There are few things in this world by which I can tell myself or anyone else that I am an expert. I am an expert at swearing. I am an expert at growing tomatoes and cucumbers. I am an expert at cooking many things.  I also think I am an expert at reading people. I can usually smell bullshit before a bullshitter opens their mouth. I think I am an expert at telling when one of my kids is coming down with a cold. I am an expert at telling when one of my kitties is up to no friggen good. I am an expert at telling when AC is going to tie one on with his brother, listen to Colombian music and dance like there isn’t a care in the world. And as of late, I am an expert at many things drug related. Not in the sense of taking drugs, but in helping those who have taken them. In this case, my child who has taken them. Particularly, in obtaining a section 35.

As my birthday approached, and I lay nearly dying (to be honest I prayed for death) I am getting text messages from her bf that she was a mess, and she isn’t doing well. She is a not going to do well on her own. Her insurance has basically instilled a moratorium on any mental health coverage for her at this point because her behavior is so poor when she admits to any program. Or she runs from any program so most won’t take her anyway. The question is, will I section her again. No. No I won’t. How in the world can I walk into that court again and beg, literally on my hands and knees, for them to take her for the FOURTH time. This would be the third time this year. This would be the fifth time I would be begging them. Once they flat out refused. Once they agreed but AC and I had to hunt her down like a rabid dog in the street, which was both traumatizing and horrifying. One time I tricked her and one time she came willingly but with the hate for me of one thousand devils in her heart only to get out and immediately use and began the cycle again. What could I possibly say? What’s different? What has changed? Jesus, what has changed? No. I said I was drawing a line in the sand so I said no and that is it.  Only I am an expert at being able to tell a bullshitter from a mile away.

I was irritable all night. My own person was fighting my psyche. It was annoying. In my head I was telling myself that I would not be doing this again. I would not do this again. AC kept saying I should tell him what I was thinking but the truth was I didn’t want to say it out loud because saying it meant I would do it. I didn’t want to say it or do it. I roamed around the house. I was so freaking sick from a kidney stone and kidney infection . I couldn’t work. I shouldn’t have been doing anything but staying in bed. But as usual, I would put the needs of my addict before the needs of anything else. And I was determined to do it and get home before anyone even knew I was gone. That wasn’t easy because I was barely amongst the living myself, but I managed. I went to where she was, I picked her up, I drove to the court. And then something truly remarkable happened. I walked into the Court Clinic and the Dr who handles the cases, who does the evaluations greeted me by name. Good Morning, Ms. Brayden.  That is, really there are no words for that. It’s not like your kids principal recognizing you. Or a cop in town. This is a person 90% of parents will never ever have to meet. She didn’t say it like I looked familiar, or she thought I had been there before. No, she knew my name. That was a stunning moment. I gotta tell you, it was a highlight of a mommy moment.

I simply told her that I know she looks at JoDee and sees an addict that can’t recover but I see a girl that should be dead but isn’t. And that must mean something. I see a chance so unless she dies or recovers, I have to keep trying. And unless the court tells me no, I have to keep coming back. She said that I wouldn’t get an argument out of her, and told me I know the process. We filled out the paperwork, and got in front of the judge in no time. I was home back in bed within an hour. As JoDee got called up to the podium, and put in shackles, and handcuffs, again, I was too sick to get upset, too tired to get sad and too drained to think about what comes next. I drove home, crawled in bed with my shoes still on and my messenger bag across my chest. I woke up 5 hours later covered in sweat and had to take a few minutes to remember if I dreamt it, or if it really happened. It happened. She was gone again. For the fourth time in two years and for the third time this year she is back at WATC.  The three previous times brought me comfort and a time of rest but this time, it brings me nothing. I’m no longer naive to the ways of the world. I don’t believe that she will come out a shiny new sparkling brighter version of herself. I can only hope she comes out a more aware and willing to live version of herself. A version of herself that is willing to forgive herself for her past deeds and understands she owes no one an apology except for herself, and if she forgives herself, the world is hers for the taking.  If she comes out on, let’s say a Monday, and knows she won’t use Tuesday, but doesn’t know about Wednesday yet, that’s success. It means she understands she can only take one day at a time.

The World of Addiction is so absolutely ass backwards no one can possibly understand it unless they are in it. Most kids complain that their parents expect too much from them and put too much pressure on them. Only in the land of Addiction do we expect nothing and want them to take one day at a time, and that is asking too much. I want my family back. I want to have my life back. I don’t want anyone’s pity or sympathy or compassion. It’s tiring and weights me down. I want to be normal like everyone else.  I’m sick of saying I’m fine or isolating so I don’t have to say it anymore. I can’t fix the heroin epidemic and God knows, I wouldn’t even know how to try. I just want one kid to be saved, just like every other parent of an addict.  So, if I have to embarrass myself in court 20 more times, I guess that’s what I will do if that means she is alive.  One of these times I might just build a cage in my basement and lock her up for a year. Don’t test me….anything is possible.