When you are so angry you’re calm, and so calm you’re angry, and so sick you’re hungry but food makes you throw up.
When you cried so much that you feel like you are suffering dry heaves of the face. Crying but nothing comes out.
When you knew that this fall would be just like every other fall.
When you hate addiction so much but there is no tangible thing to push, kick, punch or hate. Addiction looks like your child. And breathes, moves and laughs like your child. It’s the devil shape shifting into your child. It makes you want to hate your child. But you can’t. Even though sometimes you want too.
In times of such despair that driving your car off the closes bridge seems like a viable option only you’re afraid you might not die. The only thing worse than watching your child die from addiction would be watching it from a wheelchair.
At times when you are pissed off because you can’t plan anything because you don’t know if your daughter is going to stay clean long enough to participate, never mind live that long….
After you punch your daughter whom is high, in the back of the head and then lay in bed all night long feeling guilty because you have never laid a hand on any of them ever in their lives. Meanwhile, she is blissfully nodding out probably not even aware that you did that.
When you lay in bed wondering if you should have spanked them when they were younger. Maybe if I wasn’t so liberal, and hadn’t encouraged her to try anything, be brave, take risks that she would be in a better place. Those weren’t the risk I meant…. I meant like skydiving, but the path to hell was paved with good intentions.
When you are afraid to walk around barefoot in your own house because you stepped on two needle caps. In the same day.
At the point where you are so resentful that her addiction is taking so much away from the other kids.
When your own indecisiveness pisses you off. Your inability to make a decision and stand by it without feeling like you just swallowed an atomic bomb.
When your daughter begs you not to put her on the street and you don’t want too but you know that if it feels right it’s wrong so you do it anyway.
At night, unsleeping, staring at the clock, watching the minutes turn to hours wondering if your daughter is sleeping in her car with a window that doesn’t go up.
When you finally fall asleep only to have the recurring dream that you are running down a dark hallway with lots of doors. Every door is locked. You keep looking behind you as though someone is chasing you. Your hair is stuck to your face in perspiration both from fear and exertion. The slap of your bare feet on the black and white checkered tile floor echoes in the air, and is the only sound. Finally a door isn’t locked. You fling it open and your daughter is hanging from a noose in the middle of the room. She is wearing a white nightgown. Blackness is all around her, I can’t see what the noose is tied too and I can’t see her feet. I scream and reach my arm out. Her head jerks up and she sneers at me. Her eyes are black, lifeless, holes in her withering face. I hear the words “You killed me.” I wake up frightened. It’s better not to sleep.
In times of anxiety, fear, despair, loneliness and disappointment.
When you don’t know what to do?
When you know this will probably end with death but you can’t stop it, and you won’t be surprised when it happens. But you know that you as a person will be changed forever. And you aren’t surprised about that either.
When you feel like you are suffering more than she is and you are glad for that because maybe she isn’t suffering at all.
When lies sound like truths and truths sound like lies and you can’t distinguish the difference.
When you want to go back to when they were little and we were broke and alone but it was better to be broke and happy and all together than the hell you live in now. This isn’t living… its existing. Barely.
4 thoughts on “What Do You DO….”
I am sorry if this was a recent event.
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It is so difficult and my thoughts and prayers are with your daughter. My daughter is struggling as well and I have no control over her at all. She is home one day and gone the next. As long as they are alive there is hope.
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The hardest part for me is that with each relapse I feel like she throws her chances of a healthy future out the window and I start thinking hope is dangerous. But that’s a terrible way to think… And I realize it’s me that loses another piece of myself when she relapses. Terrible cycle!