Blackout Girl

by Storm, Jennifer

• ISBN13: 9781592854684
• ISBN10: 1592854680
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2008-02-15
• Publisher: Hazelden

Summary

"Where the hell am I? How did I get here?"Beginning at the age of 12, Jennifer Storm asked herself these questions many times after waking from alcohol-induced blackouts. During her teens and early twenties, Storm turned to alcohol to deal with the traumas in her life. In addition to alcohol, she also experimented with drugs, and eventually began using crack to deal with the deep black hole of sadness, loss, and unworthiness that she felt inside herself.That is, until she awoke in a hospital psych ward and saw bandages on her wrists. "The doctor came in and said I was a very lucky girl to be alive," she explains, "and for the first time in my life, I believed it." She agreed to transfer to a rehabilitation center, though she wondered how life would be without alcohol and drugs. "Even as I asked myself this question, I quietly just knew I would never need them again. That inherent knowledge gave me a greater sense of peace than I had ever felt before. It was intoxicating in a whole new way."

Author Biography

Jennifer Storm is the executive director of the Victim/Witness Assistance Program in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. In 2002, Governor Edward G. Rendell appointed Storm as a commissioner to the Pennsylvania Commission on Crime and Delinquency. Her media appearances include frequent live and taped interviews on all major networks as a spokesperson for victims' rights. She has been profiled and appeared in We, Women, Central Penn Business Journal, Rolling Stone, Time, and many local and statewide newspapers.

Excerpts

INTRODUCTIONI climb out of my new SUV and close the door. I am wrapping my black wool coat tightly around me and checking the time on my Blackberry when my tired colleague joins me on the sidewalk. It's 4:15 a.m. and we have been out for about three hours. "What was the address Detective Carter gave you?" I ask. She pulls out a small piece of paper and reads off the address. I am not fazed to be on a dark street in a bad neighborhood in the middle of the night, because I've done that plenty of times in my sordid past, but this time is different. As we locate the house, I am keenly aware of how ironic this situation is. I walk up the cement steps and knock loudlyon the door. I hold my breath and silently say a prayer. "God, please be my voice; allow me to deliver this message with compassion and love. God, please be with me and them."The door opens and a frail, older, black woman in pajamas appears. "Good morning, Ma'am. Are you Mrs. Hunt, Jamie Hunt's mother?" I ask.Her eyes widen as she stutters out a "yes." "My name is Jennifer Storm, and I am the executive director of the Victim/Witness Assistance Program. This is my colleague, Amy. May we please come in, Ma'am?" She nods and opens the door for us to enter. In the living room, a small child plays on the steps. The woman says to an older man, "Honey, these people are from the county."He looks at us cautiously, realizing that we are not here with good news. He motions to the child to go upstairs. She pouts and gives me a dirty look as she stomps up the stairs. "What is this regarding?" he asks. Mrs. Hunt has taken a seat on the couch, and Amy sits down next to her. I ask Mr. Hunt if he would like to sit down, and he quickly responds that he is fine. I can tell he is half scared and half annoyed that we are in his home at this early hour. I kneel down in front of Mrs. Hunt. This is the part of my job that I dislike the most.It is the hardest thing a person can do, yet I do it with such ease that it almost frightens me. My voice goes into a very gentle but concise tone as I say, "At approximately 11:30 p.m., your son, Jamie, was shot twice on North Third Street in downtown Harrisburg."Her eyes widen and she gasps as her husband raises his hand to his forehead. I don't miss a beat, as I know I have to get this next sentence out as soon as I can. "He died instantly." Mrs. Hunt begins to let out a piercing scream that cuts the air like a knife. Amy immediately puts her arms around her and attempts to console her. Mr. Hunt quickly goes into the next room, shaking his head briskly back and forth, and he just mutters over and over again, "No, this can't be. No, I just saw my son tonight. No, it isn't possible." His desperate eyes meet mine and he says, "Are you sure it was Jamie? I was just with him." I meet his eyes directly and respond, "Yes, sir. We are positive. The coroner made a positive identification thirty minutes ago. Here is his number for you to call." I continue to hold his gaze an

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Excerpted from Blackout Girl: Growing up and Drying Out in America by Jennifer Storm
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