I took her home, fed her and she went to bed for a while.

The next day was spent talking, rehashing, crying and accepting her addiction. She agreed to go into a rehab facility.  I called my insurance company and they recommended St. Mary’s Hospital or Fair Oaks, in Delray Beach. Residential program. $500 to get in and $100 per week thereafter (or so.)  We tried St. Mary’s first, but they didn’t have a bed. So we went to Fair Oaks and signed up on Monday morning. She entered into rehab on Monday, June 19^th, of her own free will.

In rehab, they give you access to their medical doctors, counselors, psychiatrists, etc. I was told to expect at least a 3-5 week stay. She left after 3 days, with a handful of prescriptions and orders to follow up with her psychiatrist, which happened to be on staff at this facility. The same psychiatrists. The same psychiatrists that decided to put her on tramadol and clonazepam (instead of xanax).

She came out of rehab with more narcotics than she had at any one time before she went into rehab. Needless to say I was not happy, but I was told they are the professionals, and they needed to bring her off the pills slowly, and these meds would help. The rehab facility tried unsuccessfully to get her to stay at least five days. She would not agree.

She took the pills the way she was supposed to and started detoxing. Things were good … for a while.

The fights between her and her boyfriend became more frequent and more intense. There were fights about one of them stealing the other’s pills, flushing the pills or selling the pills. Fights about money, or lack of it.

On July 4^th, 2007, her birthday, the day started out pretty good but quickly turned sour when she began drinking (while on pills). Her and her boyfriend came to our house for a little while, then the alcohol really kicked in and they started fighting. She left in her car and he on a skateboard. I got a call a little while later from the boyfriend, she parked in her driveway, locked herself in her car with a bottle of wine and was threatening to take a bunch of pills and finish a bottle of wine, to celebrate her birthday.

When I got there it was a full blown screaming match going on, complete with neighbors coming out to see what the ruckus was. It started pouring rain as I tried to reason with her through the rolled-up window to get her out of the car and stop drinking. She took a pill bottle out and started to open it. At that point I went to her shed and got a golf club. I was not going to stand by and watch her down pills and chase with wine. My intention was to break the car window if necessary to prevent her from taking the pills, she was already wasted. When I got back to the car she was on the phone. She had called 911 – “her mother was coming after her with a golf club.” Great. Whatever, I would go to jail if it meant preventing her from doing something stupid.

The deputies arrived in force, promptly cordoning off each party to get their respective stories. An hour later, the deputies took me aside and explained that my daughter was not doing anything wrong. She was old enough to drink, she had legal prescriptions, and wasn’t driving under the influence. Not illegal to sit in a parked car on your property and eat pills and drink alcohol. I brought up the open container law, they said it wouldn’t apply since she was out of the car when they got there. He suggested I go to the courthouse and Marchman Act her if she needed evaluation, and in the meantime, see if she would let me dispense her medication. Fat chance. After they left, I tried to talk to her, my mistake. She called the deputies back to have me removed from her property. The deputies again urged me to use the Marchman Act. I left, disgusted.

The next week I went to the courthouse and picked up the paperwork for the Marchman Act. She must have suspected because she made sure I knew that if I tried to commit her that I would find her dead, swinging from a rope, and it would be my fault. She didn’t want to be committed, nothing was wrong with her.

The fear of her making good on that threat kept me from going through with the courts. Things got a little better over the next month, with only a couple of minor incidences.

Then in October of 2007, the sheriff was called to my daughters house again. They had a fight, he supposedly slammed her into the wall, took her keys and left. Her boyfriend denied this, but was arrested on domestic battery charges. The house was a disaster, doors broken, tv’s thrown about and busted, dishes broken everywhere. She was barely coherent, slurring and stumbling. She wanted him out. In the course of 36 hours, his parents came and moved him out and I moved her in with us down the street.

The next day I went to the courthouse and filed the paperwork for Marchman Act. The fear in my stomach was overwhelming. I explained in great detail her threats and why it took me so long to file a Marchman Act, and to please watch her carefully as I felt she would go through with her threat.  I didn’t understand the process for a Marchman Act. Once you file the paperwork, the court has three days to serve her with papers notifying her that she must appear before the court within 10 days. 10 DAYS!  Gee, nothing could go wrong in 13 days… I needed to get her help NOW, not 13 days from now!

(Continued in Part 4)