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.
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.
Proud of you for having the courage to write, Julie. And proud of you for the person you are. I love you!
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