Posts Tagged ‘mental illness’

Picture 120

Medical Marijuana.”

For myself the two words bring up an image of the 1970’s I grew up in sitting around smoking a “joint” with friends as a teenager. I never thought I would live to see marijuana used for medication. I never even considered the thought. In my 50’s in my own experience of medical treatment and pain management I would have to weigh the pro’s and con’s to use it or not for anything more than recreation. No, I don’t use it and haven’t in decades. Back when I and friends used “pot” it did two things, made us sleep and eat. In the last couple years of it being medically legalized I have seen Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, or “PTSD” treated with  every drug available. If anything the side effects of the medications were worse than what they were treating, causing son to become so agitated he would need a drug for the drug. Insert here the fact his ailing liver with HepC is filtering all of it when it shouldn’t be anywhere near it.

Son’s underlying mental illness is exacerbated by the severe PTSD he has. In one full blown “flashback” he is a 125 pound 5’8″ yelling  terrified wrecking ball for which only marijuana seems to keep in check.  He’s cooked it, he has smoked it, or vaped the elixir. He can eat, becomes social, sleeps nights, and is as normal as he can be using it 3 times a day. The bigger problem is the fact son won’t drive. Years ago he was hit head on by drunk drivers not once but twice and it changed his life forever.

Four years of son’s recovery. Recovery takes the rest of a life and if son doesn’t take charge of his life and leave our apartment this will be the rest of OUR life.

My health isn’t good. My husband’s been hit for the first time in his life with painful arthritis this winter and we both have been revolving door patients at the local hospital due to lack of healthcare nor can we afford “ObamaCare.” Son thankfully has state medical care but refuses to use it not trusting doctors. I have one more clinic visit at the cost of 185$ plus prescriptions and when those run out I don’t know what we will do. My own mental health is kept in check with medication these last 20+ years and without them is no happy ending.

One bit of good news before my 2am signing off here is I quit smoking nearly one year now. My 67 year old mother was a smoker who contracted Metastasized Breast Cancer in 2000, again in 2012. Her second time around she stayed home refusing any more treatment and took her own life in the end. I’m praying hard as I get older it isn’t genetics.

Christmas was a happy one. Son was sober, his siblings came to visit. Well, one did. After being his caretaker and nearly losing his own mind, oldest son saw his brother sober for the first time in years. Seeing them together brought back a flood of little boy memories. Even back then sick son was “sick.” Already violent, unhappy and noticeably disturbed by age 3.

I enjoyed Christmas with him. He wasn’t yelling, or high, or angry. A first for he and I together. The new year hopefully will bring better moments like this.

20110730-123632.jpg

If you out there have a mentally ill addicted adult child do not let him move back into your home. Do as I say and not as you read here in this blog. I have heard it a thousand times yet didn’t heed the advice. Your heart may painfuly rip into two but you have to let the addict hit rock bottom. Mine is still here. Today it stops or he leaves and never comes back.

It’s all spun out of control. Son’s addiction has turned the home upside down and our life to hell but I have myself to blame. He stopped seeing his medical doctor because the doctor wants him to see a mental health doctor. The monthly temporary state money he has started using to fund his habit of marijuana to take his nausea away and stop vomiting just to keep down nourishment. I don’t want to give up on him, if I do he has nobody.

I’m fighting my own mortal battle now along with his.

It has been a crazy last few days. After a horrendous few days to a week son will call me as if nothing has happened and say, “hey momma, what’s up?” It’s as if he is oblivious to the fact he has just created total chaos on the street where he lives and with anyone around him such as us or his brother. I’m not complaining but I am perplexed and concerned. One of these up-down episodes he will end up being murdered the way he strikes out at anyone on the street.

My phone rang two days ago late morning and on the other end was my “real son.” I say it because he was calm, rational and I was able to have a dialect with him. THIS is my son. The rationality is short lived, just a mere number of days but I take it when I can get him that way. We are going to visit him soon and I have been compiling a list of what he needs for his small rented room. He has nothing.

We discuss the basics, he and I. A hot plate, a convection oven, food, dishes, all the things one needs in a new place. He then tells me his therapist had him take a random drug test and she has informed him he will be changed from his present Benzo’ medication to a different one. Later after we have hung up I call his therapist to express my concern about his dramatic highs and lows and also inquire if she would consider putting him on a stabilizer. One thing that’s always been consistent is son allowing me to speak to anyone medical or otherwise with his permission.

The woman is always condescending over the phone, I have a difficult time believing she even wants to help him. Try as he and I have, we cannot seem to get him to see an actual psychiatrist at the clinic he goes to, someone he may have a better sense of communication with. I hope this small reprieve from his demons lasts a few days for both our sakes. This stage is called “Back To Earth,” aptly so because when he phones me I have always teased him by saying “welcome back to the planet.” One day at a time.

Enhanced by Zemanta
Crazy Like Us

It’s been some time since posting and I have much to write. Things are not good. I had lost my info to come back here and found it by accident this morning, thank goodness.  Maybe it was fate. Understand that I have to keep myself and any identifying information of my son out of my posts. I have no choice. I began this blog of sorts to log events as they come and also in hopes that this will help me cope somehow without becoming insane. If our experience somehow helps another even better. Now I will make a cup of coffee and begin where I left off.