My name is Lynne, I’m the mother of an addict…

At the many ‘meetings’ I’ve attended over the years, I’ve learned the proper introduction.  “My name is Lynne, I’m the mother of an addict”.  And the response greeting  “Hi Lynne”.  The benediction is “keep coming back”.  My only daughter is a mentally ill addict.  Years of world-class enabling, co-depending, tough love, therapy, medication, meetings, emergencies, in-patient, blood, sweat, and tears.  A spiral of hopeless to hopeful to numb..nothing goddamn comfortable about it.

Intellectually, I know I can’t control it, didn’t cause it, can’t cure it…yada yada yada.  Not bloody acceptable.  The life of an addict’s mother often mimics the life of the addict – the panic, the illnesses, the drama, the family issues, losing time from work and life issues, the self-medicating, the manipulating, the despair, the anxiety, the depression, the impassivity, the denial, the disruptions, the false fronts…the crash and burn.  My counselor says I’ve hit the wall at warp speed…every tragedy in my life has been aroused to join the
physical, emotional, and intellectual toll taking…it’s my own personal fucked up limbic system hit parade.  I can’t, won’t opt out of this relationship…I’m in it ’til one of us is gone, and beyond.

And I don’t need to be told “keep coming back”, because I’ve never left; I have no perspective, and  I’ve forgotten how to love and support myself…to protect myself.