Off the Rails | susanburrowes.com

Starvation, Utah

Off the Rails: One Family's Journey Through Teen Addiction

Excerpt in Two Voices

About the Book

Hannah

I’m in a wasteland with a bunch of messed-up

street urchins who are so bored that they want to fix me. I look

at this bunch of hobos and whores and know they have nothing

to teach me. They are dirty, they stink, and they are meaner

than hell. At least they’re mean to me. They seem to like each

other just fine. They sit near the fire in the freezing Utah desert

and chat away, like they’re at some fucking Girl Scout Jamboree,

watching me on the edge of camp with sideways glances, all

smug like I am carrying Ebola, and they have the cure.

I’m not allowed to join the group until I write my life

story, and they are making me live on the edge of camp until

I do. I close my eyes and try to imagine [my boyfriend] but the images

that come are my mom’s face when I was

leaving, and my dogs trailing me out to the van like we were

going for a ride. I tuck my earlobes up into my cap, and decided

right then and there that I will have to go through the motions

to get out of here as fast as possible. They are trying to get

inside my head by knowing about my life, and if that’s what it’s

going to take to get out of here, then fine. I can crap out some

drama for them, let them stir it around, and get on the next

flight home.

The therapist here, Jason, comes the next day, crunching

over the scattered patches of new snow with his beat-up work

boots and camo pants, and I am all good girl, telling him I’m

ready to write my life story.

“That’s good, Hannah,” he rasps, in a look-through-you

kind of way. “You can sit in on group session today, and then

start the assignment during personal time.”

Great, I have to let the bitches take me apart, and then I

will have to take myself apart. Why? I’m fine just the way I am.

I’m fine. But the fire looks warm, and my mother’s sad face is

waiting just behind my eyelids, and so I gather up my shit and

join the group. Surprisingly, the bitches do not jump on me.

Maybe it’s a welcome gift. I listen to them, these girls who have

been abused and raped, the alcoholics, and the drug addicts. I

admit, mostly I think, “Get over yourselves, bitches.” But who

is this little girl, she couldn’t be more than thirteen years old,

why is she here? Who gave this girl heroin?

Mom

As November begins, the loneliness gathers around Hannah

like the darkness of the shortening days, and she finally writes

an abbreviated story of her life. We receive it the way we will receive

all of her communication. Letters and journal entries are collected in

mailbags from the scraggly, filthy groups of kids living in the vast,

cold, high desert, and processed by an office person at Second

Nature—2N as they call it, then shared with us online.

The writing, when we finally see it, is a scrawl, and I

picture Hannah, hunched over in the cold, layers of stained

clothing like I see on the website pictures making writing awkward,

maybe one glove off as she balances a notebook and a

blunt pencil stub. The content itself is in as much disarray as

the writer, out of order, confused, and rambling. The paper

shows the grime and smears of rough living, and I can almost

smell the campfire smoke wafting up from the pages I print

out. I gather the pages up and walk softly down the stairs to

her room, wanting to be alone with Hannah for a few minutes

before sharing her writing with Paul. Curling up on her bed,

still unmade and gritty, I push sketchbooks, dirty clothes, an

empty cup, and a spool of thick wire out of the way with my

foot and read her version of the family life that Paul and I have

built around our children. I read her bitter complaints about

her treatment at the private schools she attended, the deaths

of her grandmothers, the tension with her little sister, and her

over-identification with the troubled children at school. I am

puzzled. Where, I ask, are all the good times we had as a family?

After months of living in fear of our own daughter, our family finally came to a decision. Devastated, hoping we weren't making a terrible mistake we sent our child away to live in the sub- zero cold of the Utah winter. There she slept in a sleeping bag in the snow, cooked in a rusty coffee can and hiked miles over unforgiving terrain. When she was well enough we moved her to a locked down residential treatment center. It broke my heart. She said it saved her life.

This is the story of a mother and daughter first losing, and then trying to find each other through the fog of drug addiction and self-harm. It is told through both of their voices, for a rare, honest and compelling view inside wilderness and residential treatment programs.

More praise for "Off the Rails: One Family's Journey Through Teen Addiction"

“Susan Burrowes provides raw insight for families faced with the unexpected chaos of a troubled teen. This honest account of one family's journey from a stable, loving home through the bowels of downtown Santa Cruz and three separate treatment centers is a great read for anyone interested in taking a peek behind the rehabilitation of a child gone ‘off the rails.’”
—Kristin McCandless, recovery counselor

“This story is inspiring. It is helpful for other parents to hear about how mistakes can help us learn and grow into more effective parents.”
—Dr. Catherine Towson, LMFT

“In Off the Rails" Susan Burrowes and her wildly defiant daughter Hannah, take us through misdiagnosis, overdose, and treatment for addiction. We hear from mother and daughter: Susan describes the agonizing decisions parents face. Hannah shares the experience from her perspective; a true gift to readers. Struggling families will connect with this compelling book. It clarifies what happens when you send your child to wilderness therapy or residential treatment, how high-risk kids fall through the cracks, how finding help feels impossible, and how schools, professionals, and parents must work together.”
—D’Anne Burwell, Author of Saving Jake: When Addition Hits Home

"Alternating voices, Susan and Hannah Burrowes, a frantic mother and her troubled young daughter, narrate an all-too-frequent tale: a beloved child's rapid spiral into addiction and chaos coupled with a woefully inadequate health care system. Off the Rails shines with clarity and unstinting honesty about the pitfalls and sources of help needed not just for a child, but a family to recover."
—Linda Dahl, author of The Bad Dream Notebook

"Off the Rails should be required reading for parents and professionals who deal with families coping with teen addiction. With courage and searing honesty, Susan Burrowes shows the complexity and heartbreak of having an adolescent daughter whose erratic behavior from addiction spins the entire family "off the rails." Writing a two-narrator memoir, Burrowes invites the reader to enter into the intimate thoughts and raw feelings of both mother and daughter as they struggle to chart a path to health and recovery. A dynamic, inspiring read."
—Maureen Murdock, author of Unreliable Truth: On Memoir and Memory

“Off the Rails is a searing account of a family’s struggle with their daughter’s descent into drug abuse. Told from the perspective of both mother and daughter, it is at once heartbreaking and hopeful, but always devastatingly honest. Eye opening and unforgettable."
—Lauren Kerwin PhD, Psychologist

Recognition for "Off the Rails: One Family's Journey Through Teen Addiction"

2020 Independent Press Award Winner for Family & Parenting

2020 Independent Press Distinguished Favorite for Addiction & Recovery

2020 14th Annual National Indie Excellence Award Finalist in Addiction & Recovery, and Sponsor Prize Winner

2019 New York City Big Book Award—Winner in Addiction & Recovery

2019 IBPA Ben Franklin Awards: Silver Medal Winner in Parenting and Family Issues

2019 Next Generation Indie Book Awards: Finalist in Parenting/Family

(Non-fiction)

Or reach out to your local independent bookseller.