How do I as his Mother say “Your an addict. ” Have I not begged, pleaded and cried enough? Why does the words I say mean nothing? Can he not see the pain in my face when I tell him I can not bury him.
He was born with charisma that you could not get enough of. A laugh that would leave you with a sore belly from all the laughter and looks that have made many girls run into poles, tables or they would get tounge tied trying to take his order . His talent can take him anywhere he wants to go and he could make as much money as he was willing to work at to get. But he has decided to choose a drug whose name should be Satan as well as Meth.
He has been in rehab, jail , weekend jail, lived in a half way house and none of these worked because he did not choose to stay sober, he did not choose to be clean . He knew when he was on his way to where he goes to shoot poison in his veins what was going to happen. He could have chose different, to go to a meeting or call someone instead.
I am watching his charisma and laughter fade with each use. Now he seems angry, mad, distant and sad .Those eyes that would keep your attention are starting to look lifeless. He has became an Addict. Only by the grace of God he has had enough sense to call 911 before he completely Overdose on Satan. Then he goes totally paranoid . What he knows to be real is just poison running a muck through his veins and his mind. Satan seems to have taken over. I have sat beside his hospital bed trying to calm him down listening to stories that make no sense. If he is to out of control he is given a sedative to calm him down. When he is asleep I whisper in his ear loud enough that Satan this drug that is consuming him can hear me , I am demanding “it” to get out ,leave of my Son.
This week has been another hard one . It is less than a week between each use . Two heart breaking calls in one weeks time is hard to get over. The only solice I have is I am talking to him and he is alive. This week my Son called and he was drunk and who knows what else , telling us he was sitting on the train track hoping a train would come . When we asked where he was , he had no idea. What kind of crap is that . I had to sit there and pray that a train did not come down that track . After getting in touch with his roommate who he met at the last half way house assured me he would call when he left work. A few hours later I received a text that he was passed out on the porch.
As I sit at my job , a glorified paper pusher , the electronic kind I can barely keep my emotions together . I have these horrible images of my Son waiting on a train to take his life. How does a Mom recover from this?
Now I wait . Each day hoping that this is the day he chooses Living. Praying I never have to bury my Son.