Wish You Were Dead

About three days ago, while baking Christmas cookies,I realized I had not written an entry in quite a while.  I happily, with only the tiniest bit of trepidation, recognized this as a positive thing.While humming along to Johnny Mathis Christmas album, I continued to review in my little mind all the positive things that have been happening with my boy.

  He has straight A's at the Christmas break!! He has had clean drug tests for nearly four months and has had no anger, out-of-control outbursts in about the same amount of time.  We can have a decent conversation as long as I control "my tone" and he actually has a great sense of humor.  He is just one week away from fulfilling his contract to getting his drivers permit.

On the other hand.....he's involved in no sports, has no hobbies, is chewing tobacco and still insists on hanging out with "undesirables".  Let me give you an example of my definition of an "undesirable".  There's an 18 year old kid whom he often wants to go "driving around with" at odd hours of the day and night. I would think a young man at his age would have better things to do than hang out with my very immature 15 year old.  Then there's, Adam (an alias), son of a preacher, who was in rehab for heroin over the summer, is flunking every class even though he's nearly two years behind already, and is constantly wanting money from my son to drive him to school, etc.  Do these sound like kids you would want your son hanging with???

As you can see, I still have legitimate worries, but life in our house has definitely improved as the stress levels have receded.  UNTIL.......this morning at 3:33am.  The moment every parent hopes and prays will never happen.  The dreaded phone call.  "Your son is at the emergency room, he was involved in a car accident tonight." In a split second, a storm of thoughts and questions begin to swirl in your mind, the winds are  picking up speed.  This can't be, you think, he's spending the night at his friends house tonight, his dad is home. Now your heart is racing as you try to reach an acceptable state of awareness. The reality suddenly hits. OH MY GOD, IS HE DEAD! 

The answer is NO, but he's going to wish he were dead when you're finished with him!

Goodbye Calm, Hello to the Perfect Storm

Well....the calm has broken.  It has shattered loudly into a million shards, landing at my feet and in my face. Hello, once again, to the perfect storm that is my life, our life.

My delinquent son is billowing about creating a violent wind which brings anxiety, anger, hurt and frustration.  It has shattered my moment of peace.  It began oh so slowly.  First we noticed he wasn't hanging out with the "clean" kids as much.  Then not at all. He quit Lacrosse and became more belligerent and agitated.  He pushed us to give one kid, whom we'd been warned about, a chance.  After all he had been to rehab and he had no other friends.  I'm a true believer in second chances so we layed out a plan with requirements that needed to be met before we would meet him and allow my devil child to hang with him.  None of the requirements were met.  The mood was changing quickly.  Then the call from the Vice Principal at the High School.  He was caught chewing tobacco in class.  Five days suspension with three off if he wrote an essay with facts and the evils of tobacco.  He swears this was his first use of the stimulant.  I knew different.  When approached he responded vehemently.  How dare I accuse him and call him a liar. 

I admit I spent the next week or so being angry and disgusted with him.  We had agreed to honesty and openness and he was being deceitful, sneaky and disrespectful.  Well, at least he wasn't smoking pot or using other drugs, you might be thinking. This is true, of course.  The weekly drug tests have all been negative.  This is just another sign of his inherent addictive personality and/or gene that occupies his skinny little body.  It's one more feather in his cap and one more dagger to my heart.  I feel a deep intense sadness.  The knowledge that it's never going to end with him.  That he'll struggle all his life and that only HE can change that fact. The sadness that it's really out of my hands.  I have no control over my offspring, I'm watching him plummet from the nest  unassisted, not sure where he will land. Such a powerful feeling of helplessness.

He finally came to us with an admission of guilt over the tobacco. He even took it upon himself to speak with a school counselor about how to deal with this new addiction.  That was impressive.  We agreed upon a regime of nicotine gum, regulated by us, of course.  Needless to say it's not working.  At the same time his behavior continues getting uglier. I am feeling exhausted, that heavy feeling in my bones is weighing me down.  Where to next???  If anyone has an answer please, please, please share it with me!

A Break In The Storm

Ahhh.....a moment I've been praying for.  A moment I thought would never arrive.  An actual break in the raging storm!   Rays of sunshine have been poking through the dark clouds for the last 10 days or so.  It's given me time to collect myself, refresh and find a smidgen of HOPE.
My boy has come to his senses.  (For now.  Knock on wood!)  He agreed to get help with his anxiety, reluctantly.  The pediatrician is amazing with adolescents.  Blunt, in-your-face, and funny at the same time. He treats my little monster with respect at the same time telling him he's being an idiot.  He actually has some semblance of respect for him and leaves his appointments laughing and lighthearted.  A miracle!
He has on a few occasions voiced the opinion that marijuana is a better choice for treating his anxiety, it's "natural" don't you know.   At age 18 he says he'll get a green card.  I remind him that his daily pot use created more anxiety, bouts of uncontrollable anger and is illegal.  At least antidepressants are controlled.  Don't get me wrong.  I have many issues with our medical profession.  Treating just symptoms doesn't work for me.  It's all about instant gratification and most Americans are over medicated.  I believe in a more holistic approach.  Discovering what the "cause" of the problem is and fixing it.  Unfortunately my son has refused to visit his issues and address the real causes of his young anxiety-ridden life.  Out of desperation for his welfare and all of us being affected, I chose this route.
It's as if someone flipped a switch or rewired his circuits.  He's falling asleep quickly at night with no TV to babysit him.  He's been calm, somewhat respectful (we're still working on that) and has all "A's" due to his nightly regime of study.  He has stopped pestering me about hanging with the "questionable" friends and has successfully passed 5 straight weeks of drug tests. 
I am quietly celebrating my new found HOPE but I suspect this could only be the calm before another storm.  I am  cautiously watching for signs of manipulation and lying.
For the moment I am praising God and reveling in the simple pleasure of life. Now there is PEACE!!

Like a Rollercoaster!

The path of a roller coaster is the best analogy I can come up with to describe my daily life.  A very wild, out-of-control ride, with intense ups and downs and a few moments of quiet before the build-up begins again. Only this roller coaster seems to have no end.  The exhilaration and excitement of the ride are gone.  In it's place are fear, anxiety and exhaustion.
 I am in the midst of an out of control ride as I type these very words.  Another weekend nearly gone after a long week of work and nurturing my son through his first week of clean.  His anxiety has been off the charts.  We have ridden our bikes 8 miles, jogged and sprinted, drank lots of "calming" tea, given back rubs and he's taken multiple hot baths.  We've been shopping for new Lacrosse equipment and shared pastries at a local coffee shop.  Yet he just left the house on foot like a class five hurricane, after spitting at me, throwing TV remotes, phones, I-pods and yelling obscenities.  At least today it didn't include breaking a television.  I wouldn't allow him to go "hang" with a questionable friend for the day.  I even offered other alternatives which he refused.  He doesn't grasp that after all the lying, stealing and manipulation that he must earn back the trust.
This weekend he did agree to see a doctor and discuss the possibility of meds to help him through these obvious tumultuous teenage years of anxiety.  He was worried at first that I thought he was crazy and abnormal.  The truth of the matter is, I do feel that way at times.  Of course I explained the fact that everyone needs help now and again, especially in this day and age. Now he's gone .If he doesn't return by dark I'll be calling the authorities to report him as a runaway.  God help me. God help my son who must be feeling alone, unwanted, unloved and scared.  I don't know what else I can do to change that fact. 
I won't give up though, still trying to get off this roller coaster. 

Hell on Earth

He's a devil child!  I know it sounds like an absolutely horrible thing for a mother to say of her own flesh and blood, her living, breathing offspring.  Created in love and born to an elated mother who adored being with child.  It's hard for me to believe it as well.  I have never had anyone else in my life treat me as badly as my baby boy.  Never has anyone ever called me  (excuse the language) a f..... psycho bitch.  Never before has anyone told me I was the worst mother on the planet and completely inept at raising children, after all isn't that why he's so messed up!  He's told me he hates me, I'm stupid, I am a freak. The list goes on.  All these words weigh heavy on my bruised heart.  When I discuss the intense labor I went through delivering him, with my hubby of 4 years, he responds that it must be from his stubby little horns that weren't quite developed yet.  Well, they're nice and long and sharp at 15 years of age!

The hell is the pain created from watching him hurt himself.  At 15 his brain is still growing and he's poisoning it. He runs with a questionable crowd who have access to not only marijuana but heroin,ecstasy, and God only knows what else.  He lies, cheats, steals and sells his belongings to get his drugs.  Does any of this sound familiar?  I have spoken to many parents, professionals, clergy, and kids in rehab.  The stories are all similar.  It has become an epidemic.  Is our culture, our society so warped that our children have to turn to drugs to survive the pressures?  This is another topic I will revisit later.  The hell is also the lump that sits in the pit of my stomach 24 hours a day.  When he has a  fit of rage, which is becoming more often, it grows and wells up inside of me like some insidious evil or disease.  It keeps me awake at night, makes me grind my teeth while I do sleep, it keeps me in the dark even when the sun is shining bright and warm.  It brings tears to my tired eyes at the most inopportune times, they flow suddenly without warning like my sprinkler whose fitting came unsealed while sprinkling.  The hell is not having time or energy for my adoring saint of a husband or my mostly grown crazy sons or my precious daughter-in-law.  The hell is not being able to laugh because nothing appears funny. I do miss laughing till my stomach aches.  I can't remember the last time I did that. I pray each day, all day, to my higher power for strength and guidance for my son while searching for answers. 

Early Days

Working, raising three little boys and caring for a depressed spouse took there toll on me and the household.  My husband was in denial about his disease state and became moody, stressed and unpredictable.  I sought out help, joined foundations and participated in fundraising events and researched ways in which to slow the disease process.  He would have nothing to do with any of it.  I worked hard to keep the household stress free and quiet so he could sleep.  You see, he also worked a night shift which was even more detrimental to his health.  One of my biggest mistakes....giving a busy, demanding toddler his way to keep things quiet.  I helped create a monster and by the time I realized it he was 6 years old.  In that time I experienced and lived through a gambling addiction of my husbands, depression, unfaithfulness, two stints away in a gambling rehab clinic, GA meetings every week, a separation, a divorce, and the constant care and attention of 3 boys very involved in sports and school.  Looking back, I still can't believe I did it all.  Especially due to the financial woes we now had due to the compulsive gambling issue.  The house fell into disrepair, I gained 20lbs and had began suffering from anxiety attacks.  Through all of this we continued giving baby number three his way, just to make life a bit more bearable. 


I'm not sharing this for want of sympathy. The beauty of it all is that I made it through, persevered, got healthy, kept my home and was able to raise my children. I had my faith and some very special friends who helped me.


One thing remained:  GUILT.  And he knew it!

From the Beginning

The mother with a delinquent child.  That's me.  It surprises me, it shakes me.  I always felt I had a spiritual maternal connection with each one of my boys in utero.  I spoke to them while my belly grew and sang to them.  I made them promises of unconditional love that only a mother can share.  I was certain they could hear my thoughts, my vibrations.  They knew what I was about. A relationship like no other in the world.  The shear ecstasy felt the moment they came forth into the world.  These were the three highest, most spiritual moments of my 48 years thus far.  It can't compare to the brilliant blue waters of Cinque Terre, the grandeur of the Grand Canyon, the amazing power and beauty of Niagara Falls or the ominous feeling of seeing Stone Henge for the first time, wind blowing coldly across the Salisbury Plain.  Nothing can compare to the life-giving experience and spirituality of childbirth.



I am speaking today of child number three. He came into this world quickly, but oh so intensely.  Like a raging surge of water from a swollen river.  After recovering from the experience, which was a near 3 minutes, I held his 6lb 10oz pink, squirming body skin to skin with mine.  He suckled immediately and nursed like a champ from the beginning.  After all I wasn't a novice by this time.  His big brothers were present for his arrival, looking a bit shell-shocked but taking it all in.  They insisted on a name for him and after examination I succumbed to their title.  My favorite name of choice had been "Levi" but it just wasn't in his eyes.



He was taken to a love-filled home with lots of noise and excitement.  he had so much attention and care and nurturing.  At three months his daddy was diagnosed with a degenerative disease and the love-filled home took on a new dimension, a new "vibe" if you will.