Life Savers
by Eddie Shoebang
November 02, 2006- About 60 miles northwest of central Phoenix is Wickenburg, a small town founded by an Austrian man who discovered $30 million in gold there during the late 1800s. Nowadays, it’s mostly a pit stop for Valley residents on their way to Las Vegas, the gold rush of the 21st century.
But for some teenagers and young adults suffering from substance abuse, the town serves as an escape from the rush of daily life, the highs and lows of drugs. For them, Wickenburg offers a chance for salvation at Gatehouse Academy.
Gatehouse, founded in 2000, is located on the east side of the wealthy suburban outpost. It looks like a small real estate office. The main parking lot holds, at most, six cars.
Little there suggests this is an academy of any sort. But Gatehouse isn’t just a school; it’s a rehab center that teaches its young residents how to save their own life.
To attend is a gift in itself. Most of the alternatives to Gatehouse are 30-day centers that may sober users up, but do little in terms of helping them make lifestyle changes.
Gatehouse has a capacity of 60 residents – all of them 17- to 25-year-olds who stay for one year.
The program focuses on group therapy and the 12-step program, which originated in Alcoholics Anonymous. There are psychiatrists and therapists on the campus to evaluate the residents, along with volunteers who teach art, music and even horseback riding.
But what helps these kids the most, they say, is each other.
A UNIQUE APPROACH
Brittney C. appears to be a typical 18-year-old girl with a fashionable haircut. She’s interested in art and quick to smile.
When she speaks, her words aren’t littered with awkward pauses or “ums.” She’s brimming with confidence and appears to possess direction in her life.
That wasn’t always the case.
Three months ago, Brittney was arrested for possession of methamphetamines and given the choice between jail and rehab. It was a hard decision, especially since she had been in other rehabs that didn’t help her. She expected Gatehouse to be full of “potheads.” Instead, she found people with the same life experience as hers.
“Nothing has really replaced the habit for me,” Brittney said. “I’m learning to like myself and discovering what I like to do. It’s hard, but in a good way. There’s a strange sense of community here and they make you really look at yourself.”
Though she sounds strong, Brittney admits she has weak moments as well.
“There are times I’ve wanted drugs,” Brittney said. “I still have cravings. But I want sobriety more and I work through all that.”
This life-changing attitude is the product of a community-based program where Brittney receives advice and counseling from her peers. Instead of medication and therapy, Gatehouse puts more emphasis on the community.
CHURCH OF SOBRIETY
The daily schedule for residents like Brittney follows the same pattern. From Monday to Friday, the day begins at 6:30 a.m. and includes things like school and group therapy. Residents also engage in activities such as tai chi, yoga, auto repair and art.
Though everyone’s schedules vary, there is a common thread. Each day at 9:30 a.m., the community gathers for the morning circle. Inside, the seating arrangement resembles a church with the folding chairs in two sections.
Like a church, there are those in the community who are the faithful and those who are a little restless.
The morning circle acts as an anchor, to remind residents why they are here and to let them know if they are falling behind in their ultimate goal of sobriety. Three things occur during the circle: confrontations, concerns and confessions.
The confrontations can be exhausting. A resident stands up, calls out someone in the community and confronts them with brutal honesty. There are usually too many to get through in the time allotted.
“When you wipe, what I can only assume is your snot, on the wall, it makes me feel angry.”
“When you don’t wake up in time for a meeting or class it makes me feel pissed off and frustrated.”
Concerns are warnings to someone that they might be losing focus in the program.
“To the girls being loud and attention-seeking. It made me feel annoyed and irritated.”
During confessions, a member of the community stands up and admits any recent setbacks. This is the only time the room shifts in mood, mostly because these statements carry more weight. Someone has fallen behind and it’s up to the community to help pick him or her back up.
On one particular morning, a tall, muscular teenager wearing a yellow polo shirt walks to the front of the room to confess. With his arms crossed, he admits that he stole three magazines over the weekend from the local Bashas’ and ran off the property.
These are huge crimes, and the sustained hush from the room verifies it. After an awkward silence, one of the instructors in the back of the room stands up.
“This may not be the right forum to ask you this, but why do you keep screwing up, man? Do you even like yourself?”
The teenager uncrosses his arms and, for a moment, seems vulnerable enough to answer the question honestly.
“I’ve never liked myself.”
This young man has reached rock bottom and, if he wants it, Gatehouse aims to pull him through.
Collin Kelly-Gordon, who attended Gatehouse when it first opened and has stayed on as a staff member, has been moderating the circle this morning. He urges the young man and the rest of the community to do the 12 steps, something he’s been repeating throughout the meeting.
“We are a community of second chances,” Kelly-Gordon says. “But what do we do with second chances? We stomp on them and ask for more. Working the steps saved my life and they’ll save yours.”
LIVES CHANGED
Glenna Conway is the marketing director for the academy and a graduate of the Gatehouse program. She began the program at 22 with an OxyContin addiction that she kept up by stealing from her parents. Conway was skeptical of Gatehouse because of her experience with 30-day rehabs.
“I was 19 and I was with people in their 50s,” Conway said. “I couldn’t relate to them at all.”
It was Conway’s mother who found Gatehouse and forced her to apply. The timing was perfect and Conway suddenly found herself wanting to leave her old life behind.
Though it worked for her (other employees call her the poster child of Gatehouse), Conway admits that the program isn’t for everyone.
In her office, there is a plaque on the wall to the right of her desk. It reads “Jonathan M. Coates 11/11/83 – 7/6/05.”
“Coates was here for 11 months, left, relapsed and overdosed,” Conway said. “I have that there as a reminder.”
The plaque is the final lesson of sobriety the academy teaches: some people can’t be saved.
Chris K. is 21 years old and, to date, has been at Gatehouse for 11 months. He will be graduating in three weeks and moving on to the Gatehouse College Campus in Prescott where he’ll study equestrian science and learn how to re-enter society.
“Life in itself has replaced my cravings for drugs,” Chris said. “I’m reborn with new eyes.”
This was the first rehab Chris ever attended and he wants to be sure it’s his last. He doesn’t want to experience the shame he felt when he first came here again. And though he’s leaving Gatehouse, he’s taking a piece of it with him.
“I’m not really leaving behind the people I met here,” Chris said. “A lot of them will be going to Prescott with me (when they graduate). This is the first time in my life that I have friends that care.”
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