Monday, January 19, 2009

Purge, baby, purge!

There are days when I can't get comfortable. It's like a ghost pain that doesn't really hurt, per se, but I can feel it all the same. In my gut. Nothing specific, except that I don't feel like I belong in my skin. The thought occurs to me that I could throw up. Not because I feel sick but like something is stuck in my craw. Oh, now there's a thought that brought tears to my eyes. What is that about? Purging? I need to purge???

Sometimes I feel wild-eyed behind the passive personna that everyone knows me by. I'm stuck in the middle of what I need to do and what I want to do. How many of us can say that? Bizillions, I'm sure. Can we talk about it? No.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009


I didn't know what to do. I was so scared for my son. A heart breaker for sure.
"He's out of control! You've got to do something or I'm not sure what I'm gonna do."
Now I agreed with him. He was out of control; running away for days at a time (in the middle of winter, no less). Smoking dope, and drinking to the point of alcohol poisoning. The only reason he is probably here today is because his friends stayed next to him on that beach that night to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit. He was unconscious.
I had spoken to the two men that were coming to get him in the middle of the night. It was all set. His dad and I somehow got him to stay at his dad's house that night. I went to bed scared, unsure of what we were all doing but even more unsure of what would happen if we did nothing.

The phone rang around 11:00 p.m. The men were 45 miles away at the airport trying to rent a car but had forgotten their credit card. Almost out of my mind as it was, we got dressed and drove to the airport to rent the car for them, and then guided them over the mountain to their motel.

Several hours later the phone rang again. "We're ready."

Ron and I scrambled into our clothes and met the men outside of my ex's house. "We'll let you go in first and talk to your son. We'll be right behind you."

I was shaking. This was so hard to do already and I wanted to just talk to my boy. That wasn't who I saw laying there. This was someone that was quickly moving toward a life that would get him nowhere. When I walked in to his room I was shocked to realize that he had shaved his head.

When he woke up I saw the little boy that was confused. What's going on? I tried to explain how much I loved him and how scared we were for him. He was smoking dope all day and night, had left school, had stolen from us, and had taken the truck even though he had no license, no insurance, had destroyed property, and had been involved with the law on numerous occassions. We're trying to help you. I know you don't understand. You're going to Aspen Ranch where they're going to help get your life turned back around. I love you!

At that point we went out to the car and parked down the hill. I heard later that although he walked out to the car, once there, he was throwing punches; a few of them connected. When they drove by I was just sick. I could throw up now just thinking about it. He turned around in the back seat and flipped me off.