Addiction
I am crushed. My heart hurts deeper than it ever has before, and I have only myself to blame. How could I not know?
These last few days have been a blur, possibly because I lack sleep. But it’s hard to think clearly. Hard to feel anything. Constantly on the verge of tears, going through the motions of life, trying to keep things normal. It’s hard.
Two years ago my life changed, my perspective changed. All was not right with the world. My daughter hurt deeply and I did not know. I was not able to head it off at the pass. Her world was crashing down all around her and it was all she could do to keep her head above the flood of emotions and events that accompanied them. I was clueless.
I don’t even know how to begin to describe the shame I feel for not knowing, not being there for her. I thought I was doing things right, that I was understanding, loving, and approachable. We had a good relationship. It was not enough.
The voices that spoke into my daughter’s life were louder than mine. You should be ashamed. She doesn’t know what she is talking about. Voices in her own head condemned her. You are unloved, worthless.
And no matter how many times I tried to reassure her, comfort her, direct her, my efforts were futile. I saw her hurting, resigning to the bleak reality that consumed her.
Mental health is not something to be trifled with. In a world filled with networking and social platforms, it’s hard not to get lost in the mess of it all. People are not kind. Bullies are protected. They know the game, how to play it and get away with it. The unrelenting bombardment crushes any glimmer of hope or possible escape.
She was there. In the middle of a broken system that protects the perpetrator. Her only escape was cutting. The physical control she had over an out-of-control situation comforted her, and ushered in her first addiction.
I learned a lot, after the first bit of shock wore off. After the hospitalization for suicidal ideation. After the 3-month wait for follow-up care. The counseling and psych appointments. The Intensive Outpatient Program at Loma Linda University gave me a minor in psych ed, with no paper degree to boast of my accomplishment. For the first time in my life I hated knowing.
This road would not end. Each day she would walk it, and each day I had to hope she walked it well. I learned a whole new way of parenting — of being present, mindful, supportive, and non judgemental. I read books, consuming as much information I could, as fast as I could. I grieved for my daughter, for myself, and everything I thought I knew.
Our lives changed drastically. I did not expect anyone to understand, and truth be told I did not care if they did. I had only enough energy to learn and no spare change to give. Navigating this new normal took everything we had.
I am in a constant state of “spent” with only enough supply for each passing day. Most people who know me don’t know this about me. I hide it well.
But when the unexpected happens, I don’t have enough in reserves to deal with it. Digging down out of necessity, I pull from places I never knew existed, and only discover them in the most dire of circumstances.
That is what happened to me, two years ago, and again this week. I never saw it coming. I’ve read the stories, I’ve heard the tales, and with everything I had I knew I’d stop it from visiting my front door. But once again, I’ve thought too highly of myself and my own ability to know better. This is my downfall, by achilles heel. Addiction.
Under the Shroud of Darkness
I heard it from a friend. Carefully sifting through the words, I tried to make sense of it all. Point by point I clarified the paragraph-long text trying to find clarity in the muck. No matter how hard I tried, truth was an elusive dream.
Sneaking out at night, Paradise Hookah, Homie…
As I sat there, an all-too-familiar rock sat in the pit of my stomach, a reminder of the many times these past two years I’d been blindsighted. I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it. It just simply could not be.
Ignorance had become a favored friend. I would sit with him willingly in the storm just to catch my breath. It was easier to not know, to not have to think about it all of the time. I desperately yearned for the quiet, the peace that was mine not long ago. Even in the midst of it, I feared it. That peace came with cost.
Tears. I feel them gather together, poised to spill, and just like that, they’re gone. Without thought, without effort, my body gathers them in again. An involuntary response. A habit built in the midst of a life that had to go on despite it all.
I want to cry uncontrollably, allowing my chest to heave in and out again, curl up, exhausted, and find solace nestled in a cold, creviced rock. Then I’d be safe. Nothing to touch me, its granite armor wrapping itself tightly around me. Free to let go and give myself permission to break, knowing I’d be pressed and held together by a power outside of myself.
But duty overshadowed grief. I had to stay, I had to be strong. I had to think. I had to tune my senses to the reality of this situation to see it. Anything was possible.
I replayed my life for the past few months, rolling the details around over and over in my head, desperate for a clue. Nothing. I had to be present, in the moment, ready for now. Like a warrior preparing for battle I steadied myself. Ready.
Strategy: emotionally detach and prepare. I had to have a plan. And it was essential that I stick to it. Every question, every word collected in a jar for future observation, when I was out of the moment. Deep breaths. No feelings allowed. Focussed. Tawanda.
I hate this person. I met her alongside the road of my last tragedy. She was my necessary evil. A means to an end.
I would have a stakeout. The hours and minutes passed too quickly that day, and night soon fell. Purposefully hidden, crouched between the sharp stecco wall and stinky garbage can I sat and tried to settle. Shoes off. It would be awhile. Crossing my legs and gathering them close to me I tried to not think about how uncomfortable I already was.
Every flashing headlight as time passed, the sound of wheels rolling up our dirt road startled me back to the present. The rush of adrenaline sent my heart thumping so loudly I thought I’d be heard. Just the neighbor. But as time rolled on and night became black, everything was so still, I could hear my own breath.
In time, there was light. I tried to savor this moment. The moon peeking over the tip of our rocky hills. The still, warm summer air surrounding me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Lord help me.
I lost track of the time before footsteps across the desert-scape startled me back to reality. Shaking loose the possible illusion, I listened again. Yep, footprints, clear as day under the veil of night. The automatic gate opened just enough to let her through.
Lightly stepping across our front yard, I did not know what my next move would be. I had not even paused long enough to put on my shoes. Close to the fence, she turned and spotted me. “Hey Babe, what’s up?” I said casually, catching my breath as I leaned, arms folded haphazardly across the top of the fenceline. It was the best I could do.
Turning in her tracks she headed back to her room. Watching her go, my mind raced. Escaping through the small hole in the fence myself, I continued in the direction away from our house, where she was headed, with nothing but my cell phone in hand.
“Where’re you going?” she asked as I steadied my step and peered into the darkness, hoping to see where she was headed. Car lights appeared in the distance, driving up our dirt road. “Just thought I’d see what that car was up to,” I replied, pointing in its general direction.
As I watched the lights get closer, I could feel my blood begin to boil inside of me, ready to crack. I walked just as quickly as my socked-feet would carry me up the road, hoping to get to the intersection before they did. No luck. The car turned the corner and I followed it with fervor for a hundred more feet, determined to take it on with my bare hands.
It drove, broke, and drove again, eventually reaching the end of our road and sat, brake lights on, pondering. I searched my mind desperate to take one last stand. Turning my phone’s flashlight on I stood, feet apart and arms extended high over my head as if to say, “What you got?!” I welcomed the confrontation. With that, the car turned left and drove in silent resignation away from our home.
I walked back and tried to gather my thoughts. Truth. I had seen it, felt it, and now I had to deal with it. Be mindful. I could hardly think past my emotions, past all the possible related ideas that now flooded my mind.
I rapped on her window and gathered my thoughts. She came out. For the next two hours I listened, and asked more questions as need be. There were things I wish I hadn’t heard. Tawanda was there, steadying me.
“It’s not your fault, Mom.” I heard her words and refuted them the moment they passed her lips. I wasn’t going to own her decisions. But deep down I wondered what kind of mom could have missed it for that long, and I wondered if I was that kind of mom. My own thoughts convicted me.
Sleep was a stranger that night, and the night after as my mind recalled the details, my conscious forcing me to pay penance. I don’t know the debt I owe. Today I walk, hoping to find my way back to myself someday, so that I can feel something again. I want to surrender arms and shun the battlefield, but I can’t. Lord give me strength.
Withdrawls
It had been two years. Two years of addiction and I had no clue. Why did everything have to come to light around holidays? “Days off” only compounded the problem. We needed help.
Her friend had talked her into it. That friend’s mom taught her how. “Marijuana is actually very healthy for you.” They showed her how to smoke, vape, and bake safely.
I know druggies. I grew up with them, loved them, but never did it myself. I played basketball — it was always a good excuse. But I can spot them a mile away.
A victim to addiction in utero, I thought Lydia would be smarter than that. I thought she’d have sense enough to steer clear. She saw what it did to her birth mom, to her birth family, to her. Decades of drugs, alcohol, and early death were her bio reality. We talked openly and lovingly about it. “Addiction is powerful. Your only defense is to say no.”
Mental health professionals were impressed by Lydia. Addiction was not a stranger in this field. Comorbidities abound. When someone struggles with anxiety and depression, drugs can be seen as an escape. But it is only a liar.
Drugs compound mental health issues, and they do not easily let go. The two work in tandem, each lending themselves in service to the other.
I was angry, stabbed in the back by someone who should have known better. Balancing trust and acceptance is a tricky trade, and I will not make that mistake again. In the end, I was the one who messed up, who trusted someone who didn’t have the ability to “adult.” It was my fault.
So as I listened, I tried to forgive. It was hard. All I wanted to do was exact vengeance. I was angry, at myself, at the world.
She went out with friends to keep up the habit. Their parents allowed it. The Hookah Lounge didn’t card her. All of the safeguards I was counting on failed, miserably. They say it takes a village to raise a child. That village aided and abetted mine. It was the worst of all deceptions.
“Don’t worry mom, I researched it. They’re safe. And helpful!” I sat, stunned, breathless. No not safe, dangerous. I could hardly believe my ears.
I wanted to run, screaming, and somehow make her listen to me. But she tuned me out a long time ago. I was mad, for the decisions she made, for the people and online research that convinced her. But I couldn’t. Tawanda wouldn’t let me. And so I stayed and listened some more.
After she finished, four hours of broken sleep that night was my reality. Between the dreams I would wake, startled, thinking it was not real. How could it be? But it was. And here I was, once again, trying to sort it all out.
We would need to look into rehab. Would she need rehab? Of course, it’s a drug. She’s addicted. Even I was caught up in the mad web of internet lies.
The next day I kept checking in with her, and reading more about addiction. What would withdrawals look like? How could I help? “Drink plenty of liquid, and here’s some Tylenol.” With a roll of her eyes she conceded.
When night fell, the headache came. Screaming, writhing on the floor, she begged me to take her somewhere. I had tried. The rehab facility would call for her intake interview in four days. “I dropped acid — 350mg.” Was this the first time? “No, I had done it before.”
Her blunt statement knocked the wind out of me. Normal dose was 95mg. The hospital. Should we go? In the middle of a pandemic, and with me being high risk I’d rather not, unless it was necessary. There was no way to know. “I could just drop her off with the insurance cards.” Paul was conflicted.
We went at 8:43pm. I drove to Urgent Care first. We made it, three minutes ‘til closing. They turned us away. I dropped her off at the front of the Emergency Room; she had to go in alone.
For the next seven hours we had no contact. Occasionally a nurse or receptionist would call me, requesting permission to treat her. Eventually the doctor called as well. They ran some blood and urine tests. She was safe. There was nothing they could do.
The world looks different at 4:30am, after you’ve been awake all night in an Emergency parking lot. Driving home, I paid special attention to the road and lights that surrounded me. At times, they all seemed to blur together.
We made it home, safely, which I was grateful for. As I laid my head down, I hoped sleep would be my friend, if even just for the next few hours. That I would have some sort of respite in the madness of it all.
3 Comments
Stephanie Wilson
I understand. I’ve been in the ER caring for someone who overdosed. I was humiliated, furious and lost. Overdose…
I walked closely with him trying to be supportive after being clueless. I was accused of being codependent. Be cause I didn’t love him with tough love.
I listened to that. I was supportive with clear boundaries.
I buried him 6 months later.
eyeswideopenadoption
I am so sad to hear this, Stephanie. My heart breaks for your loss (and regret). Thank you for sharing.
Pingback: