The beginning of my recovery was the culmination of many things. I had gotten tired of trying to die, my husband (who was and is the great love of my life) and I separated and I needed to learn to take care of myself. It crossed my mind that at some point in the future, my daughter would come back into my life, and I needed to be able to be there for her. And I had arrived at rock bottom. My survival instinct had kicked in and I was ready to face myself and take responsibility for what my life was, as well as what it was going to be. After my 8th suicide attempt, I had finally started to consider getting better rather than absolute surrender to the darkness and that’s when I met Delilah.
When I left the hospital, I had gotten a referral to Red Rock Behavioral Health Services. I wasn’t really sure what they could do to help me. I figured it would be all pills and head shrinking. I went there at the appointed time, on the appointed date to meet with some chick named Delilah. I expected her to be some worn out social worker who would spew slogans and catchphrases at me and tell me how strong I really am. Imagine my surprise when I met her and she grinned from ear to ear, introduced herself, and then said, “I’m here to help you in any way that I can.” She’s a short plump ball of pleasantry, and I had this immediate feeling that things really were about to get better... but I tried to rein that feeling in because I didn’t want to be disappointed. She was a symbol of a fresh start, and I wasn’t sure that I had another fresh start in me.
We went to her office, which was a warm and cheerful place... it was a direct reflection of who she is. I sat down on the VERY comfortable sofa and took a deep breath. So, it begins... “recovery”. I didn’t even know what that meant. Fortunately, Delilah did. She explained to me that she would be my case manager and help me navigate the process of getting back on my feet. She explained that while she would provide me with resources, it would be my responsibility to use them. I didn’t expect that. I thought she was supposed to fix me! How could I possibly be responsible for my own recovery? It couldn’t keep a cactus alive! It suddenly seemed to me that this was going to be like the band playing on as the Titanic sank.
Then she did something that I never saw coming. She asked me what my goals were. I told her that I wanted to be okay and not have this constant misery and fear screaming through my head at all times. She said, “So you want a sense of good wellbeing.” YES! That was it! I wasn’t operating under the idea that everything had to be happy all the time, I just wanted to be okay when it wasn’t.
She talked to me for over an hour, walking me through the process of not only reaching my goals, but establishing what those goals were. She had me rank those goals in order of importance, which I did, and instead of throwing me into the deep end of the wellness pool, she guided me to the shallow end.
I had already visited the med clinic and had several prescriptions. I hadn’t felt a difference yet, but I was hopeful. She told me that getting the right meds would probably take a while and advised me to be completely honest about how I was feeling physically and mentally when talking to my prescriber. I felt a pang of disappointment that I wouldn’t be cured immediately by meds, but I knew from talking to Delilah, it was going to take more than pills and platitudes for me to have a better sense of wellbeing. “Wellbeing”. That was her word. Not “fix”, “cure” or “happy”. I was going to find my own way; she was there as a combination of a coach and cheerleader. The game was mine to play.
About a year after my first visit with her, I was living on a friend's couch, still looking for the right meds, and wondering if I was kidding myself. The final suicide attempt had happened a few months prior, and triggered a change in the approach to my meds. Suddenly there was a small change... I didn’t want to die, and my brain wasn’t screaming like it used to. I gradually stopped falling completely apart at every little thing. The meds started working. Now I just needed to start on creating a life for myself. I needed to learn how to live and thrive even though I had disorders. I needed to learn to manage my life. Delilah had suggested that I start going to support groups at Red Rock so I could gain an understanding of how my mind worked... or sometimes didn’t. I joined three groups and was at Red Rock 3 times a week. It helped, but I needed more, and I knew it.
Then Delilah asked me if I would be interested in moving into Red Rock’s housing program. It was temporary housing that was there to help people get back on their feet. I knew I needed to learn to take care of myself on a mental level, and I didn’t quite know where to start. Red Rock’s housing program would help. I would learn to function with my disorders, learn basic life skills, establish boundaries, and learn to take care of my whole self- mind, body, and spirit. I got on the waiting list and then did the only thing I could at that time...I waited.
While I was waiting, one piece of drama after another cropped up. I was handling most of them well, except for one... I missed my husband and the security he provided. On one occasion I called him and left him a voicemail tearfully telling him that I missed him and wanted him back. My living situation was not great at that point, and I called him out of pure desperation. After I did that. Something unique happened... I regretted the call. I wasn’t above begging before then, but all of a sudden, I was upset with myself for having done it. I decided to tell Delilah about it. When I told her, she got annoyed. “Girl, you better call him and take all that back right now! The reason you regret it is because you have found your sense of dignity! Call him now!” I was so stunned that I did exactly that. I got his voicemail and told him, “I want to apologize to you for my last call. It wasn’t fair to you or me. I am going to be okay on my own one way or another. I just wanted to let you know, and I am sorry... for all of it.” When I hung up, I looked at Delilah and she was smiling. I asked her what she was grinning about and she said, “You are making progress.” I stared at her like she had lost her mind. “How was me begging him to love me again progress?” She calmly replied, “I didn’t have to tell you what to say. You knew what needed to be said. You knew what was healthy for you and what wasn’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have even brought it up.” The end result of my calling him back was that he became open to talking to me again now that I wasn't putting all my woes in his lap to deal with. A few weeks later, we literally started “dating”, and would eventually become roommates as I continued on my own path of recovery. After a couple of years, we fully reunited because we had become a team rather than two people wrapped in a viscous codependent cycle with no end in sight.
Delilah made it a habit to sneakily point out my progress. She didn’t do anything FOR me. She just showed me different directions and let me walk down the path I chose. It wouldn’t be until years later that I would realize that she was one of the people God put in my path at the exact right time. She was the one who told me about the Peer Recovery Support Specialist program, where I could help people on their journey. She mentioned it to me casually...and it stuck. Seven years later I would go into the training for it and successfully get my state certification. That eventually lead to me getting my behavioral health case manager certification as well.
I once said that Delilah gave me a future. She replied, “No. You did that. I just told you about the resources available to you and you acted on them. Always remember that your recovery is in your hands, and no one else’s”. She was my case manager and became my mentor. I found myself wanting to be like her. She lives a life in service to others, and not many people can do that and keep it balanced. She does it with grace and dignity. It’s my goal to be like her, while still being myself and walking this path that is my life. She genuinely doesn’t know how inspirational she is to me. So, this is me, telling the world that Delilah Grayson didn’t save my life, but she helped me reclaim it. And it’s good.
