It’s been a weird year. My depression, now being treated, is still there, lurking in the shadows. Nearly a month after starting to take an anti-depressant every morning, and I hardly feel it. At least, I don’t feel overwhelmed any more. But it’s there, the sadness, the wish that things had worked out differently, the wondering thoughts about the last few months, trying to play it back and pointlessly figure out a way for it to have worked out differently, they never end.
And it could have worked out differently. His sister was happy here, going to school here every day and looking forward to going to the same school as Josh next year. We were all let down by his mother. She really spoiled everything.
I try to be as open with my son as I can. He’s only eleven, but I talk to him about everything. Even drugs. I’ve tried to make him understand just how bad my addiction was, and just how serious the consequences of drug abuse can be. But, I don’t think it was real for him until that day in September.
That day, when he was home with a cold, and his mother and sister were both here too. That was the day I came home from work and she accused me of something awful, something that a family member of hers asked me not to write about again. So I won’t, except to say it is both awful and untrue.
But the point is, she was high. I could see it the minute I walked in the door. Josh sat on the couch, with Aishah huddled next to him, both of them afraid. Megan was ranting, anxious, and twitching. Touching her face as she mumbled and then shouted on and on, then shook her head from side to side, and fiddled again with her face, her arms, her legs, twitched some more, and then ranted and raved like only someone tweaking on meth can.
This was exactly what I never wanted him to see. This… the face of someone crazed by meth, it brought the reality of addiction home and shoved it in his face. It made this home unsafe, and I knew that moment that she had to go. I should have kicked her out on the spot, but could not for fear of what would happen to Aishah. I didn’t know she would rob me and steal my car a month later. Maybe I should have.
But after she was gone, Josh spoke to me about drugs again. Having seen the reality of it, he asked me if I would ever use again. I told him I would not, but then he asked, if he were to die, would I use then. The answer is still “No”. I am glad that he worries about me, glad in a way, but also sad that it had to come to this.
I’m also not sure if something needs to be done about his morbid fascination with death. Right now, my own depression is difficult enough. I have to sort out my own feelings before I can be better equipped to deal with his. I’m doing my best though.
I read a Facebook status, written by a friend whose 18 year old son died and it reminded me of this conversation last week. I haven’t been able to respond to that friend – I don’t know what to say. All I can do is imagine my own reaction if Josh were to die. I don’t know how I would cope, or even if I would. I know I wouldn’t use meth, but beyond that, I honestly can’t imagine how I would have any will to live. He’s all I have now. I miss his sister so much though.