Rage Room

This is what the bedroom looks like that has been the victim of rage.
It's painful, it's raw, it's real.

I cried at the thought of him sitting on the floor, crying because he was so afraid of the changes that were imminent. I was sad because his little brother had to see him throwing this stuff. I was worried that he broke his brand new guitar (he did not).

I wrote him a letter this morning, and told him I forgave him. I told him I love him no matter what. He will read it tomorrow. I will write about his intake later. It was a lot to deal with, but not nearly as hard as I thought it would be.
The prayers, the well wishes, the smiling photo texts, the sweet gestures... all of them, I am thankful for. I am grateful you are all helping carry us through this valley!

Shopping List of Things I don't Want

Today is going nowhere. He said some pretty awful things to me, and I'm trying to be realistic and look past those words and just see his hurting heart. He's making everyone around him very, very angry. I wonder if it's his way of making it easier on me to let go of him tomorrow. Or for him to let go of me? I'll never know.

I picked him up right after school. I got the list of things he needed, and out of my sorry heart I just wanted him to be involved in choosing the things he needed to take with him. I didn't want to pack him a bag of all the things I chose and say "see ya". I thought that would be cold and uncaring. My intentions were honorable, but the outcome was terrible.

I took him to the store, I gently told him a few things at a time that we needed to get. Each thing he thought was stupid, and he said so. I asked which items he would prefer, and he didn't care. He said it over and over, just to make his point. He kept walking off, and since we were two towns away, my nerves were completely frazzled at the thought of him walking off and not coming back. I couldn't focus on what he needed and chase him down every other aisle. It was terrible. It was like having a toddler again, only one that was rude.
So... I sent a text to my husband. "Things are terrible here. I am struggling."
He texted back, "I'm done soon, want me to finish up or come now?"
"Now" was all I could say.

It took way too long for him to arrive, but once he did, he located our boy out in front of the store where he was wandering around. Thankfully, he just stayed there, while I finished checking off things on the extremely long list. The boy needed nearly complete wardrobe overhaul. Nothing with band logos. Well, that was nearly half of what he wore. No Jeans. Well, there's the other half. No polyester, plain, no logos, no pockets, no buttons, no strings.... Good grief. At one point, I sat down on a bench in the shoe department, because I couldn't find a pair of tennis shoes that had a grippy sole. Only the cheap plastic feeling kind, and all I could picture was him trying to participate in PE, and slipping on the floor and feeling embarassed because he was wearing crappy shoes that I had to pick out for him. I cried.

Then the hygiene products. Nothing with alcohol in it. Not too hard, unless you use conditioner. Or certain kinds of shaving cream, I learned. The socks. What color? Black or white? "I don't care". Fine, I got ten pairs of grey. I smirked at that one. Take that! Then I felt that icky guilt feeling again. I should be kind. I should care, but this kid has put me through so much! I wanted to just say forget it and buy all grey stuff. But I pushed on. I left with a cart full of cheap clothes that I wouldn't care if he threw away some day. I guess that was the objective. It's sort of like maternity clothes. You have to wear the same stuff for so long that you don't care if it gets tossed when the intended purpose is over with.

Hopefully someday soon, he can wear his band logo shirts again. And his button down fleece. And the boy really does look better in jeans than those three pairs of sweatpants. One of which had a pocket on the back - I hope nobody notices.

Dragging on and on

This part of the journey is dragging on like an ant carrying a pound of sugar. It's taking For.Ever.
I feel horrible wanting it to just be done and over with. I also feel horrible that I want to just change my mind and say, let's just keep it how it is. We know how to deal with it, it's just stressful is all. That's a bunch of baloney though, because one of these days I'm either going to have a stroke or a heart attack, and then who's gonna get the dishes done? The stress is slowly eating us all up from the inside.

Poor kid. He looks like a frightened puppy. I gave him permission to not come home after school. I said go to the skatepark and have fun with your friends. So, he did. I've not felt this relieved in a long time. I knew where he was, I wasn't doubting him, I wasn't worried, I just let him be. It was great.

He came home about 2 hours later than I'd asked, but frankly I didn't care. I was just glad he was home, and that we had a few more hours to be with each other. Except he wanted nothing to do with me...

Today was so much different from yesterday, yet so similar.

He Knows

He didn't take it well.

I told him I was telling him now, in order for him to have time to say goodbye to his friends, to pick out the things he wanted to take with him, and to do anything else he wanted before it was time to go. For some reason, I decided to tell him before he took his shower. He does that before he goes to bed. This particular night, he was so angry with me, with us, that he was shaking. He skipped his shower and went straight upstairs, doors slamming so hard I thought for sure that the glass would burst from the panes.

The younger brother had already been sent to bed early, as my patience wasn't very willing to cope with more than one meltdown at a time. As soon as the angry one went upstairs, we called the younger brother back down. He peeked into the living room with his eyes wide, fear written all over his face. He knew things weren't going well. He knew what anger looked like. He just had never seen it at this magnitude before from his usually "chill" brother.

That night, for the first time ever, the sister said to the younger brother, "You can sleep in my room. The bottom bunk is made up already." And that was the end of that. Two kids, huddled in the same room, afraid of the same person that they love, and yet enjoying a small amount of peace just knowing that they would look out for the other. My heart warmed a teensy bit,

Dread

Friday we are taking our son in for an intake appointment. He has to pack things. I don't want to do that. They said it could be 90 days, maybe more. How will I breathe? 

How will I even tell him? My biggest need now is for him to know that he is loved and supported no matter how much he hates this. Heck, I hate this too. Except I'm staying, and he's going. 

Today, I really felt the arms of support from those we love. Thank you for the prayers, and for holding us up when we just want to fall face down. 

Today is the day we attempt to tell our son that we love him but he has to go somewhere else for awhile. I'm not sure he'll get it. 

Dawn Comes in the Morning

Sunshine helps. It helps a lot. It's weird how one day, one hour, one conversation can be so utterly and completely overwhelming. Wasn't I over this? Haven't I had enough "counseling" to cure anything? Unfortunately, triggers don't come with a warning. They don't say, "Hey, I'd like to stop by tomorrow, say... about dinner time. Be prepared." Nope. They show up, they smack you around, and then they leave you in a puddle.

Hearing words that don't help when your heart is raw and exposed is the usual "rubbing salt in a wound". Hearing that I'm not helping either, isn't really a surprise, but it hurts me even more to know that I'm causing pain. Goodness, I have enough for everyone right now, why would I do that? I'll tell ya why. It's because hurt people hurt people. 

I think we broke through a few barriers the last couple of days. Our family feels like it's hanging on by a thread. Why make it worse? We need to hold on tight, we need to hold each other, we need Jesus.
I'm so sorry. I mumbled. I'm so sorry that I've said things out of my pain and anger. I'm sorry that I can't seem to just let Jesus carry us through this, I'm sorry that I'm a jerk, I'm sorry that I bitch about the most stupid crap ever, I'm sorry that I don't love you like I should. 

He is hurting too. Reeling from the revelation that even good intentions end up badly. Ignoring problems doesn't fix them. Paying for things costs money. Making money means being absent. Being absent means being out of touch. Please stop being absent when you are home?

Touching is healing. I'm telling you right now that if you (whoever you are) grabbed me in a hug I would just spill my glittery tears all over you and myself. I'm not sure why hiding out seems so safe. We hugged. We held hands. I just put my hand on his shoulder while he was reading. He asked why. I said because I can. And I should. We spooned. Then we stopped because sometimes I just want to sleep and seriously that isn't very comfortable when I want to just sleep.

Sunshine was peeking through my windows this morning. I managed to get up and make coffee. I haven't done that in weeks. I drove the boys to school without any issues. It was good. But, I had to say to my son, "Tonight. We need to talk." He only has three more days at this school, and he doesn't even know. He needs to know. I need to stop worrying about the "what if's".

Lonely Road

Trying to rationalize with someone who has no clue is painful. He really has no idea what this family is going through to just keep him with us. It's time to start letting some things go a little bit at a time. But which little piece of your heart do you rip off first? And where on earth do you throw it? 

This is so incredibly messy. 

And, so terribly lonely. 

How Stupid

"This makes absolutely no sense. This is so stupid, Mom. What a waste of money. I don't even have a problem. I can stop whenever I want, I just don't want to."

The waiting again. It's the worst part. The times between planning and actual implementation are agonizing. Everyone is guarded, on edge, and just dreadfully moody. Nobody wants to do this. I honestly think I'd just rather forget about it. 

Then, a wise friend tells me, "Just be there for him. Don't go anywhere. I went through this when I was a teenager, and the thing I remember most is that my parents stuck by me and believed in me." Energy restored, just like a power-up. We know we can make it to the next level. 

Taking the Weekend Off

Friday. I finally got the news that not only did my son fully meet all of the qualifications for needing treatment, but they recommended residential treatment. We had to get away to talk. They suggested taking the weekend. Talk, pray, take care of our own selves, whatever...

We made arrangements for our son to stay with his sister. He requested it, she made it happen. We provided food and money for her to take care of any necessities. 

We talked ourselves out of taking our travel trailer, and instead booked a hotel. That was a good decision. We got to our hotel rather late, so we just stayed in. I wanted to talk about stuff, but we were both so tired. All thoughts of having intimate conversation and quiet time with each other sort of vanished when I fell fast asleep during my husband's trip to the bathroom. He had argued with me over having a room with two beds. He didn't want to sleep alone. I just wanted sleep. 

In the morning, we took our time getting ready. This day already contained plans at my favorite camp that were previously arranged, so fitting them in was important. We enjoyed breakfast and got out to the camp by lunch time. We didn't talk about many things that were meaningful, but it was restful. I felt guilty about falling asleep in a different bed, and I also felt guilty for getting a good night's sleep. I can't win.

I had the rest of the day to spend time with my closest sister-friends, and it was like a soothing balm for my soul. The only thing that could have gone better is if I didn't have that constant nagging in the back of my head screaming What are we going to DO??

I tried my hardest to focus on having a good time, but I just couldn't go all in. More guilt. Yay, me. So, I said I'd come back the next day. 

We woke up after a great nights sleep for him and a miserable one for me. I couldn't even make it out of bed. Nothing was ok. All I wanted to do was go home. Sometimes things happen and words get said that drop-kick me right into a massive depressive pit. I think it's partially hormonal, partially the high stress/anxiety events going on, and partially the ongoing marital crap that just loves to pop in unannounced because it never got resolved in the first place. I hate it when I get like that...and the last thing in the world I want to do is be anywhere that I might rub my toxicity off on others. 

Currently, the only thing I seem to want to do, is to savor the good things about my family, about my son. Every other trivial thing seems like such a monumental aggravation. I don't want to feel like this. 

I'm fearful. I'm moody. I'm prone to crying for plenty of good reasons. I just want the world to stop spinning so I can sit and relax a minute. I feel like someone has died. Is this normal? 

Decisions decisions

Six days came and went. The assessment was weird. I guess I kind of anticipated some of the things, but the rest were easier than I thought. Since running away from problems seems to be the M.O. for my son, he was never notified that he was going to a drug/alcohol assessment until we were physically in the car and on our way to the appointment. 

We circled the block three times. Parking near any college campus is next to impossible on a weekday morning, so finally I asked to just get dropped off. 

We walked up the steps, and rang the doorbell as instructed. A curious, yet cheerful face greeted us, and let us inside. We were expected, and the office staff sent us up a flight of stairs, passing through a locked door, then into a corner office. I could hear several male voices chattering about something off down the hallway, and could smell lunch being prepared. 

We sat in chairs lined up against the wall. A box of toys separated my chair from his. The lady spoke kindly, and she welcomed us. He looked bewildered. She gave us paperwork to fill out and questionnaires for my son to complete. He still didn't really know what exactly was going on until he was partway through the small stack of pages in his lap. Even then, he didn't really seem to care much.

The counselor lady came in and introduced herself and said she was going to ask a lot of questions. Then, a nice young man showed up and took my son to get a urinalysis started.  All of this was too much.

The pee test wasn't a success, so they came back. Many questions got asked. Many answers were stated, and some were further explained. He was honest. He even told her he had just used two hours prior. A big picture was beginning to form on the counselor lady's notepad. Each time she raised her eyebrows, she would scribble notes a little more furiously. A strange calm creeped over me. A validation. An understanding. A person who knew what I was talking about. All of the sudden,  I didn't feel so painfully alone.

"Give us a couple of days", they said. 

Seriously, what's a couple more days? 

Own Worst Enemy

Is it that you really hate me, or is it that you hate yourself?
I can distinctly remember a time in my life when I treated everyone around me like complete trash because I hated my own self so much. It seemed impossible to appreciate or respect anyone else when I had lost all respect for me. Self-harm, self-defeating behavior and self-loathing were all of the accomplishments that I could claim for myself. The darkness does that to you. It makes you your own worst enemy.

I want you to see how much you are cared for, and that even when, in complete exasperation, I utter words that I shouldn't, or I look disapprovingly at you, or I just close the door and cry, that I still love you no matter what kind of junk you are hurling my way.

Today, when I asked you to pitch in to help finish the dishes that you abandoned last night, the look on your face made me wonder if you felt entitled or just lost. Do you feel better than everyone else, or just completely incapable? I am so confused by you. I want to help, but you reject me every time I offer. I want to treat you as the grown-up that you want to be, but you act like such a child. Do I ignore the crude language, and just see your hurting heart? Or do I call out the bad, and then lead you down a path of more negativity? I want to see who you are, I want to love you deeply and without any barriers. The wall that has been built between us is hard and cold. It feels as my heart does sometimes, when I no longer want to feel this pain.

Oh dear boy, how much my entire self longs to just hold you and tell you that everything will be ok. I can't do this alone. I have asked for reinforcements, and while I have protected you from the worst that life has to offer so far, I must take your hand and bring you to a place that I may never get you back from. I have six more days with you before things either get better, or they get worse. I am scared, and I am hopeful. It's a difficult mix. I don't like it one bit.

A Different Kind of Loss

I'm feeling a different kind of loss. The loss and grief of losing a child who walks through my door every day. He is missing, but he is right here. 

How can such a sweet, absolutely delightful child grow up and embrace such disdain for everything that is love? All that is life seems to oppose him. He wields power only when there is pain. What is this? It's ugly and vile. It's hurtful and it continues to pierce me to the core of my being.

Each day that goes by, I shove the anger over what I feel I just can't do into my ever growing heap of frustrations. I sit. I think. I read. I try to write. I delete. I delete some more. I try to delete the problem from my mind, but it's just there. So pervasive. 

I miss him so much. I miss his sparkly brown eyes. I miss his enveloping hug. The kind of hug you get that just never ends, and you're ok with that idea. He used to hug with his whole body. Now, when I reach in for a moment of connection, I feel lucky if I get half a floppy arm. Sometimes I insist. I need it. I believe he really does too. I can imagine being in such a dark place, and l think I would still want people to at least try to hug me. I might hate it. But I might still love it. I won't stop. 

I don't recall the exact day that I realized I lost my son. My soul was chipped away over time, and I just knew that who he used to be was no longer here with us. I noticed strange behavior. I noticed moods. I noticed a lack of answers. I noticed a grim face. I noticed his internal struggle. I hated what was stealing him and yet I loved him through it all.

I have hope that I will see his joy again. I just know that the reality of this dark moment in life is often more than I can bear. His depression sucks everyone around him into contact with the fringes of the acidic murkiness. We've all been touched by it. It burns, and the fresh scars remain. Raw, sensitive, overly protective. 

We are only partially bandaged. Too tired from the daily battle to redress the wounds. Those who don't know us at all see just a big mess. 

Judgements. Whispers. Disapproval. 

Those who know us best can see the sores, but don't know exactly how to help. Not sure what to say, how to act, when to invite. The soothing balm of friendship has carried us. The knowledge of specific prayers being spoken, the reminders that we exist as individuals, as a family and not just a big wrong thing. 

The testing of everything we are made of, and that we believe in, is upon us. We're still holding on. 

The Process of it all

I've spent countless hours over the last many days trying to interpret insurance gibberish. I cried at a lady from my insurance company over the phone (been holding it in much??). She gave me some good news that I wouldn't be responsible for the $3,000 deductible that my son's primary insurance requires me to pay first before they pay one dime. We carry his secondary insurance and it requires us to pay zero percent of some of his care. That's right. ZERO. And it counts towards his other deductible. It was such a relief that the tears just fell out of my face. 

Getting help for someone isn't as easy as it sounds. How do I help one without hurting the others? The time off work, the co-pays, the two deductibles, the travel, the absenteeism from home. We can't afford it, and yet we can't afford not to. The latter wins every time. We'll manage. 

I'm waiting anxiously this morning for a return call from someone to schedule an assessment. Seriously, how do you "narrow down" your options for care when talking about potential life-altering circumstances? How is a mother supposed to do that? Where is the book that says, "Here, it is written, exactly who you should call and when you should do it when your child has a dual-diagnosis and there seems to be nobody who understands"? So yeah, here I am. Waiting.... 

There are a few good things. My husband is now fully on board. No longer thinking anymore that we can deal with this ourselves and that it's not just a behavior issue. My other children are in agreement and very supportive. My boss knows all that's going on so I don't feel a heavy burden at work. She also reminded me yesterday that there is NOTHING I can do until he gets professional help, so I've let some things go. I turned off my "mother-alarm" last night. You know, the one that goes off anytime a door opens, or footsteps creak on the steps? The one that keeps me just barely asleep, so that I can be completely out of bed before someone tries to leave the house? It's just like having a newborn, except with less people willing to bring meals. 

When I turned off that internal switch last night, the pain lessened. Fatigue overwhelmed me. I got a full night of sleep, I woke up smiling instead of crying. Sometimes I wonder what my husband thinks when I wake up, take a breath and am unable to move because of the pain. What kind of sleep have I been getting when I am wound up so tight that I can't unwind without help? 

At my last counseling session I was reminded that my own health right now is needing a lot of attention. The brain fog isn't the only thing I suffer from when under great amounts of stress. I forget to eat, then I forget to stop eating. My mind is so occupied that I forget important things. I forget little things too, which is the most bothersome to me. 

This week holds some big things. Big scary things in my opinion. I know where fear comes from, however, and I refuse to give it a foothold.

One step at a time.