Another relapse-- here we go again

Well folks, it's official. My son has been smoking heroin again.

I don't even know how to explain how I feel right now. I'm not angry. I don't even feel betrayed. This might sound strange, because I should feel angry.

It's already past my bedtime, in order to get a good night's sleep. Obviously, sleep won't come easily tonight for any of us.

You would think that what C and I should do is common sense-- we throw our son out. We let him be homeless and we let him reach rock bottom.

Yes, that's what we said we'd do.

Somehow, it isn't our first solution, as mom and stepdad. Instead, we listen to my son speak. He's crying. He finally lets out all the lies that I suspected he was holding inside.

He admits that he was faking the urine tests. He tells us how he did it. Our suspicions were right.

He tells us that he's been chipping. He explains that his job, which is physically demanding, hurts his back that he injured in a car accident last year. This is true. He moves pallets of heavy equipment and he is physically exhausted when he gets home. He says that he takes the suboxone in the morning, but by noon he's in pain. So, 1-3 times a week, he bought a $10.00 bag of black tar and smoked it. He says it takes all the physical and emotional pain away. He feels superhuman and he can work hard. By nighttime, he's hurting and so he takes his suboxone.

He's in the crazy cycle and he knows it. He tells us that the only reason he isn't full-blown smoking heroin is because he doesn't have the money to do it. He doesn't own anything to sell. He doesn't deal drugs. He doesn't steal to buy drugs.

My son is chipping, and this all makes sense to us now. It confirms my suspicions. Once again, I had a dream that my son was using. I told my son about the dream. He tells me that's the very day he just smoked heroin. He says it freaks him out, how I seem to know.

I've suspected that my son was holding deep dark secrets. I'm a mother. I know these things. I have a gift of sensing things. There are times when my son is behaving in ways that make me feel the "ick". When he hugs me, I get a bad feeling. I feel as though this is a smoke screen.

I blogged that my son was acting weird on Sunday. Now I know. He was withdrawing. He says he had no money to buy heroin over the weekend. That explains why he sleeps so much, and watches hours of television. It explains why his eyes look so red rimmed and tired. It explains why he doesn't wash his hands, and they look dirty. His clothes aren't as clean as usual. He explains that this is all part of withdrawal-- not taking care of oneself.

What are we going to do?

I asked my son what is HE going to do. He's an addict. I remind him that whatever program he's been working, it's not working. I tell him that he needs to tell his sponsor. Now. C and I tell him that he needs to go back to Step #1.

It's very late, and I have to go now.

In a perfect world, my son would check in to a rehab center. He would spend a year in an SLE.

Unfortunately, there isn't a place where he can do this. We cannot afford it. Believe me, I know what's available in my area. I know all about it. The "free" places are filled with drug dealers. You can score any kind of dope you want in these places. Most of the people in these places are there because of the law. They aren't there because they want to be clean and sober.

I know of an SLE that is Christian based. It's full. No openings. It's free.

My son is still in denial, I think.

I am not going to make a decision yet. We have agreed to give it until Saturday morning.

I did tell my son that I was sick of the promises. I don't want him trying to stay clean for me. He needs to want sobriety more than anything else.

So, here I go again. Back to April 2008.

My son is an addict. He has graduated from oxy-contin to smoking heroin.

He hates his life. Frankly, I would, too.

He has allowed the addiction to become bigger than life. God is bigger than addiction. My son needs to immerse himself into a program, with sober addicts. He needs to go to a meeting every single damn day. He needs to feel safe that he can call a sober addict when he wants to use-- someone who can talk him through it...take him to a meeting.

He needs to stop lying. Somehow, God always lets me know.

I'm tired. I've lost two hours of my 8 that I need to function at work.

Im getting angry, now.

I hate this. I hate this.