Mental vacation and training wheels

I have to confess, that reading blogs from other parents of addicts hit my heart and soul to the core. I know that this sounds a little melodramatic, but it really did!

What stuck out, to me, was how battered and angry so many of the blogs read. Reading between the lines, I felt as though so many parents were stolen from, lied to and manipulated by the addict in their family-- to the point that their hearts were turning cold (and I don't mean that as an insult... it's having zero trust that does this to us...it's a coping mechanism, if you will. As I continued to read deeper, I felt so much sorrow for addicts who have mental illness associated with their drug addiction. I could not even offer any kind of "way out" to these bloggers! I felt totally helpless and unable to offer any kind of solid wisdom.

In a way, their troubles make mine feel so superficial. Yes, my son is a drug addict. I don't take that lightly. Compounding the problem, my son is a Type I Diabetic who must use insulin-- every single day-- so that he can live. Mental illness has been ruled out, by two psychiatrists.

I still count my blessings that my son has not resorted to theft. I won't polish his halo too much, though. He has sold oxy to buy heroin. That's bad enough. I still count my blessings that the Lord has been merciful on my son. So far, my son has never been inside a jail-- small mercies.

I think that's been the cherry on my sundae with "mental anguish overload"-- so many addicts are in jail, and their parents are blogging about their sorrows. That frustrates me to no end!

I cannot imagine what I would do, and I don't want to think about it. At last, not now.

So, for today, I can say that my son is clean. He is starting his first full day of classes at our local junior college. His hopes are high. I told him to take easy classes, as his training wheels. He agrees, that he should take classes that won't put too much demand on him. He needs to get used to actually getting up and GOING to school. He has quit college twice, before. Let's hope that three's a charm.

He still procrastinates. He still forgets to lock his bedroom window before leaving the house. He still piles up his laundry and then decides to do 4 loads of laundry on my day off. He still sleeps in late, on the weekends. He still doesn't test his blood sugar as often as he should.

He has procrastinated, all of last week, in contacting his outpatient program...now that his insurance hurdle has finally been crossed.

I have to learn patience-- and this is not my strongest virtue. I keep reminding myself that my son's mind is still in a fog. He is still detoxing, but each day he looks much better.

I need to focus on one accomplishment at a time. Almost like having a toddler, I have to cheer him on when he completes something. "Great job!"

I was cranky last night. Really cranky. My job can, at times, demand lots of little deadlines from more than one person. I feel like "Cinderelly" on those days. I just want to go home and chill-- to watch a TV program or surf the net for food recipes (my hobby and passion). Last night, B was so excited about being enrolled and he was a Chatty Kathy (I'm dating myself, here).

I begged for quiet-- and that was just about the time my husband walked into the room chomping on chips. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Then B decides he's going to bang around in the kitchen.

"QUIET!!" I shrieked. My head was pounding with a headache. I had reached my meltdown point, and I can get ugly when that happens.

I could see the hurt look on my son's face. He left the room and I felt like the big bad Ogre. This morning, I apologized to him for acting that way. I really meant it.

I really need to take a mental break-- to do something for ME. I wish I could afford a massage (I did them for years as a profession), but that's not in the budget.

I have four -- maybe five-- days off work. I'm praying for a day devoted to "me time" and another day for "we" time. "We" is my husband and me-- being a married couple.

My son's addiction can take over our lives, if we aren't careful.

Please know, that while I haven't read every single recent blog entry to those I am following-- you are in my prayers.

A caged bird and tears in the rapids

My thoughts are all over the place, this morning. So I warn anyone who is reading this-- strap yourself in, as this might be an exceptionally long post. As I begin to write this down, maybe I'm looking for answers for myself? I feel a bout of rambling flying on my keyboard. OK, I'll jump in and see where this goes:

The title of today's blog was inspired by how I see my son. Last night was an emotion-filled night that ended with my son bursting into tears and falling apart. Sitting in the living room was his father, me and my husband. I wanted to run to my son and put my arms around him. But, I remembered at the Al-Anon meetings that I've been to-- I need to let my son cry. We needed to let him release his tears. We needed to let him sob and say whatever it was that was tearing him up inside. The night ended with just my son and me-- both crying, both saying how much we love each other.

I feel as though my son is a beautiful bird who has been caged by his addiction. My son is falling apart, emotionally. He is less than a month from turning 20. He is so young, so naive and he is nowhere close to being able to making it on his own.

It has been 8 months since I learned that my son has been addicted to oxy-contin for quite some time. Over these last eight months, my life has changed in a way that I never imagined. I am trying to learn how to understand the mind of an addict. This is a task that is daunting-- considering that medical science is still trying to learn how a "normal" brain functions.

For most of my life, I viewed addicts as "lost souls". I felt both sorrow for addicts and disdain for them. My disdain was towards the addicts who look the "stereotype"... the ones who are in the bad sections of towns... the ones who look homeless...who scrounge for money and wheel their stolen grocery carts, loaded with their earthly possessions. "They" are the ones who are arrested for breaking into people's homes to steal anything that they can lay their eyes on.

Now, my stereo-type view of addicts has taken on an entirely different view of them. That's because my own son is an addict. When I attended the four week classes at his treatment center, my stereotype of what an addict looks like changed forever. The meeting room was filled with men and women of all ages. I could not distinguish who the addict was from who the non-addict family member was. It wasn't until each of were asked to give our first name and that the addicts were revealed to all of us. My jaw dropped when an "executive" woman stood and said "My name is ____ and I am an alcoholic". Or, when an elderly man, who looked meek and innocent said "My name is _____" and I am a heroin addict. That is when I realized that addicts look just like me...just like your school teacher...banker...doctor or child. They all have different stories. They can function in life, even though they are using. That's what my son did so well, for so long, that I did not see what a mess he was in. I have been angry at myself, my ex-husband, his drug dealer. I have felt indignant, hurt, among other things.

Addiction has found a place in my very heart and soul. My only son is a mess, because of his drug use that has been going on since he was in middle school. He has been using drugs for six years, starting with smoking weed. He has progressed to opioid addiction.

In the last eight months, I have been bombarded by so many "experts" that I feel so vulnerable and confused. I have read books, articles, blog sites...I have been to meetings, spoken with parents of addicts and even addicts, themselves.

Understanding addiction is as challenging as people discussing religion. Addiction is a topic that evokes so much passion and so much judgment. It is so overwhelming to me, at times. Yet, I cannot look away. I have been angry at myself, my ex-husband, his drug dealer. I have felt indignant, hurt, among other things.

My son has been with me for three days. Last night, was a turning point for me-- as his mom. This is hard for me to explain, but I'm going to write how I feel. I am taking a risk, because there are people who are reading my very personal thoughts right now. I need to stay focused on educating myself as much as possible. I have to accept that my son is living in hell, right now. I have to find a way to explain to my loved ones that my son is incapable of "tough love" isn't as easy as they so breezily tell me I need to do.

Tell me-- what would you do if it was your own son or daughter who is in such a dire emotional mess? Let me give you an example-- my son had his cellphone stolen. Yes, he was irresponsible by leaving it unattended for a few minutes at a busy train station. But, wait-- that's what you and I see. Can you put yourself into my son's position? He's a mess-- emotionally. He is not capable of thinking the way that we non-addicts do. he doesn't have the capacity to think rationally. Is he crazy? Is he bi-polar? Does he have ADD? Or, do you believe that there is no such thing? Believe me, I've heard so many facets of mental illness. I've heard that it's Satan...it's a chemical imbalance... pills can help...pills won't help.

But let's go back to his stolen cellphone and "tough love". Do I say "suffer the consequences" and he goes back to San Francisco in his messed up emotional state? Or, do I give him my spare cellphone, knowing that this is his only lifeline to his family and friends? As his mother, his cellphone is the only way that I can find peace of mind. Just a simple text message from 120 miles away gives me a small sense of comfort that my son is still alive. I cannot imagine what it would be if my son was to just "disappear". I think about the book by David Sheff, "My Beautiful Boy". Just reading this father's story of his son's addiction to meth (in the very area where my son is living) describes the pain of watching your precious child struggle with addiction.

I'm rambling, I know...but I am also trying to purse a lot of pent up emotion. I need to keep writing...

"Tough Love". It seems so simple and logical, doesn't it? Make your child suffer the consequence. But, you see, it's not so easy when it's your very own child. It's even tougher to "tough love" when your child is not a thief. Once in a while, my son spouts of the "F" word at me. He uses lines like, "What the F do you want me to do?" He's even said "Shut the F up" to me." I hate it, and I remind him that it is not acceptable to me. But, that's the worst that I can say about him. He is not a violent person, either. He's as tender-hearted as a kitten, truth be told.

I am doing my hardest to not enable my son. Yet, how can I not help my son to buy groceries? And what about paying for him to have a safe place to sleep at night? I've been told to let him become homeless, so he'll hit rock bottom. Think about it-- if it was your own son or daughter, could you really have the strength to do it? Could you? If your own son or daughter wasn't a criminal or every laid a hand on you? Could you?

So here I sit, on my couch with my laptop. I've driven my husband away, begging for the peace and quiet that I need to try and write this post. I know I ticked off my husband, and I feel bad about it. I haven't left my house in two days, because I am desperate for peace and quiet. I am apologizing to him, often, because my son's addiction is affecting our marriage. We have a great marriage, but we need to get into counseling-- we both agree that we don't want out relationship to suffer. The last few days have been stressful for everybody. It's noon, and my son is still sleeping, just down the hall. He looks peaceful in his sleep.

Ultimately, I have decided to give my son the spare cellphone, against my husband's advice. I reached that decision, because of what happened last night:

My husband graciously offered to take my son to hit golf balls. B adores playing golf, and he's pretty darn good at it. Afterward, my husband dropped B off at his father's house. The plan was that B would visit with his dad for a few minutes. He used my husband's cellphone to call his sponsor and B was overheard saying they'd go to the 5:00 meeting.

I received a call from B's father asking if I'd heard from him. ENTER CHAOS...
B's father, stepfather and I began to compare stories. Helter Skelter got worse, and the three of us surmised that B had lied to us. Emotions got charged, and in two hour's time, we all felt as though we were deceived by B. I was so angry that I was ready to pack him onto a Greyhound bus the following morning. Please understand that my emotion is not about being "controlling". My emotional reaction comes from fear-- it comes being torn between the logic that an addict will "use" no matter what I say or do. I cannot control it. Still, he is my son and I cannot bear the thought of another setback of him buying heroin to smoke.

B finally called me, and he put his sponsor on the phone. His sponsor verified that B had, indeed, gone to a meeting. They were at Starbucks, working on Step 1.

Thirty minutes later, that is when my son came home (driven by his dad) with red and swollen eyes.

That brings this post back to where I started. My son is in dire need of professional help. I will do everything, in my power, that I can to help him find it. My son admitted to all of us that he feels so messed up "inside his head" that he feels hopeless. He sobbed that he feels he has let so many people down. He feels like a failure. He admits that he has no desire to get out of bed and that he is clearly depressed. He says that he is physically incapable of doing the simplest tasks. He said that trying to hit one bucket of golf balls was almost impossible.

In the end, my husband made an honest mistake. My son did not lie. Ouch.

You see? As the loved ones of an addict, we cannot help but to feel affected. It's the lies that makes us overreact. My husband apologized to B, but I do not doubt that my son is hurt.

So, I ask you (faceless readers)... what can I do, as a mother? I was ready to put him in my car to check him into our local hospital. He rejected that idea, saying that he could not handle the defeat and humiliation of going into a psyche ward.

Again...what do I do? What can I do?

Tears in the rapids... I heard an analogy at a Celebrate Recovery meeting that I attended. A woman said that at times, she felt like a bird who was perched over a tiny branch above a rapid flowing river. She compared that branch as God, holding us over the rapids.

This morning, I thought of my son and of him being that beautiful creation from God's own hands. I also thought to myself... how my tears are lost in the rapids. My pain and my sorrows are not alone. Just reading my newspaper, I am appalled that a man was trampled to death when a stampede of early morning Christmas shoppers at Wal-Mart got out of control. I read about the situation at Mumbai, and how a local Rabbi lost his cousin and wife to terrorists. The world is not an easy place to survive. But, I hold to God's promise that he is with those of us who believe in Him.

Despite the stress of my son's situation, I am not without hope. Someone wrote a comment on my blog..."what is normal"? That's a question as deep as the ocean. To me, I find that my personal relationship with God is gives me a sense of peace..normalcy. I do not blame God for my son's situation. Instead, I thank God for his mercy. I lean on God's holy word, prayer, my church, my husband (my love, my best friend, and kind-hearted person) and a few treasured friends. They give me encouragement.

Ultimately, it is my love for Jesus...my Lord and Savior, that gives me joy. To me, my life feels normal when I feel God's peace and the joy that He brings. I feel "normal" when I can smile through my day-- to overlook the demands of my job...a difficult parent or a job deadline. I feel normal when I wake up next to my husband and I feel his loving touch. I feel at peace when I can come home, and find food to prepare a meal. I feel at peace because I no longer have bill collectors calling me... I feel peace when I am alone, with myself. I don't have voices in my head that tell me I am worthless. Despite my sorrows, I can still rejoice that God loves me, he has a purpose for me. He has given me compassion for others. He has forgiven me for the things I have done. God has given me the vision to see my blessings. He has shown me how my blessings far outweigh my trials and tribulations.

I pray for any and all of you, who feel that you have no hope or joy in your life. It is a dark and lonely place to be. Maybe God fill you with His glorious presence.

1 Peter 1:8 (New King James Version)

6 In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, 7 that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honor, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ, 8 whom having not seen you love. Though now you do not see Him, yet believing, you rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, 9 receiving the end of your faith—the salvation of your souls.

B's progress for the weekend

This weekend has been a hectic one, for sure. Yesterday morning, DH and I arrived early at B's treatment center. B was there, all smiles and looking good. Just like his mom, he doesn't have a problem meeting people. I can tell that he's made a lot of "friends". He's really enjoying being named "Peer Captain". If there is one thing I can say about my son-- and those of you who know him-- he is not shy about tooting his own horn!

On a more serious note-- I learned a lot, today. The class was about PAWS "Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome".

This topic really hit me between the eyes as a HUGE reality check. B nudged me a few times, nodding his head that he has experienced this. Oversimplified, B can be hit at any time with the feeling of withdrawal. That means, even though his insurance company considers him to be "detoxed", his disease isn't finished trying to get the fix that it wants. That's very sobering (no pun intended).

What we also learned about addiction gave me a sense of peace-- the entire 90 minute class had a major theme for loved ones to understand... addiction is a disease. It is not caused by bad parenting. The disease can be triggered by a traumatic event-- such as an injury that required painkillers to be described. I had to really digest this news, but I get it now.

I need to accept that it is not my fault, his father's fault, nor anybody else's fault that my son is an addict. It's genetic. If I shake my family tree hard enough, a few nuts would hit the ground. But, there is a history if alcoholism in my family. I have a first cousin who died just a few years ago, from alcoholism and crack cocaine addiction. His father (my maternal uncle) was an alcoholic. Neither of my parents were.

I finally understand that addicts don't have the switch that we do-- whether it's alcohol, substance abuse, sex, or food... addicts can't can't find the off switch. They are powerless over their addiction and they must learn to accept that. I finally understand that will power is not going to help an addict. They don't have willpower. Their brain can't do it.

Now that I understand this, I am feeling deep sorrow that my son is an addict. I realize, now, that he did not become an addict because he toyed with smoking marijuana, at the age of 12. My son is an addict, because once he found the high that gave him the sense of escape and "well-being" that his brain wanted (for him it was Oxycontin), he doesn't have a switch to turn it off. His brain likes oxycontin.

I also understand, now, that no matter how much I threaten my son, use "tough love", enable him, try to shelter him from drugs-- it doesn't cure his addiction. It just can't.

Ultimately, my son is the only person who can help himself. B realizes that he will be an addict for the rest of his life. He cannot be cured.

I can see why the 12-Steps is the ONLY way for an addict to cope with PAWS. It's going to happen-- tomorrow, in a week, in five years. Without having a sponsor, and people who he can trust and turn to, when his addiction tries to make him use-- he is a sitting duck. Above all, I believe that if an addict has a faith in God-- then the addict has a stronger chance of getting help to get through an inevitable episode of PAWS. The reality is, addicts must learn to cope with the temptations that cannot be hidden-- alcohol and drugs are too easy to get.

B has a long way to go-- my feelings are always changing. At one moment, I am so thankful for the program he is in. I'm so thankful for the people who have taken my son into their home. B seems highly appreciative for the help he's received from the treatment center, us, and his "foster home".

At times, I feel we are climbing Mt. Everest with flip-flops and a 500 pound backpack named "addiction".

Sometimes, my heart just grieves for the little boy who was so full of joy and innocence.

I have so much to learn about addiction. I have only scratched the surface. I'm so thankful that I have found two Christian based support groups that I plan to attend, faithfully. Even going to church, this morning, felt much different. With my eyes closed, I listened to the worship songs that were being sung. I found strength, peace and hope, because God promises me that he will never leave nor forsake me.

Deuteronomy 31:6 (New King James Version)

6 Be strong and of good courage, do not fear nor be afraid of them; for the LORD your God, He is the One who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you.”

On the way home, from church, I prayed for my marriage. My husband has been so supportive of me, and his stepson. It's important for us to make time for conversations other than just talking about B. We need to take care of ourselves, and to find time to enjoy and love each other. Otherwise, I'm going to grieve for B to the point that I will become addicted to the addict. I can't let B's addiction paralyze my life. I want to continue to enjoy my life, which I am.

I'm feeling very blessed right now, because I feel loved... by God, my husband, my son and my wonderful friends.

Philippians 4:12-13 (New International Version)

12I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

Blessings,

Mom

How did I get to be here?

How did I get to be here? How did my life get to this point, mom?

Those were the words spoken to me by my son, the day he was accepted into a medical clinic on April Fool's Day, 2008.

How did my son get to be at this point in his life? That's the million dollar question.

Just yesterday, I was visiting "B" on day #11 since he said "yes" to going in for his first detox. I remember thinking to myself "He's so tall!" I was looking at his hands, with his long fingers. For a moment, I was brought back to a time where he was my precious young boy-- no older than 3 years of age. He was so innocent, full of life and love for his mom. He loved to give and receive butterfly kisses. I was so filled with a hope that he would grow up to have a happy childhood. I can remember how much I wanted my son to be raised without the violence and dysfunction that I had known.

So, how did he get to be where he is today? On April Fool's Day, he was obviously sick-- his body filled with poison. His body is shaking, he feels ill and his beautiful eyes are half closed. I would not know, until the next day, just how loaded he really was. I did not find out, until yesterday, how little he remembers of his two hour drive to a place I had placed my hope in that it would get him well.

It has been eleven days, and I am filled with both hope and fear. In eleven days, I have just scratched the surface to understanding addiction. I am accepting the fact that B has a long a hard journey ahead.

I have attended 3 Al-Anon meetings, so far. It's hard for me to move past the Al-Anon books and pamphlets. Why? Because B's is not an alcoholic. That's a small mercy, but he is still an addict.

So, I have learned to become used to saying "Hi, I'm Debby...and my son is an addict".
I have accepted the fact that there is healing in acknowledging that my son is ill. He is addicted to opiates and he wants to be well.

I am feeling frustrated, fearful and very certain that addicts cannot find recovery unless they are working the program-- I absolutely believe that addicts need to be working the 12-Step program. They need to be in meetings every single day, until they have found a sponsor.

The question is-- will he do this? I know that I will do this. I will work the 12-Steps to help myself and to learn what I can and cannot do to help B. And that is why I have started this blog, TODAY. It is both painful and exhausting to try to explain what's going on. It is my hope that I can direct my friends and loved ones to read and follow along as I share details on my long and difficult journey that I did not buy a ticket to board-- a journey in wanting to support my son's fight to be clean and to stay clean from using drugs.

My son bought this ticket, the first time he was given oxycontin to take. Until two years ago, I had never even heard of this drug. It's evil. It's powerful. It is everywhere-- and it is stealing the souls of our young children.

For two years, I could not tell that my son was using drugs to the depth that he was in. Yesterday, my son confessed all-- it was a lot for me to digest. I hope that my blog will help me process what the two of us spoke about. So, now I know, that addicts will tell their loved ones exactly what they want to hear.

My heart and mind is open, now. I need to try and understand this dark world the my son has entered. I don't want to explore this darkness, but I pray that the light of Jesus will expose this miserable and evil world of drugs. I can't ignore nor deny that I need to support my son, but I might have to say "no" to him. It won't be easy, I know.

My Higher Power of the 12-Steps is the God of the Bible. My Abba Father, My Creator.

How did my son get here, Father? He could, very well, be shot in the head, badly beaten, missing, in an ICU ward or in prison. Thank you, Heavenly Father, for your mercy on him.

You have a plan for him.

In Jesus' Name,

Mom