Fear

I've come to accept that I suffer from a type of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Nothing makes this clearer to me than when the phone rings late at night or after I've fallen asleep like it did last night. One ring...then nothing. That's all it takes. And it always stirs the same reaction in me; pounding heart, racing pulse, teardrops ready to fall and a brain that's screaming, "BE PREPARED!".

Late night always seemed to be when the bad phone calls came when my son was using drugs. They came at other hours too, but the ones that come late at night stick with you. Inevitably when the phone rang at that hour it was the police or a hospital. It was a "friend" in a drugged up stupor or a drug dealer looking for him. As hard as those calls were, the hardest were the ones from him when he was distraught, in tears, in pain or cold with nowhere to go, begging to come home, "Just one more time". Absolutely heartbreaking stuff.

Just to give you an idea, here's a brief example of what used to be"A week in the life" at our household. Mind you this is one week out of years, and as time went on the events became more traumatic, including death.

Monday - Son's friend showed up today to tell me son had stayed with him last night and he's now missing money from his drawer. He's upset because it's birthday money from his dad. He also informs me that he believes son has been stealing money from everyone at my relative's house where he's been staying. Says if he finds son, he's going to hurt him.

Tuesday - Came home today to son's friend's car in driveway. Know this can't be good news. Hands me my relative's checkbook which he obtained by jacking son up against the wall and searching him. I told him I'd rather he not share more details. I now have to call relatives and let them know.

Wednesday - Son informs me that he is no longer just snorting heroin and shows me track marks on his arms. My son who is petrified of needles, is now shooting heroin.

Thursday - Six kids showed up today looking for son. Say he stole an ounce of pot from one of them and are here to teach him a lesson. Son goes out to "talk" to them and as I stand with phone in hand, ready to call police, big brother and friends go to son's rescue and son is able to talk his way out of it.

Friday - Son informs me that his friend who is pregnant and also a heroin addict may be carrying his child (thank GOD this proved to be false).

Saturday - Friend showed up today saying son cashed bad check using his mother's grocery store card which he had stolen and now mother is being held accountable for amount cashed. Friend's mother calls me and says she now doesn't have enough money for bills - we reimburse her.

Sunday - 7:00 a.m. doorbell rings. Drug dealer says son owes him money. I slam door in his face after telling him never to set foot on our property again or police will be called.

The fear we lived with during those years was paralyzing. I think every decision I made in regards to him was fear based. It was fear that allowed him to live in our house for as long as he did, regardless of the fact that the chaos was killing the rest of us. It was fear that enabled his addiction for so long and allowed me to choose him over the well being of his two brothers, my husband and myself, time after time, after time. It was fear that drove to the emergency rooms, the police stations, the court houses, the detox facilities and rehabs at all hours of the night in an attempt to "save" him because somehow I knew THIS time would be different. It was fear that was driving a wedge between my husband and I, a wedge I wasn't sure we'd be able to find our way out of at times. It was fear that started causing the numerous physical ailments that were showing up in my body and finally it was fear that caused the depression that enabled me to do only the bare minimum necessary to survive day in and day out. It was that depression that finally caused me, out of desperation, to walk into my first Families Anonymous meeting, which was ultimately my saving grace. Those meetings (and there were years worth) were responsible for teaching me how to do it differently.

Yes, it was fear that fueled all of these things. Fear...and love. Thank God this is no longer our lives. Thank God this is no longer HIS life. I know enough about addiction to know it could be again at the drop of a hat so for today, I am thankful.

Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I don't pretend to compare what we've experienced to what a soldier experiences when he comes home from war, but it is a strong reminder to me when that phone rings late at night, that my heart has done battle it won't soon forget.

xo,
Carrie