I have reached my own bottom

B called me, last night, to say that he was heading to the Bay Area for the weekend.

My heart stopped, and before I could stop myself, I blurted "but, you have no money!".

"I know. "C" said he'd pick up the whole tab".

(Who the hell is "C", I'm wondering?)

I take a deep breath and ask, "Is C someone you should be hanging around with?"

"Totally, mom", he says with conviction.

I don't feel so convinced and my head is spinning.

"But what about the insurance seminar you said you had tonight?", I asked.

No reply.

I knew my son had made up his mind to blow off another potential job opportunity he'd been offered.

He asks me if I still have the phone number for the (crazy) ex-roommate he had in San Francisco. This is the alcoholic mother who B got addicted to oxycontin and then smoking heroin, last year. The same woman who bounced $200.00 in checks to my son (for drugs, I'm guessing), and I blogged about here.

"No, I don't", I reply. "Why would you want it?!"

"I want to make amends", he says.

(I'm thinking, maybe he wants to reconnect with more of Satan's demons.)

"Did you pack your insulin?", I ask.

"Yes, mom."

"What about your suboxone?", I ask. (I hide the whole bottle, doling it out to him daily).

"I have extras, he says".

Quickly my brain sends ice down my spine. He has extras? Is he still chipping, I wonder to myself. I decide to shut up and say nothing. It's futile anyway. He'd only deny it.

"Mom, you sound worried", he says.

"I am. All I can say, B, is to please be careful. Stay clean. Stay sober. I love you."

My husband and I enjoyed some much needed alone time. Just the two of us. We grilled steaks and I made baked potatoes and a simple salad. We were both tired from a long work week.

I slept pretty well, but a few times I'd wake up enough to think of my son and to ask God to protect him.

This morning, I went into B's room to water plants he forgets to take care of.

I saw it. A wad of foil with the heroin tracks.

Burnt offerings to the devil.

My heart lurched and I felt sick.

My husband originally found them, and had written the date on the foils. I have left them, for my son to see when he returns. The foils disgust me.

I ask my husband how he found them. He says he searches B's room right after payday (once a week, on Wednesdays). Thursday night, B stayed in his room most of the night, very quiet. He skipped dinner with us. He came out at 9pm, appearing tired but I didn't notice anything odd.

My son needs to be in a one year program. He needs help. He cannot do this on his own. He's been lying the whole time, and I wanted so much to believe him. Except for about two month after his initial 30-days in rehab, I doubt my son has been clean for more than a week.

HOWEVER, please understand that I am in no financial situation to afford this. My son needs to find one, on his own. I know he's fighting this option, because the free ones aren't the Ritz Carlton. He sees himself "above" the homeless drug addicts. He's right. My son is a pampered boy who dresses nicely and looks totally preppy. He'd feel totally out of place, but he needs to realize that many homeless addicts were probably just like him at one time!

I cannot afford it. Please don't suggest it, because it upsets me. This is out of my hands.

I'm tired of the lies. I hate to say it, but this makes his moving out a tiny bit easier. I've reached my bottom.

Once again, I feel like I don't know my son. He' s in bondage and he needs to reach bottom or he will die from an overdose or end up in jail.

God helps us all.
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ADDENDUM: It's been over an hour since I posted this. My husband has done a sweep of B's room. We've found more foils and more dirty straws. The lunches I have lovingly made for him? Many are under his bed, uneaten and moldy.

My son is using full-blown heroin. He has lied and hidden it well.

I have moved from anger and disgust to pain and sadness. I hate addiction. It's so evil and it destroys everything in it's path.

God help me, please!