Tag Archives: drug addiction

Fisticuffs

Not really, but it was intense.

C ended up going to rehab after all, I was shocked. Her counselor called me to ask about her hair. My middle daughter is a stylist and home come over to color my hair, and she also did C’s hair. Apparently, dying your hair is something addicts can do to pass certain drug tests. They tested her anyway, and she was clean. She’s actually passed each test they have given her. I was glad he called, though. He told me that there had been a slight improvement in her attitude. I told him I could not say the same.

I found out that the 2 counts of having drugs in an unlabeled container were. One was a benzo, (4 pills) one was Ritalin (10 pills). I also found out that there was some “doctor shopping” going on, and that’s how she obtained those prescriptions.

When Big D confronted her about the RX’s and her behavior, she acted like a jerk and he told her that if she could not be honest or follow the rules we have, she had to leave. She got up, packed the few things she has here and left.

Our oldest daughter then came home and shortly after that, C called her from a friend’s house. She said she didn’t know what to do, but she knows she needs help. D told her she needed to apologize and submit. Period.

C came back 2 hours later and asked if she could come in and talk. We told her yes. She said she was having a hard time “acclimating” to structure, and that she feels lost because she has so much downtime between meetings and rehab. Said she needed a hobby or part time job.

While normally I would agree, I feel right now it is her job to get healthy, and no job would allow her “off time” so she could go to rehab. I suggested maybe volunteering, or an online class.

All of this sounds good, but she really didn’t bring up our complaints of being disrespectful, not waking up without a fight, being a slob and not following the house rules, like no food or drinks in the bedroom, cleaning up after herself, etc.

She agreed she would follow the rules. Again.

I told her that we are starting over again, that no one can have a relationship without trust and mutual respect. She told me that she doesn’t feel like she can ever trust me, that calling the police was the one thing I knew would ruin her.

I do not owe her an explanation, but I tried once again to get her to understand the reason why I called the cops. It’s a simple one, really. When Candy the streetwalker calls you preaching the apocalypse and then proceeds to tell you that your daughter has been beaten up and is wandering the streets downtown alone and wasted, there are things parents who give a shit do. First, you try to find her yourself. Then, you call the cops. End of story.

I think most parents would do that, and most people would understand why parents would do that. But someone with a mental illness and/or drug problem doesn’t see that as rational. They see that as an attack, something someone does to someone when they want them to get busted.

“What if I would have had pot on me?”

Not my problem. I thought you needed help, and you did. At this point, what’s another drug charge?

“What if they would have arrested me?”

You would be in jail and/or court ordered rehab right now, instead of paid, voluntary rehab.

“What if they would have taken my dog?”

Your sister would have gotten your dog and taken care of her, just as she is now.

“Calling the cops on me might have been the final nail in the coffin as far as our relationship goes”

Your drug use, hanging out with people who beat you up, living in a car and hanging out downtown could be the final nail in your own coffin. Relationships can be rebuilt, dead bodies cannot.

Aaaaaaaaaand, scene!

She later told me that she wanted to be healthy & happy & a good relationship with her family, but it is hard. I told her it’s a fight worth fighting, and that anything worth keeping is worth the fight.

No issues waking her up this morning. She actually discussed rehab today, on the way home, without complaining about “old people”. She said there were 3 new people, 2 her age. She said that it is difficult to hear their story, that it makes her want to go get high. She said the the other new person was a lady my age, and the lady asked if they drug tested. C laughed and said, “Ummm, yeah, it’s rehab. That’s kind of their thing.” She said she told the lady that most of the people want to be there, and have no issues with being tested, and the lady looked at her funny. She also said they talked about a town across the river that was having a rally to bring awareness about heroin in the ‘burbs. She said she joked and said no way could she go there, because every dealer from 100 miles around would be there. First time she’s had anything positive to say about rehab.

I had to work, and she spent time with her aunt and young cousins at my Mother-in-Law’s. They then came over here for a bit. It was a nice day. It’s nice to have a nice day.

We have the first wedding shower for our middle daughter Sunday. We (C, myself and oldest daughter) have been making hand made centerpieces for the tables and other decorations for the shower. It was nice, and we had fun. It was like old times. I actually felt hopeful. I hope it’s not a train.

Gotta have hope.


Small victories….

victories for myself.

One week. It’s been one week since we found out. This was me, last week, when I called my friend Addster, while driving around downtown looking for C:

This was me last night at dinner, when Big D lost his cool with C:

I have made some progress, and C has too…even if it is barely recognizable.

Today was rough. When I picked her up from rehab, she was belligerent, and quite confrontational. I was 6 minutes late, gasp and swoon. Too bad. I had a worker here at the house and could not leave.

I had to listen to every reason in her book as to why she was not going back and why she did not belong there. Reasons like:

She’s too young, everyone there was in their 30’s and 40’s

She had to eat a terrible cookie someone made and brought for someone’s birthday and they didn’t have milk. DIDN’T HAVE MILK! Maybe someone in the group is lactose intolerant??

She filled out a risk assessment paper and said she only had 2 of the risks. LOLLERS!

She asked me if I had bought a gym membership for her. Had a fit when I told her we would NOT purchase a gym membership for her. She said “that was part of the deal- I get my head and body in shape!” I told her once she makes more progress with the head, we will see about the gym, but until then, we would not shell out any money for her to start something, only to quit it within a week.

Said she was going to stay with her friend R, because she (C) misses and needs to be with her dog. I told her that her dog needs a healthy owner. She said her dog doesn’t care if she lives in a car under a bridge, as long as she was with her. I said nothing, because it’s futile, really. Side note, her friend R has been done with C for months. The only “old” friend she really has left is a heroin addict who is currently using while on probation.

Told me she was leaving, and I said I would miss her, but it was her choice.

She got home and fell asleep. After an hour, I told her to get out of the great room and sleep in the bed. She complied.

I was tempted to start waking her up, so her father wouldn’t go off on her when he got home. Ummm, NO. I did not, because that would be enabling, right? Right.

She came to the dinner table in a haze, and Big D started asking her about the conversation she had with me on the way home from rehab.

She got defensive and said she didn’t know if she was going to continue. He lost his shit. He told her the usual, that she is an adult and we cannot force her to go, but if she does not go, she had to leave immediately.

He told her that she had one chance at this, and if she refused or failed, she has one other chance at inpatient mental health/rehab on our dime and then, it would be up to the courts to help her help herself, or the coroner. He told her that she would also be required to do work around the house and get a part-time job if she decided to go with the program. By this time, he was yelling, which is very rare for Big D. The dogs were getting scared, but C just sat there looking unfazed like usual. I just cleared the table and thought, “Wow….this is going swimmingly well.” But- I was calm. I did not engage.

I did the dishes, and C went to the guest room. I locked up my computers and left to go to the grocery store.

When I got back, C was watching TV and got up to help me unload groceries. She also offered to go with me to take the dogs out for a small walk. Ok.

xnavygal9916 left a comment last night about enabling here.

Her comment punched me in the gut, and I am glad. But I am working on it. I guess enabling is also a part of “control”. I have a nar-aonon meeting tonight. I am looking forward to it.


And so it begins…

or not.

Had to wake up at 6:30 am to start the wake up process. I usually wake up around 7:30, but I know how “difficult” C is in the morning.

I made the first knock on the guest room door at 6:40. I said “guest room door”, because that bedroom is for guests, and C is a guest in our home at this point. Of course, I knew that would be one of many knocks.

Next knock came at 7, then 7:15, and another at 7:30. In order to get to the rehab place by 9 am, we would have to leave no later than 8:10, due to city traffic. Big D leaves at 7:30, he told me before leaving for work that if she was not out of bed by 8, there would be no more knocks.

I opened the door at 8 and said that if she was not dressed and ready to leave in 10 minutes, I would not be driving her, and since she has no money for gas, she would miss her first day of rehab. She was awake, just looking at the ceiling. Because she has no clothes inside the house (even though I offered her some of mine) she was still wearing what she had on yesterday.

I will not allow her to bring her garbage bag full of belongings into my home. I told her that I would be happy to take her clothes and put them straight into the dryer and then wash and dry them, because I am super paranoid about bedbugs. Does that sound bitchy? Too bad. I live in an area that is one of the top places in the nation for bedbugs, and I really do not wish to spend thousands of dollars on extermination fees, plus the cost of new mattresses, which we just purchased for our new home.

This isn’t some new thing with me, I have a “bedbug prevention ritual” I have performed on a regular basis for years. I am very careful about travel, and I put everything in the dryer immediately upon our return. I place clothes into plastic bags and then into the suitcase whenever we travel, and I check any hotels on a national bed bug registry. I know. I sound obsessed, but I have had friends who have had them, and it is quite a process to get rid of them. Plus, when your daughter has been hanging out in a highly infested area, well, you do the math.

We left the house at 8:10, I don’t think a single word was spoken, except for maybe an expletive here and there by me, when yelling at traffic. I hate traffic. Hate. It.

We pulled up to the hospital, and there were 2 30-something people walking in the door. C said, “Oh, great, old people.” I just laughed and said, “Well, you’re 25- not exactly a spring chicken anymore.” She took a piece of my sugarless gum from the console, said, “Gum. You always have gum”, and got out of the car.

I pulled away and my oldest daughter texted me, so I called her. She told me she was going to be staying at my MIL’s for the next 3 weeks. She is coming into town for our middle daughter’s wedding shower, and to meet with people for her upcoming wedding, which is next summer.

We just moved into our new home about a month ago, and the plan was for her to stay here in the guest room. When her fiancee comes into town, they were going to stay a week at his parent’s house. Im really sad she will not be staying here, but I know having C here with all this drama would make her trip miserable. We only get to see her a few times a year, because she now lives on the east coast.

I told her that I understand completely why she does not want to stay here. Her Grandma has a big house with 3 spare bedrooms, and her Grandma will love having her there, but still….Im pissed.

I actually think she might still stay here, because I have my doubts that C will “stay with the program”. It would be awesome if I am wrong.

I have about an hour before I have to leave to go pick up C from her first day. Im dreading the drive home. Im sure she will attack me verbally and give me a laundry list of how stupid this is, and how she doesn’t need to be there.

Right now, I have her clothes in the dryer on “sanitize”. Is that enabling? I don’t know. All I know is that Im trying to keep some sort of sanity in my life, and bedbugs will only add more stress. If I get them, I will deal with it.

Wow. My kid is in rehab and I am worried about bedbugs. Maybe Im the one with the mental problem.


Good Lawd.

What a day.

C and I drove to the hospital to meet with their intake assessment person.

She acted like a dick the entire meeting. Yup, I said dick.

Because she does not need detox, she could not go straight into their inpatient program, so for now, we had to settle on “intensive” outpatient rehab….which, she said she does not need or want. The program deals with dual diagnosis patients, which does make this a little better, I guess.

She was almost yelling because she didn’t want to fill out the paperwork. Rolling her eyes, slamming her pen down, etc. A, the counselor, finally said, “HOW old ARE you?” Not even kidding, she acted like a 14 year old.

Almost every question he asked her, she answered with a lie.

“How many years of college have you completed?”

“Almost 2.”

Ummmm, no. We PAID for almost 2, she probably only has one full semester completed. Technicality? No.

“Any suicide attempts?”

“No.”

Ummm, yes, 3 years ago, which led us to current p doc.

“Any formal mental illness diagnosis?”

“Depression, but I lied so I could get Adderall.”

Ummm, no. Bipolar and depression, diagnosed in teen years, and again 3 years go.

He asked what brought us here, and I told him the day one story. Have I even written Day One yet? I don’t think I have.

I told him we got a random phone call from a stranger, stating she was downtown, strung out and had been beaten up. We called the cops. When the cops found her and we met up with them, they pointed out the track marks on her arms and legs. She was also stoned out of her mind.

She told him that she has not done heroin in 3 months, and even then, had only done it a “handful of times” and that she was high on Adderall last week. (No way, she was on some sort of downer, she was almost lethargic)

She told him that the bruises I saw were from a car accident, and that when she DID do heroin, she snorted it, and did not inject.

Ummmm, no. Last night we told her that she should be tested for HIV and she said she was tested last month. Funny- I don’t think you can get HIV from snorting, unless you are snorting a needle.

He said they do random drug tests and she said no biggie, she would pass. If she fails more than once, they will suggest she goes to inpatient right away. She said she would pass. We’ll see.

They will also be getting her records from her p doc, so it will be interesting to see what they have to say. (C agreed to let Big D in the loop with what goes on in rehab) Big D cannot stand her p doc, because he was so bad with follow-up and thinks he just wanted to push the Adderall.  <<Blame? Denial? .Pffft. I can’t deal with his reactions, only mine.

I swear, I wanted to walk out of that room and leave her there. I feel so done, and we are only at the very beginning of this.

Oh, and I almost forgot this little gem C said on the way home:  “I can’t wait to tell so and so that you went to nar-anon. It’s such a joke, they brainwash you.”

I laughed and said, “Well, it is my brain they are washing, so it’s really none of your business. Even if I didn’t have a kid who abuses drugs, I can use the coping skills I learn there with other people and in other situations in my life.” I thought that was a good answer to her little manipulation tactic.

Today was not a sad day, it was a mad day. I am so mad at her. No, I am furious.  Funny thing is that I was not embarrassed about her behavior. 10 years ago, I would have been mortified. You know, because I did not raise my daughters to act like dicks.

Big D said that he has a list of things that she will be doing here until she finishes her rehab. She said she wants to get her body in better shape, so he has piles of rocks that need to be moved into some drainage ditches. Good luck with that, Big D.

Boy, I sound like I am angry with Big D. Im not. And I refuse to let this situation stress out out to the point we take it out on each other. Been there, done that, have the divorce decree somewhere in a box. I just know he is concerned I will get super stressed out, which I am. My stomach is a mess and I am losing weight. But as long as we talk and I write all this out, the 2 of us will be ok.


We’re off to see the wizard.

C got home about 10 pm last night. She came clean (pun intended) about lots of things.

I want to believe she wants help, but I am very guarded. Things are still not quite right with her behavior, but that is nothing unusual.

Oh, how I wish I could click my heels ala Dorothy Gayle and go home, but all I see is this:

 


Bueller? Bueller? Bueller? Anyone?

A tiny window has been opened. I want to believe her, but I’m just not that naive.

C has been communicating with her 2 older sisters via text from N’s phone, and via Facebook. We heard on Saturday she was coming home. It’s now Sunday night, and she’s a no-show….because she “couldn’t find her keys”.

She told us last Wednesday that she had been clean for 3 months. That was very odd and quite unusual for her, because she has vehemently denied any drug use for years. She told her sisters the same thing. She also told claimed that if we had wanted to help her, we would have done so 3 months ago.

Clearly, something big happened 3 months ago. That is when we moved, but I don’t think it was that. I told my friend (who lost her grandson to heroin last year) that I needed to find out what happened to her 3 months ago. My friend told me that wanting to find out was one of those “c” things- CONTROL.

Im having a difficult time trying to determine if trying to help her is concern, or control. Where is that magic line that divides the 2? My friend is correct, though. Finding out what happened 3 months ago won’t change anything. I cannot go back in time and change it, I realize that. But if I know what happened, or what triggered her, maybe it could help me help her? Or, is that control again? Jesus, that is confusing. Hey, “confusing”…that is another “c” word.

My sister-in-law called me about an hour ago. She said that C had called her and my mother-in-law to apologize. My sil said she sounded like the old C, and that she wanted so badly to believe her, but she does not.

C told her Aunt that she needed to come home, because the town she’s in was no good for her. Hilarious, because she claimed she went to that town because our town was no good for her. She also told her Aunt that she had been clean for 6 months. WTF?? So now, it’s 6 months? She’s lying.

The police asked me if I knew that my daughter was a heroin addict last Wednesday morning. They pointed out the track marks to me. Later that day, I asked her 2 remaining “good friends” if they knew she was using heroin, and they said they suspected it for months.

My sil told her that track marks do not last for 6 months, and C claimed they were “just bruises”. Sil told her she doesn’t care what drugs she is using, but that she needs to get help, and get help fast. C said she was coming home to “make things right with her family”, but never said anything about rehab. Told her she wanted to get her job back and start exercising.

She also called my MIL and apologized for scaring her and said she was coming home. Very short and sweet. No calls to me or Big D, though, and we all know why.

Ummm, there are no lost keys. She is trying to buy time to get any H out of her system so she can pass a pee test.  That’s my google guess. I guess she doesn’t know it will stay in her hair for 90 days? Or maybe she does, and went out and bought one of those fancy pants “hair stripping kits” that helps mask drug use. If she comes home with a shaved head or a bad dye job, I will have my answer.

IF she comes home, we will ask her to submit to a full drug test, including a hair test, IF she says she wants help. Then, she will go to rehab.

Is that control, or concern? I’m supposed to be working on how I control my reaction to her addiction. Isn’t asking her to submit to testing and go to rehab concern? Or am I trying to control her addiction? I cannot control or cure her addiction, but out of concern, I can offer her help, so SHE can attempt to control and cure her addiction, right? Right?


Long story short

Ok, I lied. Long story long.

C is the youngest of 3 girls.

She was very different from my other babies. She would go rigid if I even changed positions while I breast-fed her. To call her colicky is a HUGE understatement. She would scream from the moment she woke up in the morning, until 10 pm at night. The fact that she slept through the night by 3 months was the only thing that saved what little sanity I had.

I had her in and out of the emergency room so many times, it’s ridiculous. “There is something wrong with my baby!”, I would yell at her pediatrician. He told me there WAS something wrong with her, she had colic. We even did gastro studies to make sure she didn’t have some sort of blockage. This wasn’t just ordinary colic, this was non-stop rage-y screaming until she turned blue. All. Day. Long.

I starved myself for 2 days and gradually added one new food item a day, to see if maybe it was something I was eating. No dice. Didn’t matter. She still screamed. Tried to wean her and put her on some fancy-pants formula for “irritable” babies. Still screamed. Started nursing her again, the screaming continued. I went through so many bottles of infant Mylicon drops, I was going broke.

The doctors finally put her on Bentyl syrup for about 6 weeks, Bentyl. Gasp. Of course, now my brain is saying, “Well, shit- no wonder your kid is an addict, you had her on an opiate based syrup to shut her up.” Not. Going. To. Go. There. Even that only helped a bit. By the time she was about 8 months old, she calmed down a little.

She was a very “excitable” child. Unbelievable excitement on Christmas, opening presents in a frenzy, followed by very long naps. She had what I now know as “sensory issues”. She refused to wear clothes most of the time. She would only wear certain undies or socks. If those clothes were being laundered, she would fly into a fit of rage- kicking, screaming, crying uncontrollably until she almost passed out. This was the early 90’s, I was a young mom. I just thought she was unique. She was super creative and smart, and I knew “creative types” were eccentric. I was and am a “creative type” and I was eccentric.

As an adoptee, it is very hard to know what is “normal” in our own children. We have zero genetic mirroring. We are nothing like our adoptive family, and we have to wing it. Statistics show that many actors are adoptees. Why? Because many of us learn to act like the people who raise us, in order to feel like we fit in. Acting is a way of life for many of us.

My children were very similar to ME and my husband and his family, but who was I similar to? Maybe her behavior was “normal” in my natural family, but just unfamiliar to me.

Puberty set in, things got worse.  This was also when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. <<Trigger. She would sleep all day on the weekends, she became even nastier. Her personal hygiene wasn’t the best, but I chalked it up to normal teenage assholey behavior. I was an asshole when I was a teenager, so like Mother, like daughter, right? Wrong.

She saw her older sisters excelling in every activity they were involved with. She struggled to find “her thing”. As soon as she found something she was interested in, we jumped on it. “I want to play the guitar.” A guitar would be purchased, along with lessons, until she tired of it. “I want to be a photographer.” Bought a chi-chi camera, enrolled her in classes, until she tired of that. And on and on and on it went.

I started to suspect there was really something wrong, so we started taking her to counseling when she was 14. They said she had depression, and gave her some sort of anti-depressant. I cant remember what it was- maybe Effexor? She hated the way it made her feel, and refused to take it. She would sit in the counselor’s office and not say a single word. This went on for about a year, and the shrink “released” us.

I found signs of drug use. The “usual”- a few seeds and clips here and there. Her group of friends changed. They went from preppy kids from well-to-do families to grungy kids who came from who knows where. She started listening to The Grateful Dead and became obsessed with Janis Joplin (whom her great uncle dated, lol)…Wow, that sounds like Im stereotyping people and Im getting all judge-y. But that is where I was at that stage. We were a 2 parent home. Got married at 18, worked our balls off from nothing and finally were living “the good life”. Nice house, nice cars…you know, all that stuff people think makes them happy.

Except we were not happy. Her father and I had divorced and then remarried. <<Trigger. I had abandonment issues, stemming from my adoption. I was always waiting for someone to leave me, because I was taught from day one that “my mother loved me so much she gave me  up”. <<That is the worst thing to EVER say to an adoptee. It sets them up for heartache, because it tells them that the people who are supposed to love them the most will leave them.

That was MY addiction. I left before anyone had the chance to leave me. It has taken me a lifetime to work on my adoption issues. Adoption loss is an ambiguous loss, it is one that is very difficult to grieve, because society tells us to be grateful. But I digress….

I was also raised in a very dysfunctional home. Co-dependent mother, alcoholic father. Physically abused. I started my recovery from that very early on in my marriage. I was not the perfect parent, but I was pretty damned good, considering the parenting model I had to follow.

I did all the stuff my mother never did. I was a stay at home Mom. I was the room mother, the Brownie & Girl Scout Leader. I went to PTA meetings, I was on the board of their school’s athletic associations.  I took them to the private swim club every day in the summer. We did “crafts”. I was involved. I gave a shit.

Wow. “We did crafts”???  Seriously? This is starting to sound like a justification thingy. I guess I really am still stuck in the “this shouldn’t be happening to someone like me” mode.  I realize that making macaroni necklaces and popsicle stick frames is not a guarantee you kid won’t be on drugs. Just trying to make sense of it all, I guess.

This is entire entry is making me scratch my head and say, “Get over yourself, bitch, you are not unique because you were a good mom and now your life and your daughter is a hot mess.”

When C turned 17, she got caught with a joint at school. They wanted to kick her out permanently. We went to school and told them that she was an honors student with a problem, and that expulsion would cause a lot of damage to her. We gave them our word that if they would reduce it to suspension for the rest of the year, we would make sure to get her counseling and rehab.

The school did not press charges, took our word and agreed with our “plan”. We enrolled her in an alternative school for the remainder of the school year. She did well….until we heard she was using coke.

I was recovering from abdominal surgery when I confronted her. Her father was not home. She took a swing at me, and I called the cops. They pulled my daughter out of the house and put her in the back of the squad car. Oh, and ironies of all ironies, she was wearing a “DARE” tee-shirt when this happened.

My family gave me 3 kinds of crap for having my kid arrested. I was not embarrassed, but they were. Not my problem. My kid was my problem and I wanted to fix her. I knew this was going down hill fast, and I had zero regrets. This episode happened on a Friday, so she would be in juvie jail for the weekend.

We went to court Monday morning. The judge took one look at us (you know, oh so well manicured and such) and was ready to let her go home. Nope. I told the judge our home was not safe until I could thoroughly sweep it for drugs. I was finding paraphernalia everywhere. I found something that I thought was coke, but was not sure. My friend told me to rub my gums with it, and if my gums buzzed, it was coke. Well, buzzy buzzy buzzy, it was coke. We wanted her in rehab. Now.

We left her there. She started their rehab while in juvie. They had “school” while she was there. She had to do a book report on a “Babysitters Club” book. My honors kid, who read Tolstoy, was now reading books written for 3rd graders. She was starting to realize she had a problem and was throwing her life away.

She stayed there for 3 weeks, and then came home with an ankle monitor and had to attend 2 meetings a week. She did well that summer. She respected rules, and did what was required of her.

Her senior year started. She was once again on the honor roll, even after missing a semester. She got a scholarship to a pretty prestigious college for her art/photography. Big D and I separated again. <<Trigger. She lasted 2 months at college. Dropped out, said she was afraid for herself.

Damn…my girl was recognizing triggers.! That was healthy. She wanted to go to another college about 3 hours away. We agreed. That lasted about 6 months, and we then figured she was smoking pot again, and her life was spiraling out of control.

That is also when we learned that Big D’s cousin had bipolar and that their grandfather had schizophrenia. This was news to us. My mother in law is pretty fabulous. I mean, if you’re into the Christian thing, she is the definition of Christian. She is full of unconditional love. But she was raised in a world where you do not EVER discuss mental illness. Not ever. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t upset. Every doctor we had ever been to with C asked if there was anyone in our family with mental illness. I knew my paternal half-sister suffered from depression, but had no idea about Big D’s side of the family. Not that it would have made much of a difference, but having that knowledge would have helped to make “some” sense of it all, and might have helped get a better diagnosis sooner. Whatevs. Can’t go back.

We again started the mental health game. Find a shrink, lose a shrink. 3 months of calm with C, followed by 3 months of chaos. Drop out of school, start back to school. Get a job, lose a job. Fight with C, make up with C.

3 years ago, she was so out of control, Big D kicked her out. She got violent with me again. She would sleep for days. Her then boyfriend broke up with her and she had her first suicide attempt. Granted, the cut did not require stitches, but “normal” people do not do this.

We gave her 3 choices- enter an inpatient mental facility, day-to-day outpatient therapy, or we would have her involuntarily committed. She agreed to outpatient. She had a job, and we got her an apartment. We kept very close tabs on her. Things started turning around for the better. Until they started going downhill….again. She bought a pit bull. WTF? She cannot take care of herself and she buys a pit-bull?

She would not be permitted to bring her dog to our home. Breedist much? Yup. Please don’t give me a lecture on how “bully breeds” need love and are given a bad rap. I don’t give a shit. We have 2 old dogs who have had surgeries, and Im not going to take any chances with them. Her dog is not properly trained. Her dog scares me. End of story.

We finally told her last year that she was to sign the hipaa form giving her shrink permission to let us know what was going on with her. She was not improving, and unless we could take an active role in her mental recovery, we would no longer pay for her apartment, car insurance, etc. She agreed to let Big D become involved, but not me. That was ok with me.  She started another new job last winter, and she was doing well. She had to be drug tested, and she was clean. LOLOLOLLERS. Yeah, I know clean piss can be bought. Duh.

3 months ago, she posted a pic of her dog on a beach. The nearest beach is 800 miles from here. She said she had “vacation time”. Ummm…people on a job for less than 3 months do not get “vacation time”. We were sliding back into the chaos mode.

She got evicted from her apartment. It was being renovated and the owner did not have the proper permits and they shut it down. That’s true, we looked it up. She lived with several friends off and on. We told her she would have to find a temporary home for her dog and she could come here. We had just built our “dream home” in the country. <<<Trigger. Every time we have any change in our lives, whether it was a birth, death, move, etc, she went down hill.

All of a sudden, she meets this guy, “N”, and is going to move to Colorado with him, because pot is legal and he makes bongs. Well…isn’t that special. His brothers are glass blowers, too. Awwww….a family trade. How nice. I googled him, found nothing. Of course, I was googling the wrong name.

I last saw her 3 weeks ago. She looked fine, she looked happy. I couldn’t force her to stay, she is 25 years old. We told her that her decision to move was not a good one. We would not be flying her back when she got bored. We couldn’t fix her car from 2000 miles away. Hell, her car would barely make it to the next state. We would continue to pay for psych care and birth control through our insurance. Off she went.

They made it about 250 miles away. They were going to stay there until the fall, and then head to Colorado. She came home last week. He was arrested, she went missing, found out she was a hot mess again. This time, it was hotter than we could ever imagine. Hell hot, I suppose.


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