The Addict Next Door -- My year from hell: sentenced to jail

Vera Moret
Posted 12/12/14

[This is the second installment of Part V of this series, printed on an ad hoc basis, which follows author Vera Moret’s journey into addiction and depression, and her subsequent entry into the …

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The Addict Next Door -- My year from hell: sentenced to jail

Posted

[This is the second installment of Part V of this series, printed on an ad hoc basis, which follows author Vera Moret’s journey into addiction and depression, and her subsequent entry into the ongoing process of recovery.]

While I was waiting for sentencing, my psychiatrist doubled my dose of Neurontin. Apparently, that’s just what I needed. I found myself fully functional within two days after the dose increase. The depression had completely lifted. This finally allowed me to leave the house and attend the AA meetings and outpatient rehab that my attorney had been urging me to attend for so long.

The result of these weeks was an agreement among all those treating me that I was not an addict and never had been. I had been self-medicating my depression. I certainly had never become physically dependent on opiates. To this day, I lie like a rug when I give my medical history to anyone treating me because, if I ever had pain issues, I would be under-medicated. Nearly a year ago I was hit by a car, which resulted in my being airlifted for multiple open fractures and a very deep laceration around my ankle. The issue is still under litigation, so I can say very little about it except for the relevant point: I denied any prior drug issues because from my years of experience as a nurse, I knew that anyone who admitted such a thing would be under-medicated.

As things went, I accepted what I needed for pain prior to and after surgery and had two further scripts for Percocet after the surgery. After that, I was done and over with it. I was never an addict, but most people do not understand the difference between an addict and someone who is self medicating for a mental illness—particularly since many of those who are self medicating do become addicts because of the very nature of drugs such as alcohol and opiates, which are extremely addicting to certain people. I am simply not one of those people, and I do not judge those who are. It’s too complicated and individual an issue.

My entire family was at my final sentencing. It was the middle of September. My daughter, at barely 18, was due to deliver my grandchild in November. My attorney presented the facts of the matter, which were in my file. They were filled with letters and documentation from professionals stating that I was no danger to society and not a candidate for jail time. The directors of the outpatient drug rehab I had been voluntarily attending five days a week along with AA meetings felt I did not need any drug rehab at all. My therapist said much the same. The DA also agreed that I should have a second stay so my improvement could be further documented.

My charges had been pled down from 12 pills to one by this time. This is not, incidentally, the least bit unusual. Only a fraction of criminal cases go to trial. They are almost universally dealt with via plea bargains. That one pill carried a minimum sentence of three months and a maximum of five years. I had not had a drink in weeks. I was clean, sober and well. What happened next was really rather surreal. The judge referred to none of the copious documentation in my defense.

The only notation he quoted from my case file was that my probation officer had stated that at our last meeting, the one at which I was in pieces, I had told her I had not been attending AA meetings and seeking help because I had stated to her that I was “too busy.” Speaking entirely out of order I blurted out that I had never said any such thing and repeated to him the facts of what had actually been said between us. I can’t possibly see how “I’m too sick” can possibly be mistaken for “I’m too busy.”

I have no idea what went on there, but it appeared that someone had altered the facts, and I knew it wasn’t me. The judge dismissed my explanation, stating that my attorney had had time to review the file and he was going to stand behind the “I’m too busy” quote. He referred to nothing else in the file. He stated that I was to be confined to three months in Wayne County Correctional Facility because I might as well “dry up” there as well as anywhere else.

And that was that. I turned to my family briefly and blew them a kiss, and I was immediately led into a back room of the courthouse reserved for us criminals and at that point began serving a three-month sentence on the basis of one stolen pill—a felony.

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