What's Your Story? Submitted Stories
The Genetic Saga Continues. . .
This is the continuation of my story. The first part was about my recovery (see “The Alcoholic Lottery”) and the following is a recovered mother’s story who has to face the fact that her son is an addict and needs to find his own path back.
Adolescence was hard on my son. At fourteen, an angry, defiant, depressed, drug and alcohol abusing, stealing, truant teen had moved into my son’s body and into my home seemingly overnight. Soon after, life became one of daily misery, anger, shouting and pain.
My son endured family dysfunction and alcoholism on both sides of the family. My husband and I divorced when he was four. When he was young, he lived through my own battles with depression and alcohol He had a lot of insecurities and a huge chance of losing the genetic lottery on addiction. I often talked about these things with him. I knew life had been hard for him and I kept a watchful eye out for his choices. I also thought that he had learned from watching me and from my years in recovery. However, nothing could have prepared me for the emotional freight train that was speeding toward us at 100 mph.
It started with aggressive behavior, like taking his younger sister’s coveted “Furby” and placing it in the microwave and blowing it up. There were mood swings, defiance, bad language and complete disrespect, failing grades, and a new set of friends. I am far from naïve, so when he started coming home red-eyed and eating six bowls of cereal, I knew this was not a result of a growth spurt, but rather the munchies from marijuana. So into therapy we went.
At first, I thought this was just a phase; a teenage rebellion that he would outgrow. Then I despaired that it was payback for our family dysfunction and my mistakes. I tried to discipline and befriend him because he was in pain and I wanted to protect him. I tried to reach him through conversations, but he was already a master manipulator, telling me exactly what I wanted to hear so that I would leave him alone. I wanted to believe him and I wanted this roller coaster to end.
Consequences you ask? Any parent who has a troubled, angry teen can attest that there is no such thing at this point. Grounding? He would climb out of the window. Take his money away? He would steal it. Take the television away? He would smash it. Threaten to take his video games away? He would physically restrain me and push me until he could get to them first. I could not physically restrain him, because it was not only against the law, but he was also stronger than me.
As I look back, I wonder how I could have let things go on for so long. I am shocked at my ability to rationalize and tolerate things that were once unthinkable. The pain, guilt and stigma attached with having a troubled teen definitely delayed me from taking action. I thought my love could fix it. It hurt so much to know that I could not shield him from his pain. My heart asked, where did I go wrong? How did I fail? What did I miss? If only I had not divorced his father. If only I had not succumbed to needing recovery myself. If only I had set stricter limits. If only I’d been more consistent, if only . . . if only.
Rationally, I knew it was not about what I did or did not do. Rather, it was about what my son chose to do. I was losing the battle and myself at the same time. I was an emotional and physical wreck. I was struggling with my job because I had to leave so often. I could not have a successful relationship because I had nothing left to give. I was a hostage to my son’s behavior – a prisoner of his depression and addiction.
Just before my son’s 15th birthday, I learned that he had tried to get his sister high, and had put her in some very dangerous situations. I finally surrendered and accepted that things were out of my control and no amount of love or weekly therapy was going to fix this. I knew that it was only a matter of time before I lost my son to suicide or drugs.
Fortunately, my ex-husband had begun to realize that my concerns were credible. Together, we made the excruciating decision to send our son to a wilderness program in Idaho. What we were doing was the ultimate act of love, even though it felt like a huge betrayal at the same time.
The first few weeks my son was at wilderness camp were tough. I was concerned about his suicide and run-away threats. His field therapist assured me that these were manipulation tactics, but I still wanted to jump on a plane and rescue him even after everything we had been through. I didn’t. I let the professionals do their work and that’s when the progress began. He accepted that his manipulations were not going to work and that he had to look inside himself and accepting responsibility for his behavior. A month later, when I attended his graduation, my heart started healing when he looked at me with bright, clear eyes, and said, “Mom, I hated it here, but you saved my life.” I knew he was on his way back from the dark side.
The work had just begun. It was recommended that he move on to a residential treatment center. This was NOT what I wanted to hear, but I was reminded that this was not about my pain, but rather his needs. We chose a center in Salt Lake City – a loving, nurturing place to which I will always be grateful. The next eight months brought incredible growth and changes for my son and for our family. The program helped him face his demons and helped me get back on my parental feet.
During his year away, I sold my house in preparation for his return. I knew he could not come home to the same old situations. How likely would it be for a 16-year old to say ‘no’ to old friends? I did not want to put him in that position. Life was going to be hard enough. Finally, the day arrived and he came home. He was full of life, loved sports, reading, and was excelling at school. He was smiling and had a sparkle in his eyes.
Two and a half years went by with relative peace. I wish I could tell you that it stayed that way. The reality is that life with addiction is at times two steps forward and one step backward. Last summer I saw all the signs returning – the anger, the blame, the defiance, and the depression. He was unwilling to continue therapy or go to AA meetings. I saw us heading down the same path, except this time I was wiser and more confident in my parenting skills. I demanded peace, safety, and respect in my own home. I cut our relationship. He was no longer welcome to live with me. Excluding him from my life went against every maternal instinct I had, but I no longer had the luxury of acting with my heart.
He was back to blaming me for all his problems and my mantra became, “I didn’t cause it, I can’t control it, I can’t cure it.” I just wanted to cuddle him and make his pain go away…but I did not, I would not, and I could not. I could only be there if he wanted help. His choices and behaviors continued to spiral. Just eight weeks shy of his high school graduation, he was expelled from school. My son knew this was his last chance, as it was his second offense. I truly believe that this was a choice he made to stop the roller coaster. It was a scream for help. I also believe it was the best thing that could have happened.
Now he had a choice. He could either get a job and live on his own or go back into treatment. He chose help. My son moved back to Salt Lake City, back to the program that helped him so much before. I am so proud of his decision and know he is safe once again. He is healing and has a chance at tomorrow, one day at a time.
If there is any advice I would give to parents struggling with teens, it is not to waste valuable time thinking you can fix this with love. Your child will not let you. If your child is using drugs at a young age, the chances are that they will not outgrow it, especially if there is any family history of addiction. Put signs all over your house saying, “I did not cause this, I cannot control it, and I cannot cure it.” Do not waste precious moments beating yourself up, get help!
Tracey, Connecticut © 2006 The Brent Shapiro Foundation for Drug Awareness. All Rights Reserved.
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