Posts Tagged ‘Fear’

VieglandSculptureAngryChild

Angry.

Apathetic.

Angry.

A little thankfulness goes a long ways. One thing I did not count on helping with son’s recovery are the 29 year old temper tantrums that leave my hands shaking and my husband’s fists clenched and battling his high blood pressure. We are in a corner with no way to get son out on his own. He screams at us this morning just five minutes out of our bed in a “BOOMING” man voice the hurtful words, calling his stepfather and I unimaginable names. In his frustration he yells that he can’t go out to get a job without my taking him to get paperwork he has lost long ago, a social security card, and his license will run out in two months.  This is a recovering drug addict who has refused to leave “his room” more than 20 minutes daily for years, refusing medical or other treatment. Accepting no responsibility.

We are holding him hostage in our small town with him having no car, no money, and no way out. – His words. At some point one needs to learn new coping skills to replace the ones that are now absent. If you have a life threatening condition like “Hep C” you must seek treatment. It’s impossible to force a fully grown man to do so.

Actually it’s the other way around, he is holding us hostage berating us daily. The wheel goes round and round and though we try daily to get him to participate it’s very hard to ignore his tantrums. With my health in steady decline  I have taken up walking and eating better but mentally I’m tired and want mine and my husband’s lives and home back. I raised three children who do nothing but bring me down and think the world revolves around them and appreciate nothing. It’s time for my son to leave and finish this on his own and me get on with my life ambitions before I’m too ill and too old.

I love my kids, I always will but I’m all done with motherhood as of today. I deserve my own life and have done all I can,

your welcome! Bah!

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Фотография радующегося мальчика
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I got to see my son for the first time in a very long time. We spent much needed time together. I had never seen his arms before now as back we last meant it was winter and he always had long sleeves. When I drove up he was smiling, standing in the lot adjacent to the rooming house he rents in. He had no fresh needle marks that I could see, his doctor has him drug tested so just maybe this is for real I hope. He had scars though, his arms, his neck and legs. I call them battle scars.   We held his hands like when he was little, quickly scanning over his body as mother’s do to be sure all looked okay.

Prior to this moment we have been conversing only on the phone this last year, it’s been much to long being apart. We hugged each other the hug of mother and child reunited.” My son is alive” I heard myself think silently, and I am so grateful. Before today I had always lived in fear of him not hurting me, but just afraid of the deep depression and anger he has carried around since being a toddler, teenager and then adult.

His illness has landed him in jail, in hospitals, crisis shelters and homeless. He has been assaulted, drugged and robbed and tried to commit suicide on 4 occasions.  It’s cost him every single job, his relatives and friends have left him. There is just his brother and myself. If only as a child his father would have allowed him to stay on his medication, if only he had agreed to take it as a teenager…

As a teenager it became much worse and he was thrown out of school. He was always in physical confrontations, his voice booming in anger was a constant at home and when he became bigger than me occasionally he would physically attack me in the heat of the moment, once or twice resulting in my falling over. Life with son growing up was horrible and unpredictable and destructive no matter who came to help or by placing him in a facility for help. Here I stood holding my son already seeing the 100% difference in his manner, thinking and moods all from one antidepressant medication and I am so happy for him. He is back to the land of the living, now we can get to finally know each other. Everyday I call him and remind him to take his medication, so far he has stayed on it and has no plans on stopping. We actually talk now and laugh. There is no yelling!

We spent that special day catching up with each other, sharing life experiences while apart, laughing together and hugging some more.  We went and got something to eat and the end of the day I didn’t want to leave and drive the hour or so away again. I’d have given anything to bring him back with me but his life is where he is, it’s not much but his room is his and I respect that. I brought him things for his room, food and cooking utensils to help make him more self sufficient. He was grateful and enjoyed showing me his small space.

Oh if I could just grab him, throw him in my car and bring him home. In so many ways he is still a boy who has missed much by being alseep for years in pain and drugs. In many ways he is an old man who has been through much too much for a 25 year old man. I pray daily he can keep the life he has given back to himself by finally taking his antidepressant.

My son smiled, laughed, talked and people no longer stare at him for his hateful outbursts. Now they are drawn to him because he says “hello” to them and “how are you man?, nice day isn’t it?”  His new energy is profound.

This is my son, and he is alive today!

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