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.