But today. It doesn’t matter. My son is lost in the chaotic world of addiction. He’s in pure survival mode.
And so am I.
The middle of the night awakenings are wearing on me…. Checking my phone for “the call”.
Apparently its called “anticipatory grief”
I don’t care what its called. I hate it.
I sink back into bed glad for one more day of hope.
Hope that a miracle will happen. That he will have a spiritual awakening. A moment of clarity. That he will suddenly devote his life to recovery as hard as he has devoted to his addiction.
My heart sinks a million feet when I get a glimpse of his pictures.
That boy. That all american boy that I’m just supposed to not talk about.
Detach they say.
Let him go. Let him hit rock bottom.
That phrase makes me laugh. Not a laugh of joy. Of sheer terror. Rock bottom? Losing a million dollar business, 1/2 million dollar house- hand built by my talented driven son; 2 beautiful babies who don’t know their daddy. His dignity, his respect. His livelihood, his honor, his dreams, his reputation, his honor.
Rock bottom?
A disease so powerful that it can make a man not care anymore. A drug so damn strong- thanks purdue- that it makes him lose 100 lbs in 6 months because food is an inconvenience compared to it’s euphoria.
But it’s not even euphoria anymore. It’s chasing the dragon….
Just trying to keep from getting sick every day.
And I chase my own dragon.
The dragon of despair….. Then a rush of relief….a glimmer of hope…..dashed with a sickening wave of disappointment.
But despite all this. I hold on. Because as long as I’m the mother of an addict, there’s the teeny tiny sliver of 🌠ⱧØ₱Ɇ🌠that I could soon be the mother of a recovered addict.
What a great documentary series on addiction and homelessness this channel has especially This one. He reminds me of my son. I suspect this was on a really good day because he doesn’t look very disheveled, but I also don’t know what he looked like before. Some of the comments say he died, but I didn’t research it.
Also my very assumption that he “should” look disheveled, is part of the stigma. He obviously has figured out how to make the streets work for him. He also doesn’t appear to have any mental Illness. This could be, would be my son if it wasn’t for his ADD component, I believe. His entrepreneur and driven ADD personality has him getting into more & more trouble with his use. He would like to just be this guy and enjoy his DOC like a smoker enjoys a ciggerette. But hard drugs don’t let you stay there. I believe this guy is an exception.
It’s important for these videos to show the human-ness of the invisible people-not just those who are homeless.
There is not a one answer solution to homelessness or addiction. Harm reduction IS one way to avoid help reduce long acting affects such as HIV and Hepatitis AND help get people connected to proffessionals, at least for a few minutes.
Isolation kills.
Another Californian I have huge respect for is Jen Elizabeth Here’s her instagram she’s a former addict and an author of This book which I just ordered. I’ll let you know what I think. ✔️🧾.
Addiction is one of those you-have-zero- clue until you’ve been there diseases.
I refuse to argue whether it’s a disease anymore, because just like in politics, you can’t change anyone’s mind. To me, too much energy is wasted on this argument, because are you really that much of a cold hearted person to use the “choice” argument to say these people don’t DESERVE help? If that’s the case then where’s does this argument stop? Would an AIDS patients fit with this theory? Who is the gatekeeper to decide who gets saved? Is it cops with the narcan? As a nurse, I know I can’t make that choice whether to treat patient or not, just because he made a bad decision, so I don’t think anyone else should play God either.
I’m devulging a whole chapter in my My Book coming out next year so I’ll stop. 🖐️🚫🛑
Random thoughts on this emotional Tuesday. Hope you enjoy the videos above.
Time to make the best of my ‘new’ title and find the hidden rainbow- right?
I was at work yesterday and had just ran to the cafeteria to grab lunch. I had the privilege of being able to eat alone in my office at this job. However, in my haste to get through lunch while doing some work on the computer, my plate had tipped, sending white rice all over the floor.
I fervently scanned the scattered pieces to find any glimpse of color. There didn’t seem to be ANY rainbows.
I stared at it.
How ironic. I had just told the housekeepers to stop straightening my desk in my office because they never actually cleaned it, they just shuffled all my papers together so I couldn’t find anything.
So now I had to sheepishly go ask them to please vacuum up my mess. I contemplated if I could possibly pick up every little piece of rice myself to avoid that.
It’s such a simple problem right?
No one will be the wiser!
Then no-one needs to cry over spilled milk. Or Rice.
My son was in full active addiction after a couple years of tragic downslide from having it all. Business, new house, family, money. All gone, of course. He now faced many charges of possession to feed his addiction, a few being felonies. His disease was telling him there was no way out, despite many options for recovery.
Basically just getting help would solve half his problems.
But as in true addiction- He couldn’t see a way out except to keep trying to work a few little jobs to save for a lawyer.
Which never happens. Keep in mind that’s been his story from the beginning of time. He just needs a little bit more money and everything will be alright.
So how, staring down at that rice imbedded into the doctor’s office- type old carpet; I became an addict. I became an overwhelmed hijacked brain.
I saw every one of those teeny tiny rice pellets as a HUGE problem. There was my failed business. That one is my ex-wife. There’s my kids I haven’t saw or supported in months/ years. There’s my IRS debt over there. Each one of my felonies stared back at me with such white rice starkness, I could hardly keep my gaze.
Trauma specialists say that when a traumatic event hits us at whatever age, it gets stored in the cells of our nervous system and time becomes frozen at the age we are. We shut down emotionally, in a sense, to stay at that place for self preservation. We refuse to listen to solutions or to people who remind us of that place that hurt us. There is virtually no way for the brain to move out of that place until it ғᴇᴇʟs sᴀғᴇ enough to.
That’s why jail, shame, threats, people telling them how ineffective they are or what a mess of their life they’ve made- DOESN’T work in FIXING it.
Furthermore, when people lose their pride, their sense of purpose, their identity (if their identity was wrapped up in their job or their relationship) they feel like they need justice from that first and foremost. Before a resolution.
So basically, everything is just too overwhelming for their frozen-in-time brain.
That rice was too overwhelming to clean up.
I snapped out of it and my healthy brain scooted each piece of rice together until I got a pile to throw away. Again and again until all the rice was gone.
My son, however, in his very hijacked brain keeps staring ( or avoiding) his pile of rice. He wants to run. He wants to hide. He says, Mom there’s no use, they (the cops) aren’t going to stop until I’m put away for good.
My tears flow on days like this.
My strong smart entrepreneur son is going to jail for satisfying his cravings like a smoker buying his ciggerettes, like me buying my chocolate chip cookies. He has a disease that sent him down this dark path of destruction and chaos and there’s not a damn broom or vacuum thing I can do about it.
