writing out loud

Why the hell am I writing this? shutterstock_122485786-1024x640

First, spare me and yourself the it’s so sad, how did this happen garbage.

Second, there is no shame, no blame, no hate, no embarrassment, no resentment that I bear my daughter.  On the contrary, my love for her is immeasurable, my respect for her immense, she is in my heart and soul, unconditionally.  She has a disease.  I am humbled at how she continues to endure what is a life-long hell on earth.  She is a beautiful, artistic, graceful, fragile creature of air and light who didn’t choose bi-polar, heroin addiction as a life path.  She has a disease, for which this country offers jail, institutions, or death as the treatments of choice.

Third, I, we, her family, finally have our backs against the wall;  the only way we can help her now is to deliberately, even callously,  leave her to her own devices.  And baby, that sucks every ounce of strength I have.  So I thought, write.  I know there are so many people out there in the same stinking boat, feeling the same stinking way, so I thought, write it out loud, write the truth, because it’s not just about me anymore.  And maybe, somewhere in these words, I’ll find some peace of mind, some piece of my mind. And maybe more people will realize that her disease is not a crime, not a choice, and that families are no more equipped to treat this disease on our own than we could cancer.

Fourth, and utterly essential to my survival, is because if she can suffer this, I can goddamn well be her mother through it, even if it’s from a self-imposed, soul-tearing distance, and I can goddamn well not pretend she doesn’t exist, or that everything’s peachy-keen, or that I have a clue how to keep it together.

10 thoughts on “writing out loud

  1. Pingback: writing out loud | it's still life blog

    • Bless him and you, Bonnie. Keep speaking – our children and grandchildren are dying, and until we convince the powers that be to legislate the decriminalization of addiction, they will continue to die.

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  2. I lost my son to a Fentanyl Overdose March 2014. He would have been 25 years old in April 2015. My husband found him in our home at 8:15AM Slumped over lifeless. He was seeking help but hit roadblock after roadblock. I stayed by his side and fought daily to try and get him help. He was on Methadone in an attempt to stabilize his heroin addiction however he repeatedly requested that he be weened off the program so he could get on with his life. The Doctors refused to assist so he stopped on his own. This choice he made with the intention of bettering himself sent him into a full blown psychosis. Hearing voices seeing things believing that his father and I had him under surveillance. He felt as if he had things crawling all over him constantly. In an attempt to stabilize himself he read on a web site that other people had encountered these issues and that their friends had given them Fentanyl which took the symptoms away. Well yes the symptoms are gone and so is he. After his death we received so much support it was overwhelming, not that I am ungrateful but where was the help when I was still able to hug and love my baby boy?

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