I read a book that made me think....

Been sitting here at my mother in laws reflecting on everything in life. Although she likes to keep me busy her house is so peaceful that at times it’s easy to sit back and reflect on things in life. Her house is surrounded by trees of all kinds, red birds, beautiful flowers, and a pool with fountains that could put you right to sleep.

When I started writing my blog it was just to get the feelings out or to tell my story never thinking how far it could go. Although, I only have 30 people that have signed up to follow it there have been over 3,000 views on it. Incredible… so hopefully I have touched that one person. For 2 years I had contemplated on starting the Facebook page but did not think many people turned to social networking as a way for support. Boy was I wrong in many ways. Tons of people come to find support… some come for support because their families do not understand what they are going through. Some have children that are addicts, and some have loved ones that are addicted. They are only trying to understand… to grip what has easily taken over their lives. Taken over their lives in what seems like overnight but is not the case. It doesn’t happen overnight; it doesn’t happen on their first day of High School. It simply happens over time… and simply is not the word because addiction is a tragedy.

(Picture from Google)

I just recently finished the book “There is No Hero in Heroin” by Jan Nargi incredible book. I have read a lot of addiction memoirs and most of them I love but this one was so powerful. It was eye opening. I have read stories of the addict telling their story, and maybe one or two of the father/mother telling their side of the story. I cried tears in this book… why? Because I was that addict making my mother’s life hell. I was 1200 miles away from my mom during my active using but she had to deal with the emotional fall outs each time I came home.

I never wanted to be with her as a teenager I always wanted my daddy-I wanted his affection, love, and attention and of course NEVER got it. I could never understand why my father wanted me to live with him so bad but never wanted to raise and take care of me. I on the other hand could not stand the thought of him being alone… nobody was there for him if he fell down the stairs (which he did frequently) nobody was there to give him his Gatorades when he was trying to sober up.. Or the trash can.. or to pick up his beer cans from under the couch. I was also his runner and nobody but his own daughter would be perfect for the job. I also dealt with the repercussions of living with my father. Not only did I enable him, and be his caretaker I also took the bullshit from my grandma (his mom) and his sisters (my aunts) that it was MY fault because I was out of control. Out of control? I was only smoking pot then… they had no idea what out of control was until I really went out of control. For my father being a drunk and never knowing where I was-and his family always saying it was my fault because I was hard to deal with I sure did take care of my own. The funny thing was that I never left my house for fear what I would come home too and if I did leave my house it was to go right down the road to get a soda, candy bar or slice of pizza. I never had the sleep-overs with my girlfriends because I would never know if my dad needed me; and if I did leave what would happen when I got home. Hell, I could smoke the pot in my backyard and my drunk dad never had a clue.

Then I met the guy and the out of control that my family always told me I was really begun. The funny thing was they were not there when my dad was drinking and they were not there when I got out of control.  They never once came over to the drug den and carried me out, or when they saw me up town weighing 95 pounds soaking wet they never asked what is wrong with you… they knew, they knew the people I hung out with were bad news and that I was up to something… but they never helped. They never came to my rescue… I am so glad that my mom never had to deal with the worry that the author of “There is no Hero in Heroin” had to deal with. She became a spy, and P.I., and a detective searching for her son, reading e-mails, and text messages. Of course when I was 13 my mom went through my room I don’t remember what she found but it was not good. My mom only had to deal with the fall out of my emotional spiral of getting sober. Yes, she dealt with the worry, fear, and all those emotions but she was not physically there although emotionally and mentally she was checked out for 6 years that I was away from her. It’s sad to wonder what she was feeling, or how she probably had a heart attack every time the phone rang.

One day my story will be written and published and she can read all of this… but for now it’s my own thoughts, my own blog, my own thing… until it is written in a book.

She knows that I hurt because I hurt her… she knows my feelings but she does not know that I am touching thousands of people but one day she will and I know she will be so proud. Just as proud as she already is.

Until Next time…