he learned a great deal about me. I told him about my blog, and the message that I wanted to share. I hesitated at first, but he encouraged me to finish my thought, warm and engaging as he was. So I did. He was on the east coast. I am on the west. I’ll give you that much information (I am anonymous after all!) I told him about the mental health crisis that we now face due to COVID-19, even worse than before, which is saying alot. I opened up to him, and he opend up to me. He told me that he has recently just lost two friends to mental health struggles. I offered him the most sincerest of condolences, and I told him at that point, “My book is now dedicated to you, for you are a Secret Keeper. “V”…. Will you help me share my message of acceptance? Let us as a society end the stigma. Let us make everything a conversation. Nothing is Taboo. So what is a “Secret Keeper” anyway? That is story for another time.
“V” I am so sorry for your devastating loss. I am here for you. I wish I could have been here for your dear friends. I dedicate this post to you. And to your friends. May they rest in peace.
-Jenny Miner-McCombs- The Addict Empath
My Secret Keeper – “B”
Yesterday I introduced you to “V” from Kentucky. Today, I will introduce you to “B” from well, my local, anonymous town. She doesn’t know it yet, but she was the very first person that I talked to today outside of my family. Let me introduce how easy it to use your voice. Using your voice is just like practicing any other skill. Including writing. You have to commit yourself to using it. That is the only way you get feedback, whether positive or negative. In the book that I am reading right now, teaching me how to write a book as I am writing it, novice that I am, the author admonished the reader to commit to writing everyday, if only for small, incremental, and doable amounts. The end product should be, for starters, a “Shitty” first draft. Naturally, I don’t want to produce shitty anything, but at least, the author states, you completed something that you set out to start. And that is important. You will witness me use my voice in many ways. Yesterday I had a positive reaction with “V” Today, I dropped into the local Subway to get some lunch, the Turkey Italiano, (Which, by the way, is delicious!) I noticed “B” the employee, with two lines with rainbows on her arms, which, as most people understand when it comes to modern social movements, promotes equality among our LGBT community. “Nice Tatoo” I tell her. I know that she will be receptive right away because she is fighting for equality, acceptance, and the end of discrimination just as I am. The shop is empty so I take the time to talk to her, regailing the same conversation I had with “V” the night before. And yes, she is my newest Secret Keeper.
If you are in a place where you have not yet found your voice, I will lend you Mine. Many of my Secret Keepers have stories of inspiration that have the opportunity to be published within the pages of my book.
-Jenny Miner-McCombs- The Addict Empath
December 19th 2021-
My newest Secret Keeper “A”
Yesterday I had a bad day. It wasn’t so much that I succumbed and gave in. I wasn’t even thinking about it when I went to the store to pick up items for a Sunday meal. I took them almost without forethought. I held myself accountable. I told Nora. When it comes to identifying triggers, it was not difficult for me as it had been in times past. It was not because I got into nursing school five days ago and posted it on Facebook, only to realize upon attempting to register that I failed my stats class, thereby making me disqualified. No, it was not that. I am at peace with that part. I am actually very excited to pursue my opportunities with thought leader. I received a call sometime later from an academic advisor at the school, who I regaled my seemingly woeful tale too. He expected me to fall apart. I did not. And I could tell he was surprised. ‘Well you’re already on top of the game then! I like your attitude! Most students completely fall apart when they discover they may have to wait another semester before applying again.’ I suppose it was meant to be. I just registered to repeat the class and will try again next semester. My only regret is paying 300.00$ out of pocket for two textbooks I won’t use right away, but then again, that may not be the case. No, my trigger was that I was feeling lonely. So desperately lonely for adult companionship and emotional intimacy. I was disappointed in myself, but I was not ashamed. I refuse to give in to shame anymore. Shame, when it comes to the complexities of addiction, is something that I will simply not allow into my life. I refuse to let it dominate my thoughts. I have wasted far too much of my life giving in to shame. But rather, I was disappointed in myself. And that is okay, to be disappointed in oneself, as long as you have the wisdom and the strength of character to not punish yourself for it. Today is a new day. I am still emotionally hung over. I feel angry and resentful that I am lonely and without emotional intimacy, even though my ‘former sweetheart’ is a good man. He always was a good man. I never doubted that. My trigger was that I cannot afford rent this month. My trigger was that I have not bought any of my children a single gift thus far. My trigger was that my car broke down and I hate being dependent on others. My trigger was that I felt obligated to interview for a job that I do not want because it is local, and I have three other jobs with three different traveling agencies that require the use of a reliable car. My triggers are so many things. When I have time, I will write to Nora about them. But my newest Secret Keeper, “A” was a blessing and a gift to me. I received a facebook request from her last night while I was pushing back the thoughts of a sober addict. The thoughts that never leave. The thoughts that nobody really knows about. Our conversation continued as follows.
“A”- Hi! If I am not mistaken, we met at nursing orientation, and you’re in my clinical group.
Me- Right on! Nice to meet you again! The only unfortunate thing about that is that I am going to have to get bumped again next semester. I just found out that I didn’t pass my stats class this quarter so I have to retake it. Bummer right? I’ll just try again in the spring! Math has always been my achilles heel.
“A”- Oh no! Well like you said, in the spring 💪💪💪You got this!!!
Me- yeah, I’m not deterred, if anything you can scare me next semester at the orientation again!
“A” Girl I got you 😂😂😂
Me- Do you want to check out a project that I am working on? It’s kind of my passion project that I have been doing on the side…I put up one of my business cards inside the student center where the bookstore is…
help me spread my message. If you do, then I will automatically dedicate my book to you! Look on the “Secret Keepers’ tab to learn more about what it means! It is a big responsibility !
“A”- I will for sure check it out, thank you!!
Me- You’re welcome! text me anytime!
“A” then invited me to a Facebook study group of all my soon to be friends and peers that I was to participate in the semester with. A semester, for a very brief time, was not meant to be, so that I could study with them to a certain extent and not fall behind. This small gesture lifted my soul and brought me out of my addictive thoughts. I will fight this fight until the word ‘addict’ is no longer scary or dirty. I will continue to fight this fight for the next three months. I will study with my friends online when I have the time so that next time, when I am ready, they will be there, hopefully waiting for me. I already feel as if they are my friends thanks to my newest Secret Keeper. My newest Secret Keeper “A” – My literary book nerd of a new friend, I am already dedicated to you. “Drowning in Madagascar” is already dedicated to you. You already know who I am. You already know my name. Someday soon, the rest of the world will know too. Thank you for your small gesture of kindness that sustained me during a particularly rough day. Your new friend,
–Jenny Miner -McCombs- The Addict Empath
“Here is a chance to make your own Unique voice, Your own Unique Story, Heard.“
-Jenny Miner McCombs– The Addict Empath
This is Us
“I have heard whispers in the halls. I just wanted to let you know that I think your making a difference. I know you are making a difference.”
-My Secret Keeper
I was feeling pretty good after my encounter with the young man that I had helped today before my job interview. I was feeling like I was slowly making a difference. I went home and wrote my post I am You. Then I wanted to take a nap before I saw my children. There was a knock at the door. Mailman. Signed mail. I thow on my robe and peek tentativley through the door. I greet him in a friendly way. “Sorry. Afternooon nap you know.” He responds by saying that he does not remember the last time he took an afternoon nap. We part and I open the manilla envelope. In my past, nothing good has ever come from signed packages and manilla envelopes. The worst of the worst was when I read my affidavits after my DUI in 2018. I cried in my father’s arms for three hours. He later told me that it was one of the most gut wrenching experiences that he had ever gone through in his life. I open this one. I am to have my wages garnished for nonpayment of court fines that I thought I had taken care of. It is excessive. I wrote my rent check yesterday that I won’t have enough money to cover until tomorrow. I am always poor. No matter what I do. I immediately feel vulnerable. I feel scared and worried. I feel overwhelmed. When I wake up from my nap it is dark, and I immediately feel an overwhelming sense of lonliness.
Even though I have been sober from my polypharmacy abuse for three and a half years, I would like to take a candid moment to give those of you who do not know what the thought process of an addict sounds like. I repeat. I have been sober for three and a half years. And when life throws us curve balls, when we are stressed or emotional or upset. When we have triggers. The thoughts come. Fast and hard. “You can go to the store and get some Benadryl. You have ten dollars in your wallet. It takes about two hours to kick in.. NO! I tell myself. ‘No!!! You know what the results of that will be. You always regret it when you do that. It will not solve your problems you know this. But this will be the last time. I tell myself. No it won’t. Last week I finished listening to the audiobook, A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. If you don’t mind the word, “Fuck” It is a great read. In the sequel, My Friend Leonard, He continues to grieve a personal loss in the book. He buys the cheapest bottle of wine that he can afford. He calls it his Rose. He keeps it with him to test his resolve. His strength. His friend Leonard tells him to Just Hold On. Then you will get through it. Just Hold On. Last week I went over to my nightstand and grabbed a pink bottle of Benadryl. I taped a little piece of paper to the lid with the scribbled words, Just hold on written on it. The next night, I ignored the message, and took twenty. Back to the endless narrative of self punishment we inflict.
“Glad. I am glad that that bottle is empty. Now I will have the willpower to not get more. I am not like James. I could not handle having a simple bottle of generic benadryl on my nightstand. I am pathetic. NO….I tell myself. I can’t afford to think like that. I a hypocrite. I shouldn’t be writing a book. I am hypocrite. No… The other voice says If anything else, this means that you need to tell your story more. “
This happened to me last week. I took a second dose of the forbidden benadryl on my nightstand. I waited for it to set in, drift off…the best I can. Drift off…I know that daily accountability is part of the twelve steps, even though I never officially completed such a program in its entirety. I felt the temptation to draw within myself. Give in to the shame. Give into it. No. I can’t do it. I am writing this book. I need to write this book. People need to know. People need to know what this is like. We are not what they think. We are good. People need to know. Here we are back tonight after I got my manilla envelope. I can just get one bottle of benadryl. I have ten dollars. No… It is not about how you feel physicallly. You could feel like shit. It does not matter. You could feel on top of the world (You won’t with stupid Benadryl) that does not matter either. It is NOT about HOW YOU FEEL. It is about HOW YOU THINK. HOW YOU TORTURE YOURSELF MENTALLY FOR YOUR WEAKNESS.
That is what the loved ones of those who suffer from addiction need to know. We are not ignorant. We are not naive. We are not indifferent. We are sick. We need love. Compassion. Empathy. And I will tell you a story, my readers. I almost got that damn bottle of benadryl. One of you stopped me. One of my readers. A young lady who worked at the place where I get refills everyday. I was planning on getting a drink, then getting a bottle of benadryl. She stopped me. She said, “You were the one that dropped those cards of the other day… I just wanted you to know, people have been noticing. I have heard whispers in the halls. I think it is making a difference. I know it is making a difference.”
And just like that, my fragilitity and my doubt disappeared almost entirely. It was such a gift. And so gratifying to hear. She fed my soul with her words. She gave me the strength to not give into the internal dialouge of an addict. Even a sober addict like me who has not abused polypharmacy or any other substance other than the occasional over the counter allergy medicine from time to time when things get rough. I am still an addict. I think like one. I act like one. I am still illogical and impulsive. My memory is horrible. I forget how something made me feel one week only to force myself to remember the next. This is the reality of what it means. I want to thank this sweet girl who saved me from the fate of another benadryl bottle that I would have regretted. Thank you for letting me know that I am starting to make a difference. It has resolved my resolve to continue to do so.
“You may be able to have your own Voice heard in the publication of the Fifth Installment of my Series, “My First Secret Keeper.”
– Jenny Miner McCombs- The Addict Empath
Drowning in Madagascar 