Hope

This morning, my mom sent me a link to a Huffington Post blog post entitled "Families Dealing with Drug Addiction: A Letter That Offers Hope." It was a good read and I thought I'd share.

My two favorite parts of the post:

"The letter also shows that addiction is an equal opportunity inflictor. It is not restricted to low-income families, or to families in which there is a genetic disposition to alcoholism or addiction, or to inner city ghettos. It can occur in any family, even families where the parents did almost everything right (no parent does everything right) and yet somehow, their children become addicted to drugs."

And...

"Parents whose kids are addicted need hope that there is a path out of the madness, that other young people as bad as, if not worse than, their own son or daughter have acheived sobriety. I like giving people hope, but it's also necessary that they realize that while people can recover from drug addiction, it isn't easy and it just doesn't happen by accident. It means doing something about it. It means no longer denying that the abuse is occurring, that it is not simply some 'phase' that a teenager or young adult is going through and will soon grow out of."

Do yourself a favor and go read the whole post:

Link to "Families Dealing with Drug Addiction: A Letter That Offers Hope" on the Huffington Post.

Thanks, mom.

A life cut much too short

I awoke this morning to some very sad news. A friend from high school, whose daughter has been battling heroin addiction for quite some time, sent me a message on Facebook. She told me that her beautiful daughter's battle with addiction came to an end this past Wednesday night; four days before her 20th birthday.

"We are still waiting to hear what the toxicology report reveals to know whether she overdosed or whether she used tainted heroin, but, either way, she's gone," my friend wrote. "As I sit here with tears in my eyes, and my heart broken and aching, I know [name withheld] is in a better place. I hope that all of her pain and suffering are gone and that she's at peace. Finally."

When I read the message, I broke down and cried. I had never met my friend's daughter, but I still feel like I have lost a family member. Perhaps it's because parents of addicts are, in a way, a family. They face the same struggles, feel the same emotions, and live in fear of the same things every single day. Unless you're the parent of an addict, you can't have any idea what it's like to have a child who is struggling with addiction. You may think you can. But you can't. And, as I've said before, it's something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

I talked to my friend on the phone about an hour or so ago. She seems to be doing remarkably well; but I could still hear the pain and grief in her voice. Nobody should have to bury their child. I can't imagine what that feels like.

If you're a reader of this blog, please do me a favor and say a prayer for my friend, her family, and her beautiful daughter, whose life was cut much too short. And if you have kids, PLEASE educate them about drugs. Despite what you may want to believe, it CAN happen to you. Heroin is not an "inner city" drug that's only used by "low-lifes." It's everywhere. Trust me. I know.

For my friend, I share this quote from one of my favorite authors:

"You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp." --Anne Lamott

A harsh realization

We had a huge blow-up in our house last night. It was brought on by a combination of things: the stress of my older son sleeping until almost 6:00pm.; the stress of having to do the chores that others should have done had they been awake during the daylight hours; my younger son suggesting at the dinner table that we're "poor"; coming to the realization that we're at a crossroads with my older son, and that a tough decision will soon have to be made; and the stress of my job, which I've really grown to hate, and which eats at me pretty much 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Regardless of what the causes were, it was an ugly argument involving the whole family, and a lot of horrible things were said in the heat of the battle. Most of those things were said by me, and I truly regret saying them. Unfortunately, this sort of thing has happened too frequently in recent years, and it always seems to be me who is saying the hurtful things. I'm not sure why I do it, and I never mean to do it. But it inevitably happens. And it shouldn't.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm neither a good father nor a good husband. At least right now I'm not. A good father and husband doesn't say hurtful things to his kids and wife, no matter how angry or upset they are. I'm just not a very good person right now and I need to change before it's too late. I'm thinking an anger management class of some sort is in order. I think I'll start looking for one.

Guilt

It's been about six years since my son's "issues" began, and during that time my thoughts and emotions have bounced around like an out of control Super Ball. (Some of you probably aren't old enough to get the Super Ball reference. If you aren't, just click here.)

There is a constant sadness in my heart, because I want so badly for my son to be "normal." Or at least "more normal." I hate to see my own flesh and blood struggle. And, of course, there is love. I love my son more than life itself. But I'm only human, and other feelings make their presence known quite often, too: guilt, resentment, anger, frustration, disappointment, etc. Oh, and did I mention guilt?

Guilt eats me up inside on a regular basis. Usually the guilt is associated with the feeling that I'm somehow responsible for how my son is. That he's a severely depressed addict because of something I did or didn't do as a parent, or because of my genes. I know I shouldn't feel guilty. I've had professionals tell me that, have heard it in meetings, and have read it umpteen times. If it were my brother or sister or neighbor or mother or father or friend or wife who was a severely depressed addict, I don't think I'd feel this guilt. But as a parent, it's hard not to feel guilty. At least it is for me.

Unfortunately, the guilt thing has moved to a whole new level lately. I now feel guilty for feeling the negative feelings I feel. And its kind of making me crazy.

Here's a confession: As much as I love my son, I find myself resenting him at times. It hurts me to say that, but it's true. Over the last six years, my wife and I have done everything imaginable to try and help him. But lately it seems like he just doesn't want to be helped. He seems so unwilling to do anything that might help him start to turn his life around. Is he scared? I'm sure he is. But nothing will change unless he starts taking steps to change things.

I understand that change will not come overnight. But I wish my son would show me something. Even the tiniest of baby steps would be a step in the right direction. But lately? Nothing. There's no effort at all on his part, despite the constant statements that he knows he has to change, he knows he has to do this, he knows he has to do that, he's going to do this, he's going to do that. I've heard it all a thousand times. But nothing happens.

This post was prompted by an incident that occurred very late last night. Without going into detail, my son assured me he was going to do something my wife and I had asked him to do. But he didn't do it. Then, when I got up this morning, there was a note from my son on the kitchen counter. It was an apology. In addition to saying, "I'm sorry," the note included the now standard "I know I have to do this" and "I'm going to do this" lines.

I read the note and just kind of shook my head, because I've heard this all so many times before. It's sad, but now when my son says or writes the words "I'm sorry," they have absolutely no meaning to me. I'm starting to think my son apologizes just for the sake of apologizing; not because he's actually sorry.

Should I feel guilty for feeling that way? Because I do.

Truer words were never spoken

"Trying to reason with an addict was like trying to blow out a lightbulb."
--From Imperfect Birds: A Novel by Anne Lamott

Such a helpless feeling

I'm feeling more helpless than usual the last couple of days. My son is really struggling. Not with addiction--although that's always part of the struggle--but with his depression and anxiety. He's in a negative rut, for sure, and I can feel the agony he's going through. It really hurts.

I've been thinking a lot lately about taking my son to the University of Michigan Depression Center for an evaluation. I've heard some really good things about the place, and they also host University of Michigan Addiction Treatment Services. I've been told that the two can work together to treat dual diagnosis (depression and addition) patients. My wife called U of M the other day but, of course, any appointment for an evaluation has to be made by our son because of his age. We met with his therapist last night and I asked him what he thought about the whole U of M idea. He thought it was an excellent idea. Now all we have to do is convince the patient.

Watching my child struggle never gets any easier. Sure, I can detach for short periods of time and try and forget about it. But when I constantly hear him say, "I hate my life" or wonder out loud why he should even bother to get up every day, it's like someone's sticking a knife in my gut and twisting it ever so slowly. I'm his father. I feel like I'm supposed to be able to make things better for my son. But in this instance I can't. And it's such a helpless feeling.

"It hurts so bad that I cannot save him, protect him, keep him out of harm's way, shield him from pain. What good are fathers if not for these things?"
--From "The Way We Are" in Bodies in Motion and at Rest: On Metaphor and Mortality by Thomas Lynch

More than anything in the world, I want my son to experience happiness. I want him to wake up in the morning and feel good about himself; to have friends; to have a job; to feel like he has a purpose in life. Right now he has none of that. But I pray every day that someday he will.

Friday Night Lies

Of all the human emotions I've experienced during my nearly 50 years on this planet, I think "lack of trust" is the one that has affected me the most. And not in a good way.

I worked from home this past Friday because it was bitterly cold outside and the roads were still snow-covered and slippery from the night before. The commute home from work on Thursday evening had taken me two hours, and I wasn't about to go through a similar experience Friday morning. Thankfully, I have the option of telecommuting when necessary.

I busted my butt all day Friday and decided we should go out to dinner to start the weekend off on a fun note. We found out my younger son already had plans--going to a friend's house for "Movie Night"--but my wife, older son, and I decided we'd still go out to eat. Near the end of dinner, my son asked if he could have some money to buy a Mountain Dew at the store in the same block so he'd have one for the morning. That request seemed harmless enough, so my wife gave our son a couple of dollars and he went to the store while we finished paying the bill. As my wife and I were leaving the restaurant, we ran into some friends of hers who had just arrived, and my wife decided to stay and hang out with them.

So I started walking to the car and met my son at the door of the store. His hands were empty, but it looked like he had just put something into his pocket. I asked him, "Did you get your pop?" He said, "Yeah, it's in my pocket." I was immediately suspicious, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, I did see that he had put something in his pocket. So I decided to let it go.

On the way home, he asked if I could drive him to a meeting and I told him I would. The meeting was at 8, and it was almost 7:45. Thinking I'd conserve some time and gas, I asked my son, "Can I just take you to the meeting now?" But he said he wanted to stop home first to "get his hat."

When we got home, I told my son to let me know when he was ready to leave. Still, though, there was absolutely no sign of the Mountain Dew. I asked him, "Don't you want to put the pop in the fridge?" He said he would, but didn't go near the refrigerator in the kitchen. By this time, I was sure something wasn't right, but I didn't want to be accusatory. At least not yet. My son then went down the basement for a minute. When he came back upstairs, he said he was going to have a cigarette in the garage, then he'd be ready to go. I asked him again, "Where's your pop?" and he answered, "I put it in the fridge in the basement."

When he went outside to smoke, I went downstairs to check the refrigerator for the Mountain Dew. Not surprisingly, there was no pop in the fridge. I then went out to the garage and confronted my kid, telling him that I knew he was lying to me about the pop. At this point, he told me he ended up not buying a pop--he had bought a lighter instead. I told him flat out that I didn't believe him and suggested that if he had bought alcohol, he'd better come clean now. Still, he insisted he had only bought a lighter.

Having been through similar situations before, I proceeded to go downstairs and search the basement a bit. In my son's backpack, I found an empty 24-ounce Budweiser can, and that set me off. The rule my wife and I established was "If you want to live here, you can't use alcohol or drugs," and my son was well aware of this. I went outside, threw the empty beer can his way, and asked him again, "What did you buy at the store?" He insisted the empty Bud can was from "a month ago," and stuck to his "I bought a lighter" story. I still didn't believe him. I also told him I wasn't taking him to his meeting because he had lied to me.

When my wife got home, I explained what had happened. Of course, a big argument ensued between our son and us, because when he does something wrong, he goes a little crazy and tries to twist things around so it somehow appears to be our fault. Typical addict behavior. In this instance, according to our son, we were making way too big a deal out everything. The empty beer can was from a month ago. He had only bought a lighter at the store. And he lied about buying the pop because he knew we'd get mad if he said he'd bought a lighter. Etc. This whole situation was our fault because we were overreacting.

Because I was still incredibly suspicious, I took the two garage door openers--one from the house and one from the car--and put them in my pocket so the garage couldn't be accessed. About an hour later, my son went ballistic again. "Now I can't even go in the garage and smoke??!!" I told him I wasn't letting him in the garage because I was pretty sure that he had bought beer with the money we gave him for pop, and I wasn't going to let him have it. "I told you, I only bought a lighter!" he insisted.

(Already too) long story short: About an hour later, after telling us numerous times how much he hates us and his life, and how we always overreact, our son finally came clean. He took the money we gave him for pop and bought a beer at the store. And it was hidden in the garage.

This was pretty much what I had suspected right from the start, from the moment I saw my son coming out of the store with something in his pocket. But even so, I was absolutely devastated. After all these years, and after having been caught so many times, my son still continues to lie and deceive like it's no big deal. Again, typical addict behavior.

My wife and I really don't know what to do at this point. Our son knew the rules we put in place and just ignored them. He says he won't go to a three-quarter house or sober living facility. And we're tired of living our lives like this. Nothing but selfishness and lies and deceit. And our money fueling his habits.

I understand that he's in a difficult place. But the stress is overwhelming. And for some reason, these little incidents ALWAYS seem to happen on a Friday night, just when I feel like I'm starting to de-stress a bit from work.

As I've said before, I never in a million years thought I'd be in a position like this with one of my kids. My son is a 21-year-old man, and it's gotten to the point where I don't believe a single thing he tells me. How incredibly sad is that? I cry every time I think about it. That's how much it hurts me. Lord only knows when--or if--I'll ever be able to trust him again.