Never Too Late Read online

  never

  too late

  A POST HILL PRESS BOOK

  ISBN: 978-1-61868-959-7

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-960-3

  Never Too Late

  © 2014 Amber Portwood with Beth Roeser

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Cover design and photography: Travis Franklin

  Interior design and typesetting: Neuwirth & Associates, Inc.

  Post Hill Press

  109 International Drive, Suite 300

  Franklin, TN 37067

  posthillpress.com

  I owe this all to my baby, Leah.

  Without her, I don’t know where I would be today.

  contents

  1

  What Happened?

  2

  How to Make and Break a Family

  3

  Adventures in Anderson

  4

  Facing the Music

  5

  Happily Ever After, For A While

  6

  Falling to Pieces

  7

  Behind the Scenes Destruction

  8

  There’s More Than One Way to Rehab

  9

  Nothing Left to Lose

  10

  Crash Landing

  11

  Shelter from the Storm

  12

  Thinking About Tomorrow

  Acknowledgments

  never

  too late

  1

  What Happened?

  You remember when the bell rang on the last day of school before summer vacation? That explosion of freedom you felt? If you could multiply that by a million, you still wouldn’t be close to the joy of walking out of prison after seventeen months of being locked inside.

  Seventeen months. I was twenty-three years old and I’d been in prison for seventeen months. Other people my age were getting used to life after college, hanging out with friends, finding jobs, and building their futures. And here I was, Amber Portwood, age twenty-three, a single mom, recovering drug addict, and MTV reality star, walking out of freakin’ prison after serving seventeen months.

  What the hell happened?

  How does a regular girl end up in a situation like that? Or had I ever been regular? How did I get so far away from the kind of life I meant to have? What was going through my head when I made the mistakes that brought me here?

  It’s a complicated story, I’ll tell you that much. But thanks to those seventeen months in prison, I had had a lot of time to think about the complicated things. Every night for over a year, I lay awake in my bunk staring out the window, just thinking. The lights in the yard were so bright I couldn’t even see the night sky. I just lay there alone and stared at nothing, going deep into my thoughts and trying to understand who I was and what I had done to my life.

  Those nights changed me in a real and serious way. They made me figure out who I really was and what I needed to do. And that gave me the focus I needed to put my heart and soul into changing myself for the better and getting out of that hellhole. You’re not living in a normal way when you’re locked up. You feel like you’re barely living at all. Physically and emotionally, you’re trapped in there just knowing that nothing you do really matters until the day you get out. And that’s if you’re lucky enough to be getting out. So what do you do with the time until then? You can drag yourself through it like a jailhouse zombie. You can let it beat you down. Or you can do what I did, use that time alone at night and take a long, hard look at what got you into the situation in the first place, and how you’re going to repair all the damage that’s been done.

  When I walked into that prison, I had a drug addiction that seemed completely invincible. One minute I was earning money and fame being featured on MTV’s 16 & Pregnant, giving birth to a daughter, and learning to be a teenage mom on camera. The next minute I was swallowing ungodly handfuls of prescription pills and losing myself in a haze of drugs as my life fell into pieces around me. My family fell apart. I lost custody of my daughter. The worse things got, the more pills I took. Nothing could make me stop. Two months in rehab, three months in jail, criminal charges, probation, drug court, and suicide attempts—none of it even made a dent in my addiction to pills. As the MTV cameras rolled, I was on a secret mission to destroy myself. I didn’t just go downhill fast. I motorcycled off a cliff.

  The people who followed 16 & Pregnant and the spin-off series Teen Mom are familiar with a lot of the main events in my story, not just from watching the shows but from the endless tabloid coverage they brought me. For some twisted reason, my life as seen on MTV became part of the entertainment news cycle, and sometimes it felt like half the world was watching me mess up. They watched as I struggled with anxiety and depression in the months after I had my daughter, Leah, and they saw me get my first prescription for Klonopin. While I wrapped myself in a cloud of painkillers and sedatives behind the scenes, audiences watched my world fall apart on the surface. The tabloids kept a close eye on me as my life exploded in one disaster after another: custody drama, battles with CPS, and fights between me and Leah’s father. There were even cameras in our home when one of our fights turned physical, a television moment that shocked the media and the public and eventually caused the court to press charges against me for domestic battery. To the outside world my life looked like a tornado of tears, anger, and ugly fights, and I looked like an irresponsible, immature kid with an uncontrollable temper, not fit to be a mom.

  But the reality was even darker than what people saw on screen. By the time Teen Mom was done, I was stuffing myself with insane amounts of prescription drugs, from anxiety medications to heavy-duty painkillers. I took myself to the edge of death with the amount of pills I swallowed, and that was only after I destroyed my relationships with friends and family to the point where there was nothing left but me and my addiction.

  I walked out of prison knowing it had saved my life.

  But still, I’d been there long enough. It was time to get the hell out of there and throw myself into getting back as much as I could of what I had lost. I had to believe that was possible, and I did believe it, with all my heart.

  My mom, brother, and nephew all came to pick me up from prison, and I’d never been happier to see them. I walked into their arms trying to play it cool, even though inside I was freaking out. Inside, I was doing the whole movie scene thing, falling to my knees and screaming for joy, kissing the ground or doing cartwheels. But on the outside, I didn’t know exactly how to act. In prison you’re always being watched, and you learn to carry yourself a certain way. It’s a different world with different people in it, and you adapt to it in ways you don’t even realize until you get outside. You have to adjust to the normal world again. It takes a while to let it sink in that you can spend the rest of your day—and your week, and your month, and your life—however the hell you want to. That’s a crazy change in lifestyle, and I was kind of reeling as I took it in.

  There was one thing I wasn’t uncertain of at all. When I got in the car with my family, I had my sights set on seeing my daughter, Leah. I was so excited to see her I wanted that car to hit warp speed. During the entire seventeen months I was in prison, I only saw my daughter three times. The first year, I didn’t see her at all. It was the most painful thing about being behind bars, and you better believe that every night I spent crying in there, I was crying over my daughter. But missing Leah was also what motivated me. I knew the worst effect my addiction had on my life was the distance I let it put between my daughter and me. So I worked my ass off to change mys
elf in prison, to learn and grow and take control of my life so that I could get back to being a mother to my daughter. Now I had entered the next phase of that mission, the real phase, and I couldn’t wait to see her and start the rest of our lives as a family.

  Even though I had my mind set on the road ahead, as we drove away from the prison, I couldn’t help looking back with a bittersweet feeling. As happy as I was to be out, it killed me to think of the women I knew who were still inside and had no chance of seeing their own children anytime soon. Not everyone back there was a saint, and there were some real bitches in the mix. But I’d gotten to know so many women in prison who were just like me and whose lives and experiences became a part of the lessons I learned there. I found true friends among those women, people who were by my side literally morning and night during one of the most difficult and lonely experiences of my life. They witnessed my struggle to change and all the determination I put into it, and they were the first ones to see the difference. My friends inside watched me make the difficult transformation from a drugged up mess into a person who was more clearheaded, calm, and focused than anyone would have thought possible. Many of those women were on journeys of their own. They had kids on the outside, too, and other relationships they had either lost or were struggling to hold onto. I wasn’t the only one trying to change in there, and I wasn’t the only one strong enough to do it. As a community, we helped drive each other and lift one another up through that struggle. Without that part of the experience, I wouldn’t have come anywhere near as far. So I held those women close to my heart, and I owed them a lot.

  Now that I had left those walls, though, we wouldn’t be allowed to have any contact with each other. Some of them would stay in prison for many more months, some for years, separated from their families and feeling further and further from the real world every day. It was heartbreaking, and it made me feel truly blessed to have my freedom and the ability to see my daughter again.

  Those were things I couldn’t take for granted. The path back to prison was still open behind me, I knew, and I wasn’t going to be stupid and fool myself into thinking I could never end up back there. It was only a matter of time before I would have to face the temptation of abusing drugs again. Getting out meant I had the freedom to make my own mistakes. And I knew how devastating my mistakes could be.

  My choices and actions had hurt the people around me badly, from the way I changed because of my drug addiction to my sudden and drastic decision to choose serious jail time over rehab. I’d left a lot of confusion and disappointment behind. But during my months alone in prison I came to understand that it’s never too late to turn things around.

  And it was like fate wanted to prove that to me the day I got out of prison. When my mom, brother, nephew, and I finally stopped somewhere to get a bite to eat, I got the greatest surprise I could have possibly gotten when I found my father standing in the restaurant.

  All of my effort to stay composed totally fell apart when I saw my dad standing there, with the rest of my family so close by. He didn’t live nearby anymore, and he’d been dealing with serious illness for years. So it had been a long time since I’d seen him, and it had been many years since my parents, my brother, and I were together in the same room. Between the four of us, there were a lot of incredibly painful memories, hurt feelings, and difficult disagreements. But that day was actual proof that it’s never too late for a family to get back to a place of love and affection, no matter what’s gone down between them during harder times.

  That day I felt like it was more obvious than ever how much my father and I had in common, just in terms of the mistakes we’d made and the things we’d gotten into. His alcoholism destroyed his relationship with my brother and me, to the point where we hated him as teenagers. But when it seemed like nothing could ever repair the damage his behavior had done, he was able to apologize and turn his behavior around, and we were able to forgive him. Now here we were together as a family, able to look at each other with real love and fight together to move forward. Years ago, my father had taught me a lesson I took a long time to understand. It was that it’s never too late to turn things around. No matter how low you think you’ve sunk, no matter how many bad things you’ve done, or how much damage you think you’ve done to your life, it’s never too late to change.

  That night I took a long bath and laid down in bed feeling like I was in heaven. From now on I’d be living with my grandmother, sticking to a quiet life, and focusing on getting on my feet and maintaining my sobriety. And whenever I could, I was going to see Leah. I couldn’t wait.

  This was the way it was supposed to be. No pills, no rehab, no fights, no jail. It didn’t seem so hard, did it? So how was it, exactly, that I’d wound up way the hell off course? Where exactly had I gone wrong? What had I been thinking? And now that I was out, could I really turn it all around?

  Like I said, it’s a complicated story, and there’s a whole lot more to it than what made it past the editors at MTV. The craziness of my life didn’t start when the cameras came. By that time, I had already experienced more danger, drama, and heartbreak than the producers had any way of knowing about. Being pregnant was a big deal, but it was only the latest drastic event in a life that had already taken many strange turns.

  Addiction. Mental illness. Death. Divorce. Betrayal. Violence. Suicide attempts. Felony charges. Rehab. Drug overdoses. Jail. Oh yeah, and there’s some sex and rock ‘n’ roll in there, too. But I’m going to tell you how it all happened. Maybe when I’m done, you’ll understand some of the weirder parts of the story, like the reason I walked away from my daughter to voluntarily serve time in prison.

  But I hope you’ll understand something else, too. Because as far as I’m concerned, this isn’t a story about how I fucked up and hit rock bottom. It’s about how I found myself when it seemed like I was completely lost. It’s about how I repaired what seemed completely destroyed. It’s the story of how I learned that it’s never too late to live a different way, no matter what you’ve done.

  And it’s not just a story about me. It’s about all the people I’ve learned from in my life. People like my brother, who stood by me and never gave up no matter how far gone I was. People like the women I met in prison, who showed me how a loving community can help you find the strength to stay on your feet. People like my father, the first person to prove to me that it’s never too late to make a change, do the right thing, and be there for the people you love.

  Everyone makes mistakes. Some of us make really, really big ones. But the biggest mistake of all is thinking nothing will ever get better. It is never too late to make things better.

  How do I know that? You’re about to find out.

  2

  How to Make and Break a Family

  The best place to start a story is usually the beginning, but sometimes that’s easier said than done. It might sound crazy, but I don’t remember much about my life when I was really young. I’ve blocked a lot of it out. Now, I’m not saying I had the worst childhood. It wasn’t the best, but I remember some good times with my mom and dad and my big brother, Shawn, or as I still call him, Bubby. Definitely, there were good times. It’s just that those good times are overshadowed by other times that were truly terrible.

  Things were never easy for my family. There wasn’t much money, and my mom and dad worked all the time to keep food on the table. It didn’t make it any easier that both my parents struggled with addiction. My dad’s par-tying and drinking was the main reason we moved from Florida to Indiana when I was just a baby. Down there he’d been kind of a wild child, and even after my brother and me were born there were a lot of clubs and bars and parties that made it hard for him to settle down and focus on his new family. It’s clear looking back that these kinds of issues were always an influence on our life. Addiction was always hanging over us, along with all the struggles and fighting that went with it.

  But my parents tried their best to do things right. They thought things would
be better in Indiana, where it was quieter, and for a while they were. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we did okay. My mom was a waitress, and my dad worked in construction. They were always working hard, long hours, for as far back as I can remember. Our parents took good care of us, the very best they could. A few years after the move, my mom even had another daughter, Candace.

  The first thing I remember when I think about those days is what a total daddy’s girl I was. I loved my dad so much. Some of my best memories from when I was little are of hanging out with him, listening to his records, getting my first exposure to bands like Heart, ZZ Top, and Guns N’ Roses. I love thinking about how he used to braid my hair in the mornings. My dad was my hero. We had a special bond from the very beginning, and I bet if you asked anyone who was there at the time they’d tell you what a beautiful relationship we had. I was so young that I can’t remember much more than those kinds of dream-like memories of hanging out with him on sunny days, the little-kid snapshots I have in my mind of us spending time together, laughing and hugging. But now that I’m older I see even more clearly how much I take after him, and I wonder if it was obvious back then. I imagine when the two of us were sitting around rocking out together to those records, we looked like two peas in a pod.

  Those memories are bittersweet, though. Because we didn’t have all that much time to be happy together, me and my brother and sister and parents, before it all fell apart.

  I was only four at the time, but I remember that night so clearly it’s like it’s a movie in my head. We were living in these apartments in Anderson, Indiana, and I was lying on the bottom of the bunk bed I shared with Bubby. Candace was sleeping in her crib down the hall, and our dad was watching TV in the living room. It was really late when my mom came home, said hello to my dad, and went in to check on her youngest daughter.