The heart that builds itself up to do the “tough love”, Fails miserably over & over again…
The heart that swears to never enable again, walks past her son’s picture & breaks down into tears of what he must look like now….. This Mom who melts into relief at seeing that green dot- of-life online today.
This Mom who becomes resentful at the lack of communication or caring about ANYTHING, Gets a lump in her throat when she sees his name…
In those moments; that some would call weakness; is a mom who loved this child for 8 1/2 months longer than his age…so 35 yrs…
And that’s ok, I don’t mind being called weak… because every day I get on the Mom groups and read of another heartbroken mother who got “The call”.
In those moments, I am filled with gratefulness that I have one more day, one more chance. I never want my daughter to say to me, “God I just wish he’d pop on & ask for money just one more time” Because if he’s gone he can’t ask for money… 😰
If he’s gone, we can’t hate him for having this disease, If he’s gone we can’t get mad at the complete mess of chaos that his illness has brought into our little family & that his unwillingness to get help has caused even greater torment.
If he’s gone, I can’t have hope for a better tomorrow…
That tomorrow might be the day he asks for help…..
So I stay true to the current pain & inconvenience, holding what boundaries I can, & telling him every single day that I believe in him & love him. 💜💕💫💕💜
My sincere condolences to this who have lost their loved ones 💟
These are the words I heard echo from a co-worker during a meeting today. She was talking about a client who didn’t want to go to a place of business in case he had to sit by a heroin addict.
If I was financially independent, I would have stood up and said: (well- yelled, “There are worse things than being a heroin addict, like being intolerant of humans who’s sins show on the outside!”
But I’m not, so I didn’t.
As it is, I sat there in my silence of suffering as usual.
Michael J Wilson in his book Loving Lions describes the impact as this
“I watch the impact that my addiction has, and it’s like watching a horror movie. You know something bad is going to happen and you want to yell at the person onscreen to not go into that basement, not to open that door, but they never hear you. The movie goes on and I am forced to watch, trapped within myself, unable to stop it. I feel helpless, I feel useless, and I feel worthless.”
I keep my struggle with my Lion seperate than other areas of my life. Or, I at least try.
Later on that day I was sending another patient to see a medical provider as scheduled, and she yells out, “I’ll be back, I’m going to see the drug dealer!” Haha, everyone laughs, while my insides fall the 1000 feet that it took me to build them up again after the comment earlier this morning.
Drinking or joking about “needing” a glass of wine, is all fun and games until you see the first phone call from the jail knowing it’s your beloved child who not only had that glass of wine, but couldn’t stop at one.
Loving lions also describes their (the person with a substance use disorder) ( in-)ability to fix that problem too:
“I do not have the ability to fix a problem that has me convinced it does not exist. I am not capable of putting myself into the challenging recovery process that is required to get well. I am not capable of coming up with a plan to fix a problem I cannot see clearly. I am not capable of fixing this without help. I am not capable of pulling myself out of this hole. “
Which brings us to a crossroads and to the normal model of “a disease”. How do you help someone who’s very disease won’t let them believe they need help?
It’s like a pimp. Convinces his girls that they can’t live without him, even though HE is the problem, engaging them in illegal activities, lowering their quality of life, risking their health, their freedom etc.
Drugs are the biggest pimpmobile ever and I wish that caravan hadn’t stopped in my town.
Just to top my day off, this Day in The Life of a Mom of a person with a Substance Use Disorder; I see a “Story” pop up on my son’s Facebook. He is quite new at Facebook, having only had it the last year or two when his addiction seared to new “heights” so to speak; so I was curious that he figured out that feature.
Much to my shock, I saw a conversation that he accidently posted on there, which was “seemingly like a drug deal”. Unbelievable. I frantically tried to message him to delete it. No answer. I knew there were people on his Facebook that were not “real” friends and would look at that as “ah ha see? He’s still at it, what a loser” or whatever people think of addicts. No, I’m not trying to cushion his fall. He’s fell so hard the last 2 years there’s no cushion left. I guess I’m just still a bit embarrassed of it all.
Shame and blame go right along with the agenda of addiction. For not only the addict, but the family.
My son finally answered my frantic messages. He said he doesn’t know how that conversation got on a story or how to get it off. I hurriedly explained with detailed screenshots how to get it off.
Then in true Nar-anon cringe worth fashion, I gave unsolicited advice & told him since he has warrants out, he probably should be more careful. He still insisted it wasn’t a drug deal.
Ok son. Over and out. 10-4 to this day. Another Day in the Life of a Mother of a person with a Substance Use Disorder.
The little girl with the shy smile, came over to me, as I was leaning against the counter in the kitchen. Her sticky fingers grabbed my hands and led me to the dining room table where the family was singing Happy Birthday to her new little sister.
She placed herself in the tall wooden chair and put my hands on top of it, then told me to stay there behind her. She Grandma for support. My heart melted.
The birthday girl’s Mom brought the My Little Pony cake in, as the familiar song rang out with happy smiles all around. 🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶
As I watched the plume of smoke rise up from the candles, I felt the tears stinging my eyes.
This was my little 6 year old granddaughter; who I managed to see a few times a year, despite living only a couple hours away.
The people in attendance were mostly her new family, my youngest son’s tribe as he forged into a new relationship and new life.
The previous life had held my eldest son, the family business, and all my other happy kids and grandkids.
As the grey smoke disappeared into the abyss, my eyes clouded in tears as I thought of the irony of that smoke.
The sweetness of life swirled up in the yummy pink fluffy frosting. The colored candles of adventure dripping with melted wax. The lightness of the flame flickering, taunting. The flame is what separates the light from the darkness. When the flame extinguishes, the smoke does its dance….
And oh, did our smoke dance. Our family had now joined one of millions ripped apart with addiction, specifically opiods which not so quickly, dominoed into heroin.
We can argue all day long about who’s fault that was, but it’s clear that anyone who was remotely vulnerable to addiction had some intense marketing help.
Over 200,000 thousand Americans have been lost to the opiod epidemic crisis. The recent Sackler family lawsuit has brought to light some factors of this.
But this isn’t what this story is about. This story is about a little girl and her grandma.
This Grandma, who tries to go to work, be a wife and a Grandma. Who tries to not let others see her pain. She plans Christmas parties and goes on outings with her other kids without mentioning him.
A grandma who spends her days trying to maintain some normalcy, not knowing if she’ll get “the call” that day. The dreaded call is known amoung mothers of addicts groups on Facebook. Hundreds, thousands of them. Almost daily, the scene repeats itself: wake up, click on Facebook, see a post saying “I got the call today”. You feel your body freeze in horror. Maybe this day, no facebook groups. Too depressing.
But today she didn’t. Today she made the mistake of mentioning him.
It was to the younger son- and he didn’t like it.
She mentioned that “He”, would probably be going to jail soon and she wondered if the younger son had any old work trucks that wasn’t being used just so he could get around until then. He said no, he got rid of them all.
Case closed. Then in saying our goodbyes, this Grandma mentioned to not say anything about the ‘jail thing’ to anyone. (Ya know, we have to keep the secrecy and shame of addiction rampant).
I thought.
He proceeded to tell his mom, me. His mom that he once revered as a young teen, that she needs to quit coming around and always talking about “him”. He went on to say that he doesn’t want to hear anything about how I’m helping the addict, because “HE” doesn’t want to be helped. As I started to explain, that’s the nature of the disease, it tells them they don’t need help; he rejected any explanation. He was not to be ‘educated’, not this day or any day.
My therapist would be so disappointed. I crossed so many boundaries. Boundaries of not letting people feel however they want to feel. Educating people who didn’t ask to be educated. Telling people what they should do. At that moment though, I didn’t care what my therapist thought. I had already fired him anyway, for not understanding and agreeing with harm reduction in addiction.
All I cared about in that moment, was that I had now lost another son to this monster.
I immediately felt my emotions elevating to freak out proportions. I was already jet lagged with fatigue due to a previous day and night full of anxiety and stress of a different subject and nature, so I was primed for a major meltdown.
And I obliged.
As my husband pulled away from my son’s house, I screamed in a fit of rage. I screamed at him to LET ME DIE!!! That I’m not doing this anymore! I’m not losing another child and going through another 2 or more years of not seeing this grandchild like I already had done with the addict’s children. My husband had to pull over and fight me in the snow for 2 hours as I let out the tears and pain and frustrations of trying to maintain normalcy the last few months. Of trying to find a reason to live, as I screamed:
“I can’t watch this play out anymore!!!! I can’t bear to see my family fall apart, my son go to prison, and me left with the strict instructions to NOT CARE or DO ANYTHING about it all”.
If this is screaming of unstableness, co-dependancy, and enmeshment; all are probly correct.
The anguish, the disappointment, the sheer agony of the ripple effect of addiction, is not something that you can describe to someone who hasn’t experienced it anyway.
So, here we are. The dead of winter. The dark, coldness enveloping my shoes and my heart as I stood in the middle of a dirt road in rural America, begging my husband to just let me die. I mean, he had a gun.
That’s right.
Concealed carry gun owner. Perfect. I thought. It’s not as if I hadn’t thought about it before.
Suicide is a darkness that’s hard to explain. It also doesn’t just happen (usually) as a knee jerk coping skill to a bad fight such as this. But this moment might be an exception.
The person in a full fledged emotional turbine such as this, just wants the pain to end. And in that tunnel of darkness, the distraught brain can’t see another way out.
But my husband wasn’t in agreement.
He took me home. Worn out. Defeated. Hopeless.
My son later sent texts that solidified that I “needed mental help” & he didn’t want “negative people around his daughters” and “when I decided to quit helping the ‘tweaker’ I could be in his life”. So there’s that……
Love, with strict conditions attached, from my very own flesh and blood.
Oh…. the ripple effects of addiction.
When everyone has their answer to a problem- that in and of itself – is actually an unhealthy solution to a bigger problem.
The problem is, there is no perfect solution. And if left untreated in family recovery- the ripple effects of addiction will go on and on.
The words echoed into my ears even before they left my co-workers mouth.
I instinctively have enough experience with avoidance and deflection to get a jump on her question.
By appearing busy and having enough ‘questions’ and data of my own; I was able to layer my question on top of hers seemingly without a noticeable pause.
I understand that I could just answer like everyone else does, with the obligatory, “Fine, thanks how was yours?”
However, being the Infp personality type that I am, mixed in with the now Mom of a substance use disorder adult child -that I must keep hidden in order to avoid the sigma of judgement- I just can’t seem to gloss over small talk with fake clichë answers.
It doesn’t help that I work in a culture of very religious young adults who mostly all meet the criteria for (our) societal expectation of school, college, church missions, marraige, & service; leaving zero time for sinning, let alone drug use.
I’m not saying everyone else has perfect lives, I’m not that naive. I know they don’t, but in my world of constant daily strife and worry, it’s so incredibly hard to think any differently.
When I hear their stories of how their weekends went, I have to inwardly laugh at the comparison of my akward -seemingly co- dependant- obsession with whether my son is alive one more day.
“I went on a fun first date, I really like him, but I’m trying not to show it, ya know?”
“Oh really? Well I spent all night Saturday worrying that my 34 yr old son had overdosed by sticking a needle in his cyst- filled arm, while being homeless with no where to go.”
Do you see my hesitation in engaging in ANY personal small talk? It’s like a Friday night sitcom that’s so true it isn’t even funny.
I mean the average person wouldn’t get it, let alone a twenty- something giddy, college and love focused zoobie. Yes that’s what we used to call the locals who were hard core religious worshippers.
I’m NOT bashing my religion. I still draw great comfort in my relationship with my higher power. I just don’t go to church and temple and abstain from ALL alcohol etc. The demographic I work with are very limited in their views and tolerance if you will.
So I go about my day, in a sortof secrecy. Truthfully, almost no one, except my bosses, know anything about my personal life.
I’ve always been a little quiet in that regard. Loyal, private, not engaging in office gossip. But the last 2 years have pushed me further into that lonely hole. The space that a select few – growing by the day, I think- unwillingly are members of.
So, Christmas. What does one do for Christmas, when everyone is actively planning family parties and gifts to each other?
You do what you can to feel a sense of normalcy. You try to not let the other kids feel slighted. You fake it until you make it and by making it I mean to FIND something, anything to be grateful for.
I have started to realize how detrimental to my health and even my appearance, my constant worrying is causing. Recently I actually started combing my hair and find the oh so familiar knot- yes KNOT!!! In the same spot. I realized that I ALWAYS end up putting my hair in a braid because I don’t have the endorphins/ dopamine / whatever you want to call it to give a damn.
To think I haven’t even combed completely through my hair in who knows how long, is very telling.
Gʀᴇᴀᴛғᴜʟʟɴᴇꜱꜱ ꜱʜᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.
My new years resolution is to find something every day, every hour if I have to, to be grateful for. And when someone asks me how my holidays went, I’m going to smile and say, “Better than I deserve,” just like Dave Ramsey does.
Sunday: I’m at work, passing medications– the irony. The very thing that started this nightmare into hell.
10:15 text- “Hey mom, is there any way you could help me out? I don’t get paid until tomorrow and I borrowed $100 from a friend to cover rent.
10:16 “Hi son, nice to hear from you. I could buy you some food.
10:18 “I need to pay him back. Please, I haven’t asked for anything for a long time.
10:19 “I could possibly pay some on your rent.
11:20 missed call 11:22 missed call 10:39 “I’m at work I can’t talk. 10:39.5 “Sorry mom
12:30 “Mom this guy is wanting his money back faster than I can get it.
12:40 “Mom I promise I’ll pay you back tomorrow
2:30. “Mom I’m working my ass off. I just cant’ get ahead. Please? I only need $60 now. $40 for him $20 for food.
4 pm. Get home, start dinner, laundry. 6 pm relax in front of tv 8 pm get ready for bed 9 pm lie in bed grateful for no text, wondering if he’s beaten up.
10:30 text: “Mom I only need $40 now. Forget the food. I don’t need to eat. I’m begging you.
Sigh. Look over to make sure my husband is asleep.
Breathe…..
Detach, “they” say. Don’t enable. Block him. Live your life He has to hit “Rock bottom”
Rock Bottom? The kid has lost everything. His Business, his livelihood, brand new house, all his equipment, over 20 cars, his family. His 2 precious kids. He’s practically homeless with only the clothes on his back. He’s also lost over 100 lbs. 😥 Rock bottom?
God help me I pick up my phone, I proceed to do exactly the opposite of what my daughter and I had decided in regards to texting. My son is severe ADD and admitted he only reads the first few words of any message.
Our Motto had become
sʜᴏʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ sᴡᴇᴇᴛ
I proceeded to write out a Nar- anon friendly message about how I would love to help but I can’t, how I know he can have a better life & I’m willing to do anything to make that happen EXCEPT keeping him in that cycle of desperation. I said today’s $40 or $60 will be needed tomorrow and again and again and that he has the capability to support himself like before and as soon as he’s ready to make a change I will help him all I can….
Then I put his messages on ignore and put my phone away.
VƗØŁΔ!
2am. I SLEPT! That long!. Looked at phone. No messages in the ignore file. Good..he didn’t even try to beg.
6 am. I SLEPT! Looked at phone. No missed calls. No new message in ignore file.
7 am. Coffee. Check Social media. Do pow wow aroebics warm up.
9 am order more addiction books off Amazon. Noon. Clean. Laundry. Rake leaves.
2 pm watch Netflix, write article for my new blog about how to deal with an addict child- ya know? Since I had this all down pat…
No messages in ignore file.
6 pm dinner. Visit with youngest child, tv, write, read. No messages in ignore file
9 pm bed. Wow this is really working. Just tell them how it is and they mind! Maybe he’ll choose recovery! Tomorrow even!
11 pm. No messages in ignore file. Realize it’s been 24 hrs since he’s been on online.
12 pm. Realize that he didn’t even read my long message! He’s been offline now for 25 hours,! Omg. What if that guy came RIGHT AFTER he sent that last pleading message & threatened him to pay $$ or pay with his life!
Suddenly I get the impression to call the hospital. I’ve never actually done that before. This must be a revelation that he’s there! I call the hospital and ask if they have anyone in there without ID who’s beaten up or overdosed. Secretary says “We have 2 without ID. Let me transfer you to the Emergency room answering machine”.
2? A fight? He got In a fight with the dealer/ friend/ rent borrower! I give my description of him to the ER answering machine. I turn my phone volume all the way up. Roll over.
1 pm: Check phone. Nothing. Roll over.
1:15 :Check phone.
1:30: check phone. Missed Call!!! I check my voicemail. A nice asian lady reports that no one fitting that description is there- goodbye.
My heart sinks. It’s been 26 1/2 hours since he’s been online. I break down and check the booking reports. No arrest.
2:30 am.Roll over. Try to sleep. Hear a sound. Get up. it’s my daughter going to work. Back to bed.
3:30 Hear another sound. Omg. What if they dropped his body off here since my address is listed as his and they wanted to show me a lesson.
6 pm awake! I slept! But with actual visions of him in a room in a chair with his hands tied behind his back.
8:30 am send text to son: I’m so sorry – I didn’t know your life was in danger.
Please! please! Someone😭 save my son! Followed by 5 texts begging him to be ok.
9:30 am Him: “Omg I don’t have a phone off of wifi and that message u sent did it. Try starting from nothing with no help. I should have known better than to ask anyone for help as far as everything else. I’m not going to be reachable anymore because they have now waved my right to a trial so with an attorney I would have no fellonyz now I’m a 6 time convicted felon on the run with a mandatory 5 years- I’m screwed”
Me : Thank God you’re alive.
Him. Omg that’s absolutely crazy why would I not be alive? Stop watching so many movies”
9:38 am: I collapse on the couch feeling the fullness of my tears well up behind my eyeballs in a raging flurry of sadness mixed with relief that today isn’t MY DAY for THE phone call. I hear a deep exhausting gutterall cry coming from a body that thought it knew how to handle this stress by now. The realization that I just spent another night in worry and fear ( for nothing! Which I’m,? Glad buttt….and it sounds like there’s more ahead.
Knowing that today will now be a wash with my emotions completing thrashed, the tears spill out over my flustered angry relieved face. I cover myself with my weighted blanket, feeling not only the tiny beads of lead on me, but the entire weight of the world.
I realize I have to go to work for 8 hrs tonight. I immediately send out a text to 18 people to see if they’ll cover me so I can drown in my own misery of torture.
One by one the refusals came pouring in. They need to car pool kids, their husbands are working. I want to scream: “GO AHEAD live your normal lives! My son was just dead, for 30 hours, tortured in a room or laying in a hospital bed as a John Doe, in jail on one of his warrants. But it’s ok. I’ll go to work and pretend that I have a normal life with normal problems and a son who’s happy and healthy taking care of his obligations making me proud again.
Damn heroin,
Damn addiction.
Damn Purdue…
Damn whoever else I can blame.
Yes my son too Damn you. Come back. Bring my real son back 😭💔😭
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.
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.
Well I’m glad you decided to show up this crazy year.
Have I been a good girl?
Well, that’s debatable. What do I want for Christmas you say?
I thought you’d never ask.
I want to wake up with anticipation in my loins.
I want to be excited about something again.
I don’t want to dread turning on the news. Or getting on social media. All those motivating quotes I usually see–only turn to arguing in the comments.
I had someone block me today because of my political beliefs. Even though we had a connection in the unfortunate club of moms of addicts; our love for recovery didn’t matter in the face of hate for a political party.
I don’t want that anymore Santa 🎅
Peace on earth is pretty cliche’ to say but we need it desperately right now.
Oh and while you’re sprinkling that pixie peace dust all over -could you just go ahead and take every craving for drugs and alcohol out of every cell in my sons body? And every other suffering addict right now too. That’s what I want.
Should I do what Burt Reynolds did in the 1978 movie The ENd?
