When you wish they were dead
I attended the support meeting for families who have relatives with addictions. The mothers in the room, including myself, bawled their eyes out and wished their children were dead.
Actually, we wanted our children to get better but if they can't get better then we wished they would just hurry up and die. Please give peace to all of this suffering. This was our honest, shattered sharing which addiction forced from us. There is nothing like the anguish of a mother who is placed in a position to want her child's suffering to end by extinguishing his or her life.
No one gives you empathy when your addicted child is alive. Society blames you, the mother, for that child's mental health condition. Many families spend thousands upon thousands of dollars finding the right medical services for their children. That money is down the drain. There's no cure for addiction. It's a chronic, relapsing brain disorder. When people are sober they live pretty good lives. They are like the Phoenix, rising from the ashes with people patting them on their backs for their resurrection.
But when addicts aren't sober, they are a menace and drain to society. And there is no cure or control of it. And if the disease is severe enough, there are more and longer periods of relapse than there are of sobriety.
My son almost DID die this past month. He DID DIE but for the grace of God people were able to revive him. His girlfriend, while my son was under the influence of other drugs, shot him up with heroin. He asked her to do it. So, he wasn't an innocent victim in the scenario. But she could have refused, seeing he was not in a healthy mental state. He passed out and turned blue. Fortunately, someone had Narcan and was able to revive him. Thank, God, they were willing to revive him. I guess you could say God was there in that moment, but really He is such a feeble God.
I had wanted him dead and then when I found out he had died I railed at God and asked why He wouldn't help my family? Why won't He help anyone's family when we ask? We are all praying. We pray soft. We pray loud. We raise our hands. We bow our heads. Our prayers are unheard.
People are shooting up heroin and they are shooting guns. People who are innocently going about their lives are having them ended just like that. In a bullet instant. We have no heroes. We have plenty of heroin to numb the pain of all of this pain, but no heroes.
What can I do? I am pouring out my heart to the great void. Does anyone hear me?
On Overdose Awareness Day today, people are lighting candles in memory of so many people who have died from this horrible, wretched illness. But who really gives a fuck about a few measly tealight candles? Those candles offer me nothing. I'm not going to waste my time on that.
I'm going to raise my head and shout "FUCK!" because that seems to get more respect from others than the soft glow of a tealight candle and people holding hands singing "Kum Ba Ya."
Actually, we wanted our children to get better but if they can't get better then we wished they would just hurry up and die. Please give peace to all of this suffering. This was our honest, shattered sharing which addiction forced from us. There is nothing like the anguish of a mother who is placed in a position to want her child's suffering to end by extinguishing his or her life.
No one gives you empathy when your addicted child is alive. Society blames you, the mother, for that child's mental health condition. Many families spend thousands upon thousands of dollars finding the right medical services for their children. That money is down the drain. There's no cure for addiction. It's a chronic, relapsing brain disorder. When people are sober they live pretty good lives. They are like the Phoenix, rising from the ashes with people patting them on their backs for their resurrection.
But when addicts aren't sober, they are a menace and drain to society. And there is no cure or control of it. And if the disease is severe enough, there are more and longer periods of relapse than there are of sobriety.
My son almost DID die this past month. He DID DIE but for the grace of God people were able to revive him. His girlfriend, while my son was under the influence of other drugs, shot him up with heroin. He asked her to do it. So, he wasn't an innocent victim in the scenario. But she could have refused, seeing he was not in a healthy mental state. He passed out and turned blue. Fortunately, someone had Narcan and was able to revive him. Thank, God, they were willing to revive him. I guess you could say God was there in that moment, but really He is such a feeble God.
I had wanted him dead and then when I found out he had died I railed at God and asked why He wouldn't help my family? Why won't He help anyone's family when we ask? We are all praying. We pray soft. We pray loud. We raise our hands. We bow our heads. Our prayers are unheard.
People are shooting up heroin and they are shooting guns. People who are innocently going about their lives are having them ended just like that. In a bullet instant. We have no heroes. We have plenty of heroin to numb the pain of all of this pain, but no heroes.
What can I do? I am pouring out my heart to the great void. Does anyone hear me?
On Overdose Awareness Day today, people are lighting candles in memory of so many people who have died from this horrible, wretched illness. But who really gives a fuck about a few measly tealight candles? Those candles offer me nothing. I'm not going to waste my time on that.
I'm going to raise my head and shout "FUCK!" because that seems to get more respect from others than the soft glow of a tealight candle and people holding hands singing "Kum Ba Ya."
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