My Son Is A Drug Addict

My first son was ( and still is) a charmer. Ever since he was a toddler, he would smile that toothy grin at all of the ladies at the supermarket and laugh. His deep eye color earned him the the nickname“ Mickey Blue Eyes” from my father and he always had a sense of wide-eyed excitement and curiosity about the world. On a trip to the Baseball Hall of Fame with my parents at age 9 or 10 he talked about the players, the trip, the food for a week straight. When asked one year what he wanted for his birthday, he told my sister -in-law , a rock tumbler. After seeing the movie National Treasure, he was convinced that every bill had a clue to worldly wealth, and he was going to find it. Nothing scared him and he was the kid that jumped in without every looking first. We used to call him “our little Bear Grylls” That all changed one summer and I remember it as distinctly as people remember 9/11 or the assassination of JFK or the explosion of the Challenger shuttle. He was 13 and didn’t come home so my wife and I went looking for him and found him with his skateboard and group of friends and he refused to come with us or return home. That was eight years ago and in my craziest nightmares I never imagined the torture and heartache an addiction to drugs would cause.

We had no idea where to turn, how to help or even how to get started. Our lives became an endless trail of therapists, social workers, drug abuse counselors, mental health professionals, and doctors. We read everything we could find on dual diagnosis, ADHD, Oppositional Defiance Disorder, brain chemistry, depression, and anxiety. We clung to any positive piece of information we could find, any hope in a sea of hopelessness, any answer that we thought might help us deliver our son from the grip of this monster.

Benzodiazepenes are his drugs of choice, but he became what’s known as a ‘garbage head’ using anything and everything to get high, starting with marijuana. We heard from him ad naseum all about how it's natural, its a plant, you can’t get addicted to it, it helps with (insert whatever problem you can come up with). Every day was filled with heartache, tears, anger, and frustration as we watched our sweet boy fall down into a rabbit hole that we felt powerless to rescue him from. Looking back now there were three defining moments that began to change his life and ours. A failed suicide attempt, jail, and rehab. In that order.

Suicide Attempt

It is estimated that 0.5 percent of the adults aged 18 or older made at least one suicide attempt. This translates to approximately 1.4 million adults.(AFSP.org suicide statistics). Swallowing a whole bottle of Advil won’t kill you, but it was enough of a cry for help that his psychiatrist admitted him on the spot. We were so naive in thinking this was going to ‘solve’ the problem. Finally, he’s getting some help and IOP ( Intensive Outpatient Therapy) upon discharge and all will be well. Not a chance. All of the good intentions of attending therapy slowly dissipated like morning fog, to be replaced by what my wife and I referred to as “Ground Hog Day.” Different day, the same story. Always walking on eggshells, don’t want to upset him because it might set him off. Again. This went on for YEARS and included more social workers, therapies, drug counselors, and doctor appointments than you could shake a stick at. Fast forward to a call on a Sunday at 5AM from the local police department asking us to come outside because they were at our front door.

24 Hours in the County Jail

He had stolen Xanax from a friend’s mother several months earlier. We live in a small town, so when the police found him rooting around in a local park at 4 AM in possession of one of our cars, they started connecting the dots. He was arrested for petit larceny, indicted, and placed in the county jail. No we did NOT bail him out, not immediately. It was disturbing and liberating at the same time. A lawyer was hired ( that we used his college money for) and pled to the charge and was lucky enough to receive community service, which he waited until the very last day to fulfill. Rock bottom. No way. His adventure in jail truly changed nothing. Back to “Ground Hog Day” and the last resort: REHAB

Rock Bottom

When you’re trying to convince the son you love that he needs to go to rehab or move out, it's like a bad episode of Intervention. All of the pain and anger and denial, without the beautiful letters of how this is damaging him, as well as placing unbelievable stress upon the family. After weeks of cajoling, ultimatums, and promises all around, he agreed to attend a 30- day program about two hours from home, in the middle of nowhere so we felt confident he wouldn’t just walk out the door. That was August 2019 and I wish the story had a happy fairy tale ending, but that is never ever the case with addiction. Since that time he has relapsed multiple times and attended another 30 -day program in Pennsylvania and is still living with us, challenged by wanting to get high and mental illness. What we have learned is:(1) addiction is a life long back and forth that is not resolved in one or two 30 day sessions (2) it is the addict’s journey and they have to WANT to quit (3) enabling them with money or other means of support gives the message that they CANNOT make changes and someone else has to step in. All we can do is keep loving, keep praying, keep pushing and never ever lose hope.