NO more

the inspirational true story of one womans journey.

secrets

Debbie H. Alger

Alger, Debbie H. No more secrets Copyright 2008 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author and publisher. Published by: Debbie H. Alger Cover Design by: Debbie H. Alger Cover Illustration by: Linda Jerrett

Digitally printeD by

ISBN 978-0-9810880-0-6 Printed in Canada

In order to do anything in the world worth doing, we must not stand shivering on the bank, thinking of the cold and danger, But rather jump in and scramble through as best we can.
sydney smith

Dedicated to my children, Jarrod and Jillian I hope you dance!

Preface
It is important for me to explain myself and why I am writing this now... the way I am. Please believe me when I say that I have no intent to hurt ANYONE or lay blame. I just need to say it....all of it. And please remember, this is from MY perspective in MY life and what I felt and saw at the time. There is no need to magnify or dramatize what has happened; it just happened...it is what it is. I have tried to write from an accurate account of my memory and feelings as I lived them. If I could have forgotten all of the hurt, I would not be writing about it today. But this is who I am. Did I remember events the wrong way? NO. Mostly I remember from the perspective of a small child... this being the most accurate and compassionate form because as a child I was willing to forgive and forget. I still am.... but Ive always wanted to know WHY it had to happen. Just tell me why....tell me you are sorry....be absolutely remorseful if you were wrong and apologize from the depths of your soul. Is that too much to ask? Perhaps it is... but that is all I have ever wanted. Say sorry and mean it. I need to write this for all the other people who have gone through their life wondering what is wrong with me? I always thought there WAS something wrong with me and I deserved all the crap because I WAS bad. I just want to, hopefully, help people understand the impact there is on someone elses life when you constantly browbeat and demean them. It is true that we are all a product of our environment. If children are raised with anger and hatred, they sometimes make it part of their life too. It doesnt mean we all grow up to be murderous, hateful people but we lose a

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part of who we really are who we could have been. We are empty inside and ache for the love and compassion we all deserve. Why is something that sounds so easy, so very hard to find? Living in a household where the very person I loved the most, constantly told me how bad I was or would be, I grew fearful of everyone and everything, including myself. I did not put any worth in myself because I believed; I would be bad no matter what I did. I was told so. Low self esteem turns you inward and if you dont like what you see inside, you believe you are totally worthless and disposable and that you are without any rights. This is not true. But until I learned how to find myself and believe in me, I was stuck in that place. Some people give up and just believe what they are told... they lose who they are and have no power to fight for themselves. If you have nothing to believe in, what is the point of being here? Some people give up... but I couldnt. Somewhere, somehow, I learned to trust in something far more powerful than anything on this earth. Not because I had seen it but rather, I just believed. What harm did it do me to believe? It made me stronger and more determined to prove, if to no one else but myself, that I was worthy of walking on this earth and being happy and prosperous. This is MY purpose for writing this book. I have not written this from a fictional basis, as some had suggested I should. It would have meant I was still in hidingwith my secrets. I cant hold these secrets anymore. I dont need to hide who I am or who I have been. I want anyone who reads this to believe that there is nothing wrong with THEM, no matter what they have been told and programmed to believe. Secrets hurt. They hurt you from becoming the very best person you can be and they keep the other person from being accountable for their actions. So if you are reading this book, take what you need from it or take nothing at all. However, if you identify with

any one aspect of this writing and are on the road to selfdiscovery, then I have served my purpose. I thank you for giving me the opportunity of standing naked in front of you and cleansing my very soul. God Bless.

Introduction
As I enter the kitchen, I see the red light of the answering machine flashing. I hope its the girls calling to go dancing tonight. I press the button. A voice echoes throughout my house, sending shivers of ice up my spine. Its her. Why wont she leave me alone? Why wont all of them leave me alone? They haunt me. Lurking around every dark corner, waiting to pounce on me and devour my soul. I reach to delete her message but instead I play it back again. Yea, Connie is dying and I have to get hold of her kidsI know you have the phone number I want ityou call me back. I curse her with every profanity that enters my muddled, angry mind. How dare her! She thinks she is still entitled to tell me what to do. I erase her message. I tell myself that I will not call hershe can go to hell. Tossing and turning all night, sleep eludes me. I tell myself to let it go, let it be. I cant help anyone; this has been taken out of my hands long ago. Its not my responsibility. After having been away from here for almost eighteen years, I returned less than two years ago to start over. It wasnt as if I was in hiding or anything but I had no need to connect with any of them; I just wanted to be left alone. Connie found me. The hard, raspy voice on the other end of the line said it was Connie. She wanted me to meet her. Common sense warned me to stay away, my emotions said, Shes your sister, shes in trouble. I told her Id think about it. A cold November evening finds me driving around the city, looking for her place. I still havent decided whether I

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will actually go there but after what seems like hours, I pull up in front of a house. What am I doing here? I tell myself again, not to get involved but I dont listen. I approach the front door. Hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, I turn to walk away. The door opens and an old lady pops her head out, her voice cracks through the night. Debbie? Where are you going? I freeze; unable to move, unable to speak. My mind races; this cant be Connie. This stooped body & scratchy voice belong to someone else, not Connie. She was always a stunning beauty, cocky & deliberate in nature. This voice snaps like an elastic band in my mind, Are you going to come in or just stand there? Limited lighting in the house doesnt hide my surprise. She speaks, guess I dont look much like I used togotta get my teeth fixed. Her hair is matted and dry, her gnarled fingers gripping the cell phone like it is her lifeline. Her eyes reveal the painshe needs a fix. She tells me her story. Like casting seeds into the wind, her words scatter throughout the room. She had been through rehab and on her way to a full recovery when circumstances threw her back into the black hole. It wasnt her fault, she tried. Im unable to concentrate on what she is saying; her physical appearance has me mesmerized. I try to find some clue that would tell me this is Connie. The telephone barely rings as she snaps it open, turning to whisper the words, just try harder, I need it now! The minutes pass like hours; I need to get out of here run. I feel like Im being choked, my eyes burn, my heart aches. I want to say, Connie, what have you done? I cant speak the words. Its late. As I back towards the door and reach for the doorknob, she throws her arms around my neck. Dont judge me its not my faultpromise youll call me tomorrow, she says. I promise.

My sobs echo in the truck as I drive home. Why now why ever? Why did I have to know all this? I cant save her. I cant allow myself to be pulled back into this family, into their hell. I cry, Please God, save hersave me! I feel the warmth on my backmy angels are near. Two days pass. Her image burns in my mind, in my soul. She IS my responsibility, shes my sisterI will help her. She is agitated, her eyes darting back and forth, watching for the boogieman. She needs money. If she doesnt come up with a thousand dollars tonight, they will kill her. My mind races, I dont have the money. I have credit cards. I drive to several bank machines and by some miracle; I am able to draw out the cash. She takes the money and tells me where to drop her off. they will kill her if she is seen with anyone. I watch as she walks down the dimly lit street to meet her predator. She has cautioned me not to follow herjust wait. I look at the numbers flashing on the clockfifteen minutes has passed. This is absurd, what am I doing! What if they kill her anyway and I just sat here, waiting. Just as I start the truck, I see her coming. Thank you God! She climbs in. Take me home, quick she says. that smell pierces my nostrils but its so much stronger now. When I asked her earlier what it was, she told me crack she is addicted to crack cocaine. As I pull up in front of her house, she says, Its late, you dont have to come in. Im going to bed. She seems much calmer now as she walks away, waving over her shoulder. Driving home, I think how quickly the last few days have changed my life. My life had been simple; I was working, building my house, minding my own business. Now Im sneaking around in the cold, black night trying to find money to pay off drug dealers to save my sisters life. Well, at least its all over. She hands me a stack of money. Here, I sold my jew-

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elry. I told you Id pay you back, she beams. You are the only one who would help me. I know we havent always got along in the past, but that will all change now. She looks so much better, having bathed and washed her hair but still far beyond her forty-eight years. My mind wanders back to a time when we were childrenso many secrets. How could one family have so much drama and dirt? As I look at Connie, I see a three year old holding a worn, torn teddy bear. She carried it everywhere until one day, it was gone. Where did it go? The words break through my thoughts. Whatever happened to that teddy bear you always dragged around with you? She looks at me, a distant sadness in her eyes. Digging through a drawer, she pulls out a picture of her, Danny and me when we were just children. Laughing, I comment on our hairstyles and the fact that my tongue is hanging out someone must have said cake. She hasnt heard me. Looking at the picture, she mumbles, this was my teddyI was bad one dayshe grabbed me by the arm and pulled me outsidegarbage truck was in the alleyI was standing behind the truck, she grabbed teddy from me and threw it in the truckhe drove away with my teddyI was bad. My heart sank as I tried to fight back the tears. As I put my arms around her, she threw the picture to the floor. No big deal, it was just a stupid teddy she said. Days laterDebbie, you have to help me! they want more money now. I lied to you, I owe them another five thousand dollars! she sobs through the phone. Five thousand dollars! I dont have that kind of money! I screech back at her. The weeks dragged by with me being pulled in and out of Connies drug world. I listened to the stories of terror, I watched her shoot a hell through her veins and smoke a sweet smelling rock she called crack. I trusted what she

told me. Maybe I just wanted tomaybe it was my way of burying the guilt. I wanted to believe she would get better, that we would have a second chance to make all the wrong, right. I needed to help her. After awhile, I learned everything she had said, was a lie. And why wouldnt it be? She was an addict, they are not known for telling the truth. She was very convincing and I was completely nave. I had never been subjected to this world and had to trust what she saidshe was my sister. Truth was, I couldnt help her. She couldnt help herself. She had fallen so far down into the black hole, I couldnt get her out. I gave upI walked away. It was almost two years since that day and now here I was, listening to this answering machinethe voice, not Conniesher voiceordering me to do what she said I had to do. I called her the next day and told her I didnt have the phone number that she was looking forshe called me a liar. I asked her for information on Connieshe said she wasnt at liberty to give that information out. I told her to go to hell and never call me again. I cried, I screamed, I begged God to help. I felt a warm hand on my backan angel. I heard a voice speak, It is time for you to write. This is my story

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