Worry

He really moved out. 

It made such a difference in our home’s atmosphere.   I didn’t feel like I had to walk on eggshells and I was very glad to have so much less tension around me all of the time.    

Even though he lived away from us, he had no idea of how to live independently.  The daily face to face battles diminished.  Instead, we began to have daily phone and text battles.  Every circumstance in his life revolved around us and what he could get us to do for him.  He always made us feel despised, but at the same time, he expected us to take car of bike repairs, food, rent money, rides to and from work, help paying his fines, and even being a listening ear when he felt like everything was always going wrong for him. 

We helped him out with some things and not others.  We got his bike repaired, and then he complained that the brakes didn’t feel right and he refused to ride it.   He got upset when we would only buy him things like milk and cereal, not pizza and donuts.  When we were out of town or were involved in any other activity that prevented us from giving him a ride to work, he would go on and on about how it was going to be our fault if he got fired.  Refusing to help pay his fines meant that we obviously didn’t care about him having to go to jail.   

One morning, he called me from the County Jail.   After drinking too much the previous night, he couldn’t find his apartment and tried to get into someone else’s--which led to his arrest for criminal trespass and public intoxication.  He told me that he had been drinking because he had f-d up his life and there was no hope.  He felt that now he was going to lose his job, lose his apartment, and then have nothing, and no way out. He wouldn’t divulge anything else about what had been happening to make him feel that way.    

I didn’t know what had led up to his being at the point where he would say that he had f-d up his life, but I suspected that he was probably using drugs again.  I felt quite terrified that something bad would happen to him, if he was drinking and using drugs while feeling as down as he was about his life.  It made we want to take care of him and do anything that I could to keep him safe.  At the same time, I was very angry at him and just wanted to give him a lecture about making stupid decisions.  I said a lot of things to him as we drove home, but he just closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.  I dropped him off at the apartment without hearing a thanks or a goodbye.  

Even though he always behaved horribly toward me, I couldn’t stop worrying about him.  If I didn’t hear from him for several days, I felt scared and anxious.  Then, he would get in touch--in his usual demanding way--and I would get irritated.  But, he didn’t seem to be suffering any of the gloom and doom that he had predicted about his life, so I hoped that he was going to be all right for now. 

I already had plans to go to California to spend some time with my daughter's family  and our new baby grandson.  I was excited to go, but was nervous about leaving my husband behind to deal with our son on his own.  Every time we go somewhere, my son seems to have immediate and dire needs for help.  

So, I wasn’t totally surprised when, late one night I got a phone call from him.  He sounded really depressed and talked about how nothing was going right for him.  Once again, he said that he had no hope and nothing to live for.  Except this time, he added that he was sick and having panic attacks.  He explained that it would help if he could play his guitar, but he didn't have it anymore.  It was at a Pawn Shop.  He wanted me to pay to get his guitar released.  If I had connected the dots that night, I would have realized that he was probably in with-drawl.  I know now that when he says he is sick and having panic attacks, he has been using a lot.   It also probably meant that he needed money for more drugs or something.  By having us pay to get the guitar out of the pawn shop, he could then re-pawn it to get the money that he felt he needed.  

I finally had to tell him that I was more than happy to keep talking to him, but I couldn’t really help him in any other way because I was in California.  He got very angry because I had not informed him that I was going to be out of town and started yelling at me.  

He blamed me for not saying the right things, for not being there for him to talk to, for not listening to him, and for always getting mad at him.  He told me that it was my fault that he was unable to accomplish anything that he wanted to do in his life, and that now he wanted to just kill himself.  He wanted me to know that if he did end it all, I would be the one who caused it and I would have to live with that for the rest of my life. 

It was hard to listen to him say those things.  He was right that if he did end his life, mine would never be the same.  I wished I knew how to make him feel loved, wanted, and needed.  Throughout his life, I had done everything I could to help him have joy, purpose, goodness, and success and it was heartbreaking that he didn't realize that.    I told him that I loved him with all my heart and would help him to the best of my ability in ways that I thought were right.  He refused believe any of it.  If he would have just opened his heart, he might have been able to feel the love, care, and concern that I had for him.  But, he wanted me to hurt as much as he was hurting, so he complained, ranted, raged, blamed, and threatened.  I honestly did not know how to reach him through all of that. 

I suggested that he talk to his Dad about what was going on with him.  He informed me that my husband is worse than I am and that he never listens and could care less about helping him.   He said that if I wasn’t willing to figure out how to get his guitar out of the pawn shop, then he might as well not live anymore and that maybe he would just not do his daily check in with his court appointed case worker so that he could just go to jail and die there.   

I asked him to think about going to the mental health unit at the hospital to get some help with all of those feelings.  I told him that all he had to do was ask and his Dad would be more than willing to drive him there.  Of course, he was not willing to do that, didn’t need that, and told me that I was stupid for even suggesting it to him.  He said he just didn’t want to live anymore, didn’t want anything from me ever again, didn’t want his job, and was just sick of everything.   Again, I told him that I loved him, cared about him, and wanted the best for him.  He called me a liar and said that he knew I never loved him or wanted him and that I should plan on never hearing from him again.  Then, he hung up on me.

I called my husband and he tried to reach out to my son, but he wouldn’t answer any texts or phone calls.  He wouldn’t communicate with us and we were both worried and very sad.  

So, I spent a lot of time snuggling my new grandson and had as much fun as I could with my grandchildren--even though my heart was breaking.  

Alone at home, my husband cried a lot.

Then, he decided to get an old guitar re-strung for my son to show him that we do care about him.

And we both hoped…that we would have a chance to give it to him.  

Someday.   

Summer

 I always wonder what I did wrong or what I could have done differently to change the outcome or the direction of my son’s life.

If I could go back in time, I think I would be a more intentional parent than I was.  But, not just for my youngest child—for all of my children.  In today’s world, there is so much information readily available about parenting that it makes me think I could have done better.  Mostly, I just wanted my children to be happy.  My husband and I worked to provide opportunities for learning, growth, joy, and fun.   We did as much as we could to have great times together.    

I hoped that my children would grow up thinking that I was a good mom.

Throughout the summer that my son turned 18, I was told hundreds of times what a bad mom I was.   

The tirades and episodes of degrading blame and recrimination were endless.  No matter how hard I tried or what I did to make our home life feel calm and peaceful, nothing worked.  It felt like we were in a sad, vicious cycle of caring for our son and wanting the best for him while feeling hurt, angry, and upset at him for the things that he did and said. 

One of the things that created a big problem between us was his job—mostly the part about getting to work.  We had provided him with a nice bike for transportation and we only lived a few miles away from Popeye’s.  But, I drove him to work more often, than not.  The problem was that he demanded, expected, and wasn’t thankful for those rides.  He took me for granted and abused my time as if it wasn’t important.  If I wasn’t feeling well, had an appointment, or wasn’t even home when he needed to be driven somewhere, it didn’t matter.  In his world, his needs surmounted any other priority and if I didn’t meet those needs, he was sure to tell me how awful I was.

It happened over and over again.  Sometimes, I just did what he wanted so that he would leave me alone.  Other times, I tried to make him take responsibility for his own life and schedule and then felt like I paid a huge price for it.  

One morning, he apparently overslept, came upstairs, and started yelling at me because—obviously--was my fault.  Then, instead of getting ready for work, he spent all of his time telling me everything that was wrong with me as a mother and as a person.  He went on and on blaming me for everything and anything that he could think of that made his life so miserable.  He was stuck in one of his relentless and irrational cycles.  

I knew that he would never have been able to make it to work on time without my giving him a ride, but the last thing I wanted to do was help him or do something nice for him.  Foolishly, I did it anyway--with hopes that if I did, he would stop his tirade. 

It didn’t work.  He yelled at me during the entire 5 minute drive.  For some reason, when we got there, he refused to get out of the truck.  I had no idea what he thought he was going to gain at that point, and felt very frustrated.  I don’t know how many times I said, “Get out and go to work”, but of course he knew I couldn’t do anything to make him, so he defiantly just sat there.  Every time I tried to use my phone to call my husband for some assistance, my son tried to grab it away from me.

I needed to get away from him, so I took my keys out of the ignition, got out of the truck, and walked to Wal-Mart.  I was in my pajamas with morning hair walking through a parking lot.  I am not the kind of person who goes anywhere in public without being dressed and ready for the day, but that morning, I knew that I would rather go to a store looking like I just woke up, than sit in my truck enduring a never-ending battle.  I called my husband and told him that I needed him to come and get me because our son wouldn’t get out of the truck.    

Then, I just stood near the Wal-Mart entrance, wishing that I was invisible.  When my husband picked me up, he said that he saw our son smoking behind the Popeye’s dumpster.  I got in the driver’s seat and drove us back toward Popeye’s.  My husband jumped out, quickly slipped inside my truck, and drove away without any drama from behind the dumpster.   As soon as my son realized that my husband was driving my truck, he started texting me. 

“I am coming to your house later today after I have to WALK back home.”
“I am GETTING my belongings.  If your husband won’t let me, I am getting them anyway.”
“Tell your f-ing husband that after I get off work, I am coming with a ___ ___police escort to get my stuff.  So tell him to be there.  Or if I have to get it without the police escort on my own time, I don’t think you will enjoy it as much.”

My husband was also receiving the same kind of mean and threatening text messages, so we decided to pack all of our son’s clothes and necessities into big trash bags.  We put them into the Jeep parked in our driveway and left him a message that he could pick up his things whenever he wanted to—without needing to contact us in any way.  

Then, since it was a Saturday, we left and drove up to the mountains.

We needed to try to escape the madness of our lives.

It was hard to enjoy being in one of our favorite places.

But we tried.

AFTER THE INCIDENT

Someone might think that being taken away by the police and having criminal mischief charges added to all of his other drug paraphernalia charges would do something to change his attitude, but it didn’t.  

Nothing got better. 

Within one or two days, I told my sister, “I can’t take it anymore.  I feel like I am constantly being verbally abused and the only thing I can do is stay as far away from him as possible.”  I didn’t want to be in my own house.  It was getting really hard to handle getting beat up emotionally every day.  I wanted him to move out, but then when he WOULD take off for a few days, I worried about him and constantly wondered where he was and what he was doing.

He came back a few days after one of those disappearing acts with an eye infection--an infection that he blamed me for.  He said it was because I never gave him contact lens solution so that he could take his contacts out.  Seriously, it has been a constant battle with him ever since he was 12 years old to get him to take his contacts out every night.  He never would.  He would wear them for months at a time without taking them out to clean and change them.  But, it was my fault that he had an eye infection. It moved from one eye to the other and he missed a week of work.  That was a fun week.  

On Sunday, we actually decided to go to church to get some peace and quiet.  We hadn’t gone for quite a few weeks because it is hard to feel like going to church when you are constantly getting yelled at.  He was supposed to get ready to go to work while we were gone.  His eyes were still red and he asked me what to do about it.  I told him to take a shower, put some anti-redness drops in, and get to work.  He wanted to know how he was supposed to put his contacts in; what he would do if he went to work and they sent him home; how was he  supposed to keep his eyes from getting red while he worked, etc., etc., etc.  He didn't want to hear any of our answers or solutions.  He just kept going at us and wouldn’t stop his constant f-bombing.  My husband finally got a little more upset than usual and said that if he didn’t go to work and ended up getting fired, he could just plan on moving out.  Immediately, our son jumped on that statement and wanted me to get him a duffle bag so he could start packing.  We ignored his request and told him that we were going to church and would be back in time to give him a ride to work. 

It was a relief to leave the house, but when we got outside, we saw our neighbor.  He seemed a little bit embarrassed to see us.  There had been so much yelling in our house that it would have been hard for him NOT to hear what had been going on.  I said, “So, Jim, did you enjoy our Sunday morning entertainment?”  That broke the ice.  He said he did not know how we put up with that and that he really admired us. 

Admired.  I would rather not be admired for having to deal with this impossible situation.  I would rather not think of life with my son as an impossible situation. 

We said we were going to walk up to the church and that if he saw our house on fire or anything else, to come and get us.  He laughed. 

After a morning like that, we didn’t really feel like being at church, so we just sat in the building for about 30 minutes and then went back home.  Our son said he was ready for work.  But, as soon as he got in the truck, he demanded to know when he needed to move out.  We told him that if he kept his job and could treat us nicely, he didn’t have to move out.  He said that he couldn’t possibly do anything that he wanted to do while living with us,  As he got out of the truck he said that he was going to quit his job and be gone the next day.

Two days later he left.  

My grandsons and I were having a playdate one morning.  We were having a good time right up until my son woke up.  He demanded to know where our old Playstation was and wanted me to find it for him right then. I said that I was taking care of the boys and would not look for the Play Station until after they went home.  He started to yell at me about how he needed me to find it right then, so I took the boys outside and left my poor husband alone inside with our son.  The boys and I had fun playing in the water and having a picnic, but every now and then, one of the boys would hear the yelling inside the house and would say something about his uncle being ‘grumpy’.  He was more than grumpy.  He was absolutely horrible to my husband, screaming right into his face, following him around the house, blocking him from going into the office, and calling him all kinds of terrible names.  He even said, “Sometime I am going to kill you, then I am going to kill her, and then I am going to kill myself.”  Finally, he stormed out of the house with a full backpack and told me that he couldn’t stand living with us anymore.    

The escalating turmoil was becoming too much to handle.  I didn’t like how he acted with the boys there and I felt very uneasy about the threat.  I had no way of knowing if it would come back to haunt me in the future, but I had a bad feeling about it.   Having him out of the house was a relief and I wondered how long the respite would last. 

A few days later at 7:00 a.m., he was back, acting like nothing had happened.  He came in, got something to eat, took a shower, and said he would like a ride to work.  But, as soon as he asked me to put his hair in a man-bun and it didn't look as great as he thought it should, the wrath began.   Why should I even have to put his hair in a bun?  It was ridiculous to be yelled at for that and it didn’t exactly make me want to take him to work, but when, I told him to ride his bike, he demanded to be driven because there were clouds in the sky and it might rain.   And, just like every other time, in order to get him to stop yelling, I took him to work.   I made him take his bike with him because I didn’t want him to assume that he was just automatically coming back home.  I hoped that if he had his bike, he would choose to go somewhere else after work.  He yelled at me all the way to Popeyes about his hair, his bike, his job, my attitude, and everything and anything that he could think of to yell at me about.  I told him to just shut up and his parting shot was that I was being such a b****.  It was always ME and never him.

He was supposed to go to court the next day.  I wished that I would get a chance to tell the judge, “At this point, I feel like the son that I used to know doesn’t exist anymore.  The person that he is – is selfish, mean, angry, and uncaring.  It is not good for any of us to have him living in our home right now.  Maybe if he had to live somewhere else under the court’s authority, he could take some time to find out what he wants in his life (besides the freedom to use drugs) and could eventually, when everyone is ready, work on rebuilding relationships.  We would miss him and we do love him, but we don’t want to keep going through these things with him every day.”

Of course, I didn’t get a chance to say it.  

He actually made it to court without any drama and was given $675.00 in fines, 30 days in detention--suspended, and 40 hours of community service.   While on probation, if he were to be caught drinking or using drugs, he would be punished in the adult system because he would be 18 by then.  She told him that he had to complete the community service without any help from us and then said, “I have read the report on you and it does not make you sound like a very good person.  You need to get more backbone than wishbone and learn to work for what you get and stop expecting it all to be handed to you.” 

And my son said, “Yes ma’am.” 

Then, came home and started yelling at us again.

July 2014

 

Still Screaming Inside

I am jumping ahead in the timeline of events.  This blog was meant as a way for me to share my feelings about having a child who is an addict and what it is like to be a mom who wants to scream, but just keeps it all inside, instead. 

Lately, I have been doing a lot of that. 

I will keep writing about everything that has happened, too.  But, today is just one of those days where a lot of feelings and emotions are at the surface. 

Do you ever hear songs on the radio or playlists that seem to be just what you did or did not need to hear that day?  

Sweet Child of Mine by Guns and Roses is one of those songs.  Sometimes it brings back good memories of my son as we listened to music while driving in the truck together and other times it makes me miss him like crazy. 

Hotel California by the Eagles used to be one of my favorite songs.    I had never really thought about the lyrics, though, until my son became a drug addict.  As time went on, the last two lines of the song touched a chord in me and I wonder if the writers intended them to mean what I think they do. 

                The lines are:  “You can check out any time you like
                                                 But, you can never leave.”

Those words are a pretty good description of drug addiction.  Once someone is addicted, even if they get sober, they will always be an addict and will always be a guest at the “hotel”. 

Or it could even be worse. 

My son went from being a guest at the hotel, to establishing a long time residency.    I didn’t even know that it could get as bad as it has.   After the inpatient portion of rehab when he was just 14 years old, he was still bitter and angry at us.  Over the next few months of outpatient treatment and family therapy, he seemed to change and acted like he wanted more out of life than drugs.  When we went on a mother/son exploring and hiking adventure, we talked late into the night.  The positive plans that he shared with me about his future were amazing and I began to have a little bit of hope that my son would be one of the success stories.

 At group meetings while in rehab, he talked about his drug use up to that point and the extent of his usage was quite surprising to us.  These revelations convinced us that he clearly needed the intervention that had taken place.   Once, he shared that he would never ‘do heroin or meth because they really can mess you up’ and that he never would drink because he didn’t like how alcohol made him feel.   I optimistically began to think that everything could really work out for him.   I  just have never been able to completely give up on him, even though he has relapsed repeatedly and each time it has gotten worse.  There have been so many more bad times than good over the last several years.   And, now my worst nightmare has come true.  He has gone on to use LSD, cocaine, meth, and heroin and I have seen what these drugs have done to destroy his mind, body, and soul.   Over the last few years he has used heroin so extensively that he resorted to constant lying and even stealing from us to try to get the money that he needed for his drugs.  

I wanted to believe what he said and trust his promises, but the reality is that you just can’t naively believe and trust an addict, whether is 14 or 24.  He also is a good actor and he is a very, very good manipulator.  Keeping my heart open and believing that what he was doing or saying was real and honest, has ultimately caused me to feel like my entire soul was being crushed with disappointment and loss. 

I can’t even wrap my head around what drugs have done to him and what they have done to our family and relationships.  He is my child and I feel like I love him unconditionally, but do I love him no matter what he does?  Yes, I do.  I will never stop loving him.  But, I don't think unconditional love can be a real thing when you are the parent of an addict.  Do I accept him as he is?  No, I do not.  He has only been sober for a few months at a time on and off for the last 11 years.   Drug use has turned him into someone that I don’t even know, anymore.  Some of the things that he has done have made me afraid of being alone with him at our home.  This means that he can’t stay with us when he has nowhere else to go.   I can't accept his using, the horrible coarse language, and even his smoking.  I am angry at the manipulating, lies, deception, and the dark path that he has let himself go down.  

It upsets me that he has burned bridges with friends and professionals who were willing to do all that they could to help him.  Now, they have been forced to shut him out of their lives in order to protect themselves and their families.   If he wants to get off the destructive path that he is on and check out of the “hotel”, he does not have the tools or resources that he needs to be able to do it.  It is hard to accept that he has turned his back on all of the people who wanted to help him.  If he had only accepted rehab and sober living one of the many times that it was offered in the last several years, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten as bad as they have for him.  And for us.   

I will always wish that he could be a part of our family again.  I want to laugh with him, do fun things with him, and see him have a good relationship with his dad, brother, sister, and nieces and nephews.   Right now, there is no way that he can be around his nieces and nephews.  My other two children don’t want their kids to see their uncle on drugs or coming off them.  They don’t trust him and they are angry with him.  My son doesn’t even like to talk about him or hear his name.  My daughter has thrown up her hands and said that she can’t be an intermediary anymore because it is too hard on her.  They are both tired of seeing him hurt us, use us, and tear our lives apart.  And yet, deep down, they still have a soft spot for him.  My older son has occasionally agreed to drive his little brother somewhere and buy him something to eat.  My daughter laughs at fun memories of him as a child.   Then she cries because of where he is at now. 

I cry a lot.  I think my husband cries more than I do.  We both have periods of anxiety and depression related to the feelings we have about the situation.  Things hit us at crazy moments that cause us to ‘lose it’.  Yesterday, I needed gloves to pull weeds.  I grabbed the leather pair that my son wore last summer while he worked in the back yard and immediately felt the tears welling up—just from holding a pair of gloves in my hand.  I thought about some of the fun times that we had working together, planning, talking, laughing, and joking around.   The backyard project was going to be hard, but he seemed glad to be able to help me with it.  I was happy to have him around.  Nothing makes me happier than to spend time with each of my children.  The summer of work and camaraderie lasted about 45 days and then we experienced one of the worst traumas of our lives.  

The consequences of that period of time have not ended for any of us, especially him.

It feels like we have lost him, permanently.  I find myself grieving as if he has died.  It seems very unlikely that he will ever be a part of our lives again.  He blames us for his current situation and takes no responsibility for his choices or actions.  We know that the years of continued drug use and heavy heroin usage during the last few years have taken their toll on his mental state.   He has said and done things that are unbelievable and are going to be hard to ever get over.  I don’t know how we will be able to heal from this.  He still refuses to accept help and may never get better.  In addition to advocating for rehab and sober living, we have now had to advocate for mental health help.  We have repeatedly pushed and asked and no one listens.  Time goes by and the system that he is stuck in just lets his mental health slip through the cracks as if it is not important.  These ciircumstances are out of our control and nothing is working in his favor.  He probably will never forgive us for his current circumstances and has said that we are not his parents, that we are the worst thing that has ever happened to him, and that he will pay us back for this. 

Sometimes, I feel as if I can’t forgive myself, either.  What if I hadn’t done this particular thing?  What if I had done that, instead?  I keep ‘shoulding’ on myself, trying to go back in time, and rethinking about what I could have done differently so that none of this would have happened.  I know it doesn’t help to do that, but it is impossible to stop my mind from going there.  It tears me apart and the questions don’t let me have any peace. 

Why, why, why has nothing worked out for him?  Why does he have to go through this?  His life began with battles that he had no control over.  He was born addicted to drugs.  He was abandoned by his birth mother.   He has extremely poor vision.  A condition called "slow proecssing speed" kept him from doing well in school, even though he is very smart.  Instead of being diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, he was labeled as having Motiviational Deficit Disorder by psychologists.  He is oppositional defiant and has always battled with us over parental control.  With a pre-disposition to addiction, it seemed so unfair that he had to even begin to use drugs.  He didn’t think anything was wrong with marijuana and that it wasn’t a gateway drug.  Now he is an addict.  Why did everything have to be so hard for him? 

We were overjoyed when he was given to us.  We adopted him with high hopes and dreams.  We only wanted the very best for him.  And everything that we have ever done for him was to try to help him have that.  This kid was more loved and had more people in his corner than you could possibly imagine.   Everyone delighted in him and loved watching him learn and grow.  He was the cutest, smartest, craziest, most extremely stubborn and determined child that I knew.   We adored him.

And now, it is killing us that things have turned out this way.  I am tired of hearing that it is a learning experience and that we will be stronger because of it.  It definitely does not seem like it is making us stronger.  It is hard to feel strong when you are falling apart.  I don't know what kind of wisdom I have gained that I could share with others.  I wish someone could give me some wise counsel that would help the hurt go away and help me know what to do.  Nobody knows what to say or how to help us.  I don’t even know how to help myself.  I wish I knew what to do for my husband.  He is struggling very much.   

I am certain that our son is hurting and feels very alone.  I have prayed for angels, friends, and grandparents who have gone to 'the other side' to be with him and to help him feel loved and cared about because our hands are tied and we can't do anything to help him.   

I don’t know when he will even be able to make decisions for himself again.  

If that time comes, I want him to be willing to do whatever he has to do to have a good, clean, sober, successful, and happy life.

I really hope it will happen sooner than later.

And, I have to accept that I might not ever get the chance to see it.

Or him, again.

I AM BACK

Without meaning to, I took a break from writing.  It has been quite a few years since I last wrote about my son.  It started to feel like writing about my son wasn’t helping my inner peace as much as I wanted it to.  After I finished a blog post, I was down and depressed.  That wasn’t supposed to happen.  My writing was meant to help me express my feelings, hopefully help others by sharing our story, and I wanted to be able to eventually show that a successful outcome was possible.  But we have had more ups and downs than I could have even imagined in the last several years.  Anger and addiction have not released their holds on our son and it has gotten really hard to even know how to deal with everything that comes up, let alone share details about it.  A few months ago, something awful happened and it made me realize that I do really need to keep writing.  I can’t keep all of this bottled up inside.  I wish I still wasn’t the mom screaming inside, but here I go again.

May 2014.

He had a broken arm, a new job, a place to stay, food, some computer time, and rides to work.  He had everything a seventeen year old could want.  And he wasn’t happy.  He constantly berated me, swore at me, called me names, and tried to pick fights.  I began to feel so bad about myself that I felt desperate and emotional all the time. In most instances, my husband felt just like I did.  In many ways, he was treated even worse than I was.

I told my friend, “I feel so bad.  He says horrible things to me whenever he doesn’t get what he wants, tells me what a bad parent I have been, and calls me terrible names.  I know I am not supposed to let him get to me and am not supposed to believe all of the things that he says about me, but hearing it over and over gets inside my head and makes me feel like I am an awful person.  When a blow up happens with him, he spins it around to where everything is my fault, making sure that I know that I am the worst kind of person, and that he is the way he is--because of me.  I just can’t stand it, anymore.  If I could disappear, I would.  I hate being in the house with him and feel like this constant negativity consumes about 80% of my life.  If it weren’t for my grandkids, my other two children, my husband, and my friends, I would hate 100% of my life.  I can’t take it anymore. I feel like I am constantly being verbally abused by him and that the only thing I can do is stay as far away from him as possible.  What kind of life is that?”

It was pretty hard to take days like this: 

Everything started with him waking up and demanding that I pay him to do chores because he needed some money.  He needed $32.00 immediately and wanted to do the chores over time because he thought he wouldn't be able to do every job that it would take to earn enough money in one day.  No matter how many times I told him that I would not give him chores to earn money, he would not let it drop.  One of the rules that he had been given to be allowed to live here was that he was not supposed to ask for money in any way; for any reason.  I pointed out that it was a house rule and that I was not going to change it for him.  He told me that as his mother, I should want him to have money so that he could have fun over the weekend. 

I reminded him that he already owed us a lot of money and that giving him more would just add to his debt.  We had gotten his electric guitar out of the pawn shop so that he wouldn’t lose it, but also weren’t going to let him have it until he earned the money to pay us back.  He said he was never going to pay us for the guitar because we had ruined all of the hopes and dreams that he had as far as his guitar was concerned (apparently, by not letting him have his electric guitar back on the weekend that he had a chance to join a band with the greatest drummer that he has ever seen).  

I said, “You are the one who moved out because you couldn’t live by our rules.  You pawned your guitar.  You wanted to be able to smoke pot.  We had nothing to do with your hopes and dreams being destroyed.  You did that all on your own and you can’t blame me for that.” 

Of course, that made him mad and he said, “You would think my f***ing mom would do something nice for her kid and give me some money!”  Hearing him use the f-bomb with the word ‘Mom’ made ME so angry!  I was tired of hearing it all the time.  I turned around and said in my upset mom voice-- with the tone that he perceives as yelling-- “Don’t call me your f***ing mom!  I am your MOM, but I am not an f***ing mom!”   But, he exploded in the middle of my words and did not hear the part about my not wanting him to use that horrible adjective in association with my name anymore.  He took my exclamation out of proportion in his usual irrational way and said that I finally admitted after all of these years that I am not his mom and he yelled “Thanks a lot you f***ing b**** and punched a hole in the wall.   

He wouldn’t listen when I told him that was not what I meant and he knew it.  I just wanted him to STOP swearing at me and calling me names and f-bombing me. He was upset and began to yell at me right in my face.  I tried to get away from him and pushed him back.  But, as I pushed, he did a Tae Kwon Do downward thrust on my arms.  His guitar string bracelet caused a long red scratch on my arm. 

I ran up the stairs to lock myself in my room, but when I tried to close the door, he put his foot in it and then my door broke.  Of course, he blamed me and told me that it was my fault for slamming his foot in the door and he stormed back down the stairs.  I tried to call my husband.  He didn’t answer, so I called my older son and told him I needed help.  He said he was coming, but I felt like I had to get away, so I grabbed my keys and ran out to my truck and locked the doors.  I was out there in the driveway when my son came charging out of the house yelling at me to just give him some money so that he could leave.  I cracked the window a little bit and said, “No. You called me names, you hurt me, you punched a hole in the wall, and you broke my door. There is no way I am giving you money, loaning you money, or letting you earn money. Right now, you are out of control and you just need to go somewhere else and calm down.” 

He almost broke the window on my truck trying to shove his arm inside to unlock the door. When I tried to drive away, he screamed at me that I was trying to break his arm.   I didn’t like having this all go on outside where the neighbors could witness it, but luckily my older son arrived and got him away from my truck.

I could hear him telling his little brother to just go away and leave me alone.  But, he said, “All I wanted was for her to give me some f***ing money!  If YOU asked her for money, she would give it to you.  She doesn’t even treat me like I am her child.  I am just a dog that she got at the pound.  She would return me if she could.  She would treat a dog better than she treats me.  She is not my f***ing mom.”  He threw his phone at me and told me that he didn’t want anything I had ever given him, again.  

My older son is very good at keeping his cool and he just told his brother that what he was saying was a bunch of bull and he helped me get into the house.  

He said, “Mom, we can’t just let him get away with this.  He damaged your house, hurt you, and something has to make him stop.  I am sorry that I have to do this, but I really feel like I have to call the police.”

We wouldn't let my son come back in the house.  It seemed like he was going to leave, but he walked away, came back, yelled, walked away, came back, and yelled some more over and over again.  Finally, he just stood on the porch pounding on the door and screaming at us to give him back his phone. 

When the police arrived, they found him at the front door and they handcuffed him.  I had to answer all of their questions and I felt like I couldn’t remember what happened first, last, second, or when and where. 

When he told his story to the police, he tried to blame me for freaking out when he said that I was ruining his life and that I had told him I wasn’t his mom and that all he was trying to do was get his phone so that he could leave.  They lectured him about his behavior and told him that he owed me an apology.  He was given a ticket for criminal mischief and they took him to youth services.   

Great.  That was helpful.  The Youth Service Center is not like juvenile detention.  As soon as the police drop a kid off there, they immediately call you and tell you to come and pick him up.  It doesn’t do anything but let a few hours pass by so that people can calm down. 

Sure enough, within about an hour, my husband and I received the phone call.  But, we said that we would not come and get him without speaking with a mediator first.  That gave us a few extra hours to have a little break from the drama while they tracked down a social worker.   

He was so combative during the meeting that nothing really got resolved.  He just blamed the whole incident on me.  He said that if his f***ing ‘mom’ would have just been nice enough to give him some money to take his girlfriend out to dinner for her birthday, we wouldn’t be having this discussion right now.  A few hours hadn't made a difference in his attitude.  Nothing was going to change his way of thinking.  The social worker just gave up and we had to leave with him. 

As soon as we got back to our house, he grabbed his bike and rode off. 

He did not come back that night.

And that was okay. 

Broken Arm

By everything left unspoken, our son continued to stay at our home and we found ourselves constantly walking on egg shells around him--trying to avoid conflict.  It never seemed to work.  

One morning, I was working in our office,  when he came to me and asked if he could have a ride to the skate park.  I told him that I couldn’t take him anywhere until I finished what I was working on. 

Then, the barrage became relentless the entire time that I was trying to finish my work and get ready:  “You have to hurry…  You are making me late…   Will you put my hair in a pony tail?  It doesn’t look right.  Look at all the hair that you didn’t get in it.  I look like a heroin addict today because my hair looks so stupid…  Well, there is no way I can go to Applebee’s to apply for a job looking like this…  Are you almost done?  I was supposed to be there an hour and a half ago…  I can’t find my I.D.  That is just great.  Now what am I going to do without an I.D?”  (It was in the pocket of a pair of his pants).

It was like being with a five year old who has no capacity for patience.  And he was trying MY patience to the point that I wondered if he was purposely goading me into starting a battle.   I was biting my tongue and holding my breath and doing everything I could to keep my cool even though having him want to be in charge of my time schedule was driving me crazy.

I finally was able to drop him off, but of course, in addition to all of the things that I had done so far that day to ruin his life, I topped the morning off when I wouldn’t give him any money for lunch.  He got out and slammed the truck door shut without so much as a “see you later.”

We hadn’t heard from him all day and by that evening, I was more than happy to have some precious “away” time with my husband.  We went out to dinner and had just started to eat our meal when my husband’s phone began to ring and we “missed” 20 phone calls from our son. 

When the phone kept ringing and ringing, it seemed like we might as well just answer his call and find out what was so urgent, even though we would have liked to continue our dinner without the drama that was possibly coming our way.  As soon as my husband said hello, our son colorfully said, “If you cared at all to answer your f-ing phone when your son calls, then you would have found out half an hour ago that I fell at the skate park and broke my f-ing arm.  It is raining and it would be really nice if my “parents” could tear themselves away from whatever they are doing to come and get me.”  When my husband tried to get a word in to ask if the arm was broken or just bruised, our son accused him of being "snippy" with him.

We hurried to finish our meal and then picked him up at a grocery store where he had gone to get out of the tiny bit of rain that had started to come down.  The grocery store happened to be right next to an Insta-care, so I told him that I needed to look at his arm to determine if we needed to stop in at that Insta-care to get an x-ray.    

He was so mad at us for having the nerve to finish eating before we came to get him (even though we DID skip dessert) that he wouldn’t let me look at his arm and refused to see a doctor.  He said, "If you could just be NICE parents and buy me a a Little Caesar’s pizza (since I haven't had anything to eat all day), then, you could just take me home and leave me the hell alone."   

Wanting to avoid one more thing for him to get upset about, we actually did stop to pick up a pizza. 

When he got what he wanted, instead of being a little bit grateful, he unleashed his anger again about the events of the night as if it were our fault that he had hurt his arm and as if he needed to prove that we were terrible parents for thinking he was lying about breaking his arm and making him wait as long as we did before we picked him up.      

It wouldn’t have mattered if we had been five minutes away when he called, he still would have found a reason to take everything out on us.  Even though it was pointless to try to defend ourselves, we told him that we came as soon as we could and that even though OUR meal been cut short, we had just willingly bought HIM a meal and that maybe he should be thankful instead of angry.  When he wouldn't drop it, we suggested that if didn’t want to show any appreciation for what we are able to do for him, then maybe he should stop asking us to do things for him. 

He agreed that he would never ask us for anything.

Again.

At home, he didn’t seem to be in a lot of pain and wouldn't even take the Ibuprofen that I set out for him. 

But, the next morning, he knocked on my bedroom door and said that he thought he probably DID need to go to the doctor.   He finally let me look at his elbow and it was really swollen and he said it hurt really bad.  He wanted to know when I would be able to take him and I told him that I could be ready in about one hour.

 

He said that was okay and then as he turned to leave my room, he told me that I needed to tell his dad to get off the computer so that he could use it while he waited.  I said, “YOU can go ask him if you can use the computer while you are waiting.”

He replied, “He is a dick and will keep using it as long as possible just so that I can't.”  This was as far from the truth as it could get.  If he had asked my husband to use the computer, my husband would have gotten out of the office as soon as possible, just to avoid another fight.

I started laughing because it was so ludicrous that he would say that about my husband, fully expecting that it would make me do what he wanted me to do.  He got angry and said, “What is so funny?  I like jokes.  Please tell me what is so f-ing funny.” 

I said, “That you seriously think that if you call your dad a dick and say awful things about him that I will go ask him to let you use the computer.”

I guess the only thing that he could do with my explanation was get angrier.  I was sitting there in my bed waiting for him to get out of my room so that I could get dressed and ready to take him to the doctor and he wouldn’t stop going on and on with his tirade about how badly I treated him.  After all, he simply wanted to watch some shows on the internet while he ate breakfast and I should have wanted to help him do that.   

I grabbed my phone and began sending text after text to my husband to tell him to come upstairs and rescue me (even though he should have been able to hear that there was an angry exchange going on).   But, his phone was not with him in the office and he had no idea that I needed him. 

I finally told my son that we were finished talking and that he was more than capable of asking his father for the use of the computer.   If he felt that he couldn’t take care of that himself, then he was out of luck.  I even suggested that if he needed entertainment while he ate that he might try to read something.  

He said, “I can’t read while I eat, MOM!  I am blind and I have a broken arm.  How am I supposed to eat and hold a book right next to my face, MOM?”

I said, “Look, I just offered an alternate entertainment solution to you.  If you don’t like my suggestion, don’t do it.  Quit getting upset about it.  It is stupid to keep this conversation going.”

Then, he turned everything around and got mad at me for using the word "stupid".  He said he wasn’t allowed to tell US that what we are saying is stupid, so why should I be able to tell him that what he was saying was stupid?  I replied that I hadn’t said that what he was saying was stupid, I said that it was stupid to keep this conversation going.  But, that if I did say that something he was doing WAS stupid, I had every right to do that because I am the parent and he is the kid.

Then he left my room, went into the bathroom, and supposedly called someone to ask them to take him to the Insta-Care because wasn’t going anywhere with me after I said he was stupid and called him a kid. 

At least, without him standing there in my room, I was able to get out of bed, grab my robe, and go find my husband.    

Of course, that was a mistake.  As soon as my son heard me talking to my husband about what he had somehow missed hearing, he charged into the office with us and the tirade started all over again.  It felt like everything was spinning out of control to the point that I didn’t know what we were even fighting about anymore. 

How does agreeing to take him to the doctor turn into a blow-up?

We weren’t even begging to take him to the doctor, but he made sure to tell us that now, he wouldn’t go with us under any circumstances.  We told him that since he wasn’t 18 yet, the doctor would need our consent for treatment.  That made him even angrier because we were calling him a "kid" again.  He said he was just going to get out of our lives because we were f-ing idiots and that he would just suffer with his broken arm since we obviously didn’t care about it anyway.

We suggested one more time that he calm down enough to think about what he was doing because he probably really needed to get his arm x-rayed.

By then, I had taken all that I could take that morning and I went up to the bathroom and turned on the fan so that I couldn’t hear anything going on downstairs. 

I could tell that the arguing had picked up again, but I made myself stay upstairs.  It went on and on and I wondered what else they were arguing about when suddenly, my husband was outside the door asking me for the insurance card.

While I was getting the card out of my wallet, my husband seemed to be putting an end to any more discussion by saying, “There are only three things that I want to ask of you.  Get a job.  Don’t use drugs.  And be nice.  Do those three things and there should be no more reason to have blow-ups like the one this morning.”

Our son replied, “Well, there are only two things I ask of you and you can’t manage to do yours, so leave me the hell alone and don’t talk to me.”

I wonder what the two things that we can't manage are?    

I guess they are to leave him alone.

And don’t talk to him.

Like it would be that easy.

He's Back!

The day after Easter, he went to the skate park, but then called to see if he could stay at home again that night.  I asked him if he really had a place to stay or not, but he just lied and said that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with Alex, so he didn’t want to walk all the way to his house if he wasn’t back yet.  I thought he had probably done something to lose the opportunity to stay there, but he wasn’t admitting anything. 

After a few days of this, I felt like we were being used and manipulated again and thought we should tell him that our house didn’t have a revolving door and that he either lived here and obeyed ALL of the rules or he didn’t.  He wasn't going to be allowed to just keep coming and going at his pleasure. 

He responded with the statement that he was “thinking about coming back home.”

I asked him why he wasn’t staying at Alex’s anymore and he answered that he could still stay there if he wanted to, but that Alex’s parents were alcoholics and that it was not a good environment for him to be in if he was going to stay clean.  I think he knew that if he put it that way we would be more likely to give him another chance.   It sounded like a very responsible thing for him to say.  Later he told me that they didn't like how he kept coming and going and told him that he couldn't stay there anymore.  I felt that they probably expected him to start paying rent or contributing to the household in some way, but he wasn't doing that, so he was asked to leave.

Letting him move back in scared me to death.  I was very worried about how we would be able to get along with each other.   I didn't want to live in a house full of daily arguing and contention.

We told him that he could stay here but that we would have to go over the house rules in detail again.  My husband took care of this because I just didn’t feel like I could handle any more battles.  He made sure to point out that our son was not allowed to stay in the house alone and that if we went to the store, or an appointment, or even out of town for the weekend, he had to find somewhere else to go because he wasn’t going to be given a key to the house.  He told him that he had to be nice to us, that he couldn’t just sit around playing computer games all day, that I wasn’t going to be his taxi service, that we weren’t going to give him money, that he had to go to AA meetings, and that he had to find a job.

All of that went over really well with him.

He kept interrupting my husband, which would cause my husband to feel that he needed to repeat himself to make sure that he had been heard.  Our son started yelling at him for saying the same thing over and over again.  My husband told him he was just trying to make sure that he was understood and it kept going back and forth like that until my husband told him that if he didn’t like listening to the rules, he didn’t have to live here. 

My son came upstairs and yelled through the bedroom door telling me what a dick his dad was and wanted me to come out and drive him somewhere because it was obvious he wasn’t going to be able to stay here.  I did not comply and eventually,  I heard him downstairs arguing with my husband again.   I felt that I should just stay out of it because sometimes when I get involved, things escalate.  My son kept coming upstairs, demanding that I come out and listen to him, but then wouldn’t get what he wanted from me, and would go back downstairs and start arguing with my husband all over again.

Finally, through the door, I contributed, “If you are going to live here you have got to be willing to listen to us.  You have got to stop arguing.  If you don’t get what you want, or hear the answer that you want, or have a hard time getting something to work out the way you want it to—you can’t freak out!  You just have to accept things the way they are and leave it at that.  You can’t berate us on and on because you aren’t getting your way.  You have to accept the rules and be happy that you can stay here.”

Then, he reverted to, “Well, if you would only do this…….then I wouldn’t have to do that…….”    It always comes down to that.  I have to conform to his expectations and if I don't, it gives him permission to act like a jerk.  

His parting shot was that he was not going to ask me for anything ever again.

Famous last words.

I wanted to make him leave that night because we shouldn’t have to go through this every single day when all we were trying to do was give him a place to stay. Letting him live here didn't mean that we had to give him total control over us and our home.

We felt like we were “damned if we do and damned if we don’t.”

We let him stay at our house and then he freaks out over everything.

We don’t let him stay at our house and then he freaks out over everything.

So, why did we let him stay when it seemed like we were just in another no-win situation? 

Because that night it was raining.  No matter how awful he was acting, we couldn’t send him out into the rain with nowhere to go. 

Even though it was tempting. 

Saved by the rain.