☼ Dear Joey: A Love Letter To My Son The Addict

Photo Credit: Randy Mason

Photo Credit: Randy Mason

Dear Joey,

I miss you. I ache for you to fill your place in my life.

Will I ever again feel your hug? Hear your laugh? See you proud?

I don’t want you to be an addict. I don’t want you to push me away. I don’t want you to die. I want you to be sober and happy and to fulfill your dreams and fill your soul. I want you to be Joey. But addiction is sucking the life out of you. Sucking the you out of you.

I’m haunted by the difficult life you are living; I’m sad for the life you could have but are missing; and I grieve for the loss of my son who is still alive. I stopped trying to contact you, not because I stopped caring, but because I had to stop the self-inflicted pain.

I made a lot of mistakes trying to help you, sometimes treating you like an adult when you were acting like a child, and treating you like a child though you’re an adult. I tried warm fuzzy love and I tried tough love. I tried keeping you from hitting bottom, bringing the bottom up to you, and getting you into treatment when I thought you’d hit bottom. And I struggled to recognize the difference between helping and enabling — I tried so hard to stay on the right side of an invisible line between helping you to live and helping you to die.

Through trial and error and lack of results, I learned that I can’t fix this for you. And I learned that I love you enough to bear the toughest love of all.

Sometimes love means doing nothing rather than doing something.

But, Joey, Letting Go is not the same thing as giving up.

There is a place in my life that is exactly your size.

I’m keeping it warm.

Love,

Mom

Sandy Swenson is the author of The Joey Song: A Mother’s Story of Her Son’s Addiction. She has a forthcoming book and app published by Hazelden Fall 2017.

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Resistance Training

Girl splashing water in a puddle after a rain

From In All Our Affairs, Making Crises Work For You, Surrender:

“’Let go and Let God.’ It sounds so simple. But when our circumstances or the circumstances of those we love weigh heavily on our minds, we may have no idea how to do it. Some of us struggle with the very idea of a Higher Power. Others begin to question long and deeply held beliefs, especially in stressful times…

Many of us review the same scenario again and again, looking for that elusive answer that will solve everything, obsessively wracking our brains for something that we could do differently or should have done differently in the past…As long as there is a chance of figuring out a solution, we reason, we should keep trying…We may secretly feel that this problem is too important to trust to God, as if we had the power to prevent God’s will from unfolding by the mere exercise of our resistance. We fear that if we surrender, anything could happen—

Actually, anything could happen whether we let go or not. It is an illusion that as long as we cling to the situation we have some control…Surrender means accepting our powerlessness to change many of the realities in our lives…It means trusting instead in a Power greater than ourselves. Faith has been likened to being in a dark tunnel and seeing no glimmer of light but still crawling forward as if we did.

Though our circumstances may seem dark indeed, when we turn to a Higher Power rather than to our own stubborn wills we have already begun to move toward the light.”

“Moving toward the light…” I really love the sound of those words. What could be darker than watching my daughter self-destruct over the course of fifteen years? How have I learned to “dance in the rain,” even as she has continued to slip away?

My resistance training at the gym has shown me that pain comes from putting resistance on the force exerted, and that has served me in strengthening my body. But my spiritual life demands just the opposite. My strong will and determination to save Angie from drug addiction was instinctive; it would be counterintuitive NOT to step in and interfere in my child’s self-destruction.

But once I became educated about the nature of addiction as a brain disease, I realized that other than offering my love and emotional support, there was very little I could do. I did send her to four rehabs, which bought her some time. But once or twice would have been enough to show her the tools of recovery. At what point do we need to make our adult children responsible for their own recovery from this cunning disease?

I will let go of my strong will to save Angie and trust that God has a bigger plan. I have faith that things are unfolding as they are meant to—and in God’s time. In my view, faith and acceptance go hand in hand.

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Double Edge Sword.

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Addiction is a disease like none other. A double edge sword. It tears families apart. It bonds strangers forever. I never wanted to play this role in life. I was happy being a NICU nurse. Helping families cope with a premature or very sick newborn was what I did. It gave my life meaning and purpose. I was happy with my life and saw the world through rose colored glasses.

That was until my son became an addict. My handsome, life loving son became a victim to a horrible disease. There were no instruction manuals to prepare me for this journey. No section in the bookstore on What To Expect When Your Child Becomes Addicted. I was left to figure this out the hard way. It was an education I didn’t sign up for but could not escape.

I had no clue that Matt would come to depend on the opioids he was given after back surgery. I believed they were prescribed by doctors educated enough to know the dangers of what they gave to their trusting patients. I believed in the system that I was part of. The system that helped those in need. A system that Did No Harm.

I began to see another side to the system I so believed in. A system so broken that human life no longer seemed to matter. This system is tainted by a stigma that has surrounded the disease of addiction for years.

I found this to be true during my first interaction with a detox facility in my state. My son, Matt finally recognized his craving for the poison pills had nothing to do with back pain. He reached out to me for help. Being a Registered Nurse I foolishly thought that addiction would be treated like any other chronic disease. I thought all he had to do was make the call and ask for help. At first I thought he was lying when he told me they could not help him today. He was instructed to call back in a few days after his insurance approval went through and only then would he have a bed.

Unfortunately, this was only the beginning of the battle. My education into addiction treatment opened my eyes to a world where I found a lack of compassion or understanding. Addiction is thought of as a “self inflicted” disease and therefore deserves punishment over treatment. I watched as both the medical community and the insurance industry did very little to help my son recover from this misunderstood disease. The medical community had no problem in prescribing the opioids that altered his brain and shattered his life. They had a problem with weaning him off or prescribing medication assisted treatment.

The insurance industry offered thirty days a year of either in-patient or out-patient or a combination of both. Ignoring the research that clearly shows the brain disease requires at least a year for recovery to take place. I found they are really in the business of saving money not lives.

After a seven year struggle my son, Matt lost his life. January 3rd 2015 at 4:40am my son lost his battle to the most mistreated, misunderstood, stigmatized disease I have ever know in my nursing career.

So now I am left behind. My life’s purpose of saving babies and saving Matt both shattered. The one phone call every parent dreads shattered my heart like a glass thrown at a brick wall. So many pieces. Some in sharp shards others smooth like sea glass. My broken heart so full of anger. My brain drenched in knowledge I never wanted to know. Addiction as ugly as it is, is treated even uglier.

I spent the next months trying to remember to breathe. Living in a fog of grief so powerful it crippled my once joyful mind. I could think of nothing other than the struggle my son endured and how the mistreatment of his disease led to his untimely death.

I was told the anger would come. That I would get angry at Matt. They were right the anger did come. Not at Matt but at the misdirected, broken system for the treatment of addiction.

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Redemption And Freedom

Photo Credit: Randy Mason

Photo Credit: Randy Mason

My daughter Angie told me once that she hated NA meetings because pimps, dealers, and strung-out junkies just itching for their next high often attended them. But in her case I don’t think that’s true. I think she didn’t go to meetings because she needed to deal with her addiction her way, and not be told by anyone else what to do: CSR—compulsively self-reliant—just like her mother.

Or maybe she just wasn’t ready to embrace recovery at all, a painful possibility I had not yet considered. I was still determined, at that point, to believe that she was going to beat her addiction and that I, of course, would be the glorious savior she would spend the rest of her life thanking, handing me my redemption on a silver platter.

I would finally, thank God, let go of the oppressive burden I was placing on my daughter by demanding she get well so that I could be OK. My mother unconsciously did the same thing with her children: she was a demanding perfectionist, beating back the pain of self-doubt and unworthiness by raising “successful” children. I’m very glad to have found recovery from my dysfunctional upbringing. It has helped to  “relieve me of the bondage of self.” And most importantly, most importantly of all, my recovery has freed my children.

Marilea Rabasa is a blogger and author of A Mother’s Story: Angie Doesn’t Live Here Anymore by Maggie C. Romero (pseudonym) published by Mercury HeartLlnk and available on Amazon. She can also be found on www.recoveryofthespirit.com

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SOMETIMES EVEN DEATH ISN’T A DETERRENT

 

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A recovering addict told me: Dying didn’t matter. I couldn’t have been any worse off than I was, but I definitely didn’t fear death. If you die, that’s sort of a blessing. I was raised Catholic, but suicide didn’t scare me, didn’t scare me to be in limbo, or purgatory, or wherever you go. I don’t know, but I figured I had to stay here on earth and suffer for the shit I did to the people I hurt.

My reflection: When my son was in active addiction, I would have sold my soul to know what it would take for him to put down the drugs and change his life. With each of his bottoms, I prayed for his salvation.

Today’s Promise to consider: Addicts are overwhelmed by the obsession to use – it often belies their own understanding. Sometimes even death isn’t a deterrent in the race for the drug. I pray that our loved ones choose life, but what will it take? I will stay close in love and hope.

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I CAN REMEMBER

 

 

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Photo Credit: Randy Mason

An excerpt from S.O.B.E.R.* written by a mother and son

An acronym for Son Of a Bitch Everything’s Real

Anita

When we arrived at the family treatment program, I finally started to understand and believe that addiction is a disease. I was more than a little nervous, wondering how my son’s brain was ever going to be normal again. Was he up to this daunting task? There was no surgery for this illness. There was only a lot of hard work and the desire to change. I was cautiously optimistic. Only time would tell.

I was getting more and more anxious about seeing him for the first time. My husband and daughter were excited and hopeful. I, sadly, didn’t feel that way. I didn’t trust my son anymore and wondered if I ever would again.

Sunday morning, we were all led into a very large nondenominational church. I wondered why there were so many boxes of tissues everywhere in the aisles, under the seats, everywhere. The room was filled with excited families waiting to see their sons and daughters. My husband and daughter felt the same way and kept turning around, waiting to see my son walk through the door. I was shaking. I was still angry, still filled with hate.

A man named Father B took to the pulpit. There was something about the way he spoke that made me very calm. There was no anger, no disappointment. In every word you could feel how much he cared for these kids and their well-being. He was a wonderful man, and he made me feel terrible for feeling the way I did.

After he finished addressing the kids who were just starting out, different groups of kids started getting up and reciting poems, reading letters, singing, or just telling their story.

Ten seconds into the first young man speaking, I understood what the boxes of tissues were for. From the moment he opened his mouth, I couldn’t stop crying. Father B introduced each one as if they were his own child and stood beaming with pride as he listened to them.

Then he announced there would be a group joining us that was halfway through their stay at treatment, and my heart almost jumped out of my body. That was my son’s group.

What would he look like? Would he look the same as when we brought him here? Would he ask to come home with us? He had let me down so much for so long that I prayed I wouldn’t grab him by the throat. I prayed I wouldn’t lose my cool and make a scene in front of all those people, in front of Father B.

My daughter Alex was the first to see him. Her face erupted into a huge smile, tears rolling down her face “There he is!” she said.

I didn’t turn to look at my son. I looked at my daughter. I couldn’t understand how she was so happy to see him while I didn’t even want look at him. After all he had put her through, here she was, a proud, emotional, joyous sibling. My daughter looked so beautiful and innocent at that moment.

I was in awe.

Mike

I was so on board with the family program at treatment and looked forward to it. I felt that the only way to find freedom was to be honest with them. And I was excited to see my family. I felt so many things seeing them for the first time, but joy stood out the most. This was the first time I felt that way in a long time. I had the piece of paper in my pocket with what I had written the night before, unsure as to whether or not I would actually make it to the podium to actually read it aloud. I let every other speaker get up before me. When it came to the end, I felt as if someone grabbed me by the shoulders and put me up in the front of the chapel. I was terrified to read this out loud, but as my family came up and stood beside me, I felt a sudden rush of comfort and closeness to them.

I began to read the following.

I can remember being young and free, without a care in the world. The world as my playground, and my Big Wheel as my vessel through life. I can remember the warmth of heart from my mother and father as they carried me on this journey. I can remember this felt good.

I remember vacations with my family. Wherever we wanted to go, and together, we did it. Trips to Florida, the Bahamas—you name it, I remember. They all felt good.

I remember playing lacrosse. My family and friends coming to watch me play. The wins, the goals, the great feeling of support and accomplishment. All of it felt good.

I remember going away to college. The loss of friends, the loss of lacrosse, and the loss of my sense of place and direction. I can remember this felt…not so good.

I remember giving up. Giving in to all the wrong things that made me feel good. That took away the pain and made me feel happy again. I guess this felt good.

Now, all I can remember is pain. The lies, the stealing, the manipulation, ignorance, and selfishness. I remember spending every cent, selling everything, and asking for more from others who had nothing to give. I can remember feeling nothing at all.

I can remember making my mother cry, my sister hide, and my father feel helpless. Making those who loved me become full of anger and disgust toward me. I can remember the vacations disappeared, my family and everything I loved slowly moving in the same direction. This didn’t feel good at all.

I do remember the feeling of hope though. That support and love of my family still lingered beneath the surface of all that pain. They’re still here, and they want me back. They want back what I’ve hid from them and what I’ve taken away from them. Is that too much to ask? Why are we so afraid of feeling good again? What is so scary about life and feeling that warmth we’ve all known?

I can feel the hope build and the warmth rise. I can actually feel again. I can remember. There is progress to be made and steps to take, but I believe we can all still live a life that everyone will want to remember.

Anita Devlin is a recovery advocate and co-author of a compelling new memoir entitled S.O.B.E.R.*, an acronym for Son Of a Bitch Everything’s Real. In a phrase, that’s how Anita felt during the harrowing experience of helping her son navigate his addiction, which eventually led to his recovery and the recovery of her entire family. Her son & co-author, Michael Devlin Jr., has been sober for more than six years. Her message is one of hope and faith.

S.O.B.E.R.* is available on AMAZON

http://www.anitadevlin.com

 

 

 

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To Be The Mom Of An Addict

Welcome Sandy Swenson to Magnolia New Beginning’s Blog http://www.magnolianewbeginnings.com

Photo Credit: Randy Mason

Photo Credit: Randy Mason

Once upon a time I was just a mom.
A regular mom.
When I held my little miracle in my arms for the very first time, I rubbed my cheek on his fuzzy head and whispered, “Joey, my beautiful son, I will love and protect you for as long as I live.” I didn’t know then that my baby would become an addict before becoming an adult, or that the addict taking his place would shred the meaning of those words to smithereens.
When Joey tumbled into my world, he arrived without an instruction manual, but I was the best mom I could be as someone with good intentions and no experience. I stumbled through parenthood like everyone else — rocking my baby to sleep, kissing the scraped knees of my little boy, setting unwelcome limits for my sometimes testy teen, and hoping I was doing things kind of right.
Then, slowly at first, came the arrests and the overdoses, the needle marks and the dealers, interspersed with big fat lies. My loving child was turning into a monster, manipulating me and using me and twisting my love for him into knots, but I was befuddled by this scary new world I didn’t even know I was in and that I knew nothing about. You see, I thought I was still just a regular mom stumbling through regular parenthood like everyone else. (You see, a mothers trust and belief in her child’s inner goodness aren’t easily cast aside.)
Addiction is a disease, but not even the professionals have it all figured out yet — and they aren’t trying to figure it out while in a blind panic, running through the fires of hell with fears and dreams and maternal instincts tripping them up. So, I shouldn’t feel like a total failure for having missed so many clues and for not being able to love and protect my child as I promised… but still, sometimes I do.
Joey became an addict in his teens, lured to drugs and alcohol by a culture that glorifies substance abuse — the same culture that later, so ignorantly and harshly, passes judgment on him. And me. I am judged for helping or fixing or pushing (or not helping or fixing or pushing enough) the sick child of mine who won’t be helped or fixed or pushed. I am judged for over-reacting and under-reacting, enabling and letting go, and, most hurtful of all, as a mother whose love must be somehow flawed.
Once upon a time I was just a regular mom, stumbling through parenthood like everyone else — and then I had to figure out how to be the mom of an addict. I had to figure out how to love my child without helping to hurt him, how to grieve the loss of my child who’s still alive without dying, and how to trade shame and blame for strength.
To be the mom of an addict is to be an ambassador of truth and understanding.
No more shame. No more silence.
Sandy Swenson is the author of The Joey Song: A Mother’s Story of Her Son’s Addiction. She has a forthcoming book and app published by Hazelden Fall 2017.

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DO SOMETHING-ANYTHING!

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Peace In The Storm

Photo Credit: Randy Mason

Photo Credit: Randy Mason

The road to my spiritual life began when I was a young child growing up in an alcoholic family. But I didn’t start to walk this road until halfway through my life when my daughter fell ill with drug addiction.

I was very unhappy growing up. It’s a classic story of family dysfunction that many of us have experienced as children. But back then I didn’t have Alateen to go to. My father was never treated and died prematurely because of his illness.  I, too, was untreated for the effects of alcoholism, and grew into an adult child.

Many of us know how rocky that road is: low self-esteem, intense self-judgment, inflated sense of responsibility, people pleasing and loss of integrity, and above all, the need to control. I carried all of these defects and more into my role as a mother to my sick daughter, and predictably the situation only got worse.

I was a very hard sell on the first three steps of Al-Anon, and my stubbornness made me ill and cost me my teaching career. But once I did let go of my self-reliance, my whole life changed for the better.  The Serenity Prayer has been my mantra every day. I’ve learned to let go of what I can’t change. I don’t have the power to free my daughter Angie of her disease, but I can work hard to heal from my own.  This is where I’ve focused my work in the program.

My daughter has gone up and down on this roller coaster for fifteen years, and right now she’s in a very bad place. But that has only tested me more. My faith grows stronger every day when I release my daughter with love to her higher power, and I am able to firmly trust in mine.

Friends of mine ask me, “How do you do that? You make it sound so simple!”  I tell them, “First of all getting here hasn’t been simple. It’s the result of years of poisoning my most important relationships with the defects I mentioned earlier. I knew I had to change in order to be happy. Secondly, I fill my heart with faith-based unconditional acceptance of whatever happens in my life. It’s my choice.”

Somewhere in my readings, someone wrote “Pain is not in acceptance or surrender; it’s in resistance.” It’s much more painless to just let go and have faith that things are unfolding as they are meant to. There’s a reason why my higher power is running the show the way he is. I just have to get out of the way—because I’m not in charge. I also read somewhere the difference between submission and surrender: submission is: I’ll do this if I get XYZ; surrender, on the other hand, is unconditional acceptance.  Well, the latter is easier because I’m not holding my breath waiting for the outcome. I just let go – and have faith. Again, it’s a very conscious choice.

We all have different stories. What has blessed me about a spiritual life is that I can always look within myself and find peace regardless of the storms raging around me.

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From Substandard to Comprehensive,Changing the Way We Treat Addiction

by Marybeth Cichocki

How do we change addiction treatment from being substandard to being effective at saving lives?  First, the stigma must die.  Second, those suffering from the disease, the addiction professionals, the insurance industry and society must  rethink the concept that addiction treatment consists of a 30 day in-patient or intensive out-patient level of care.  That this chronic, treatable disease will go away and stay away after a mere thirty days of treatment.

We as a society need to understand that if we are going to overcome this horrific addiction epidemic, we need to start by looking at the model of care for addiction treatment that is being used today and admit it is a failure.  We need to examine and acknowledge the research that states addiction is a brain altering disease that requires long term intensive treatment allowing the damaged brain the necessary time to heal.  We need to look at the chronic disease of addiction as we do the chronic disease of cancer.  Many argue that addiction is self inflicted. That addicts caused their own disease. We must also acknowledge that some cancers may also be self induced. Smokers know they increase the chance of developing the disease if they continue to smoke.  Yet, smokers disregard the information and continue to smoke.  The warnings are printed on every pack of cigarettes.  Smoking may cause lung and other cancers.

What society and the insurance industry continue to purposely ignore is that many of those addicted became so by taking legally prescribed drugs.  Prescribed after surgery or injury, opioids hijacked the brains of those taking the drugs.  According to the National Institute on Drug Abuse (NIH), “ An estimated 2.1 million people in the United States suffer from Substance Use Disorders relating to prescription opioid pain relievers”.  Those statistics are from 2012.  In a mere three years those numbers have skyrocketed.  Noted in (ASAM) American Society of Addiction Medicine, “20.5 million Americans 12 or older had a Substance Use Disorder in 2015”.  According to the CDC, from 2000 to 2015 more than half a million people died from drug overdoses.  The amount of prescription opioids sold in the United States nearly quadrupled since 1999.  Use of prescription opioids is the driving factor for the massive increase in overdose deaths.  Yet, unlike cigarettes, there were no warnings.  Big Pharma and physicians withheld the highly addictive properties of the drugs they prescribed like candy.  People fell victim to the drug industry and greedy doctors who were more concerned with making money than providing the truth that the same drugs taking away your pain could also kill you.  No warnings, just an endless supply of highly addictive drugs.

The problem with prescription opioid addiction is that more than not it leads to heroin use.   According to a survey conducted by NIDA, half of the survey subjects reported abusing prescription opioids before turning to heroin.

The difference between these two so called self inflicted diseases is one gets comprehensive long term treatment and immediate follow up if relapse occurs.   No roadblocks or insurance discrimination.  No stigma or finger pointing.  Just care and compassion.  The other gets a limited number of days in a combination of both in-patient and out-patient treatment. Setting up those that suffer from addiction to relapse and possibly die.  The disease of addiction is the most discriminated against and stigmatized disease in this country.   The mindset is addicts are disposable, unworthy of saving.  The insurance industry refuses to recognize Parity.   Most companies only approving short stays in treatment rather than unlimited days of care.

You might ask why I care.  Why I bother to try to make a difference.  I’m a Registered Nurse who witnessed the differences in treatment for both of these “self inflicted” diseases.  My father was a smoker for years.  Diagnosed with lung cancer in his 70’s.   I watched as the medical community embraced my family.  No questions asked.  No finger pointing or accusatory looks.  Just good old fashion quick, comprehensive treatment.  Surgery followed by a plan of out patient care and followup.  No fighting the insurance companies or waiting for a bed when chemo made him sick.

In sharp contrast, my youngest son, Matt suffered from addiction or to be politically correct, Substance Use Disorder.  He became a victim of pill pushing doctors after a back injury and subsequent surgery.  You talk about night and day in the world of treatment.  Matt had to fight to gain entrance to a detox facility upon realizing his symptoms of distress were the after effects of long term opioid use.  Every admission was battled by his insurance company.  Days of allowable in-patient treatment were limited.  Ten days here, seven days there.  I referred to his plan as the revolving door of addiction.  Fighting both the medical community and the insurance industry became his full time job.  His “self inflicted” disease caused by a pill mill clinic was stigmatized and degraded.  I used to wish Matt had cancer.  The medical community and the insurance industry fought to save my father’s life.  That same community and industry discriminated and downgraded my son’s.  My father survived his cancer.  My son is dead.

After witnessing the vast differences in attitude and treatment options toward the diseases afflicting my father and my son, I’ve come to realize that as a society we must change our mind set and behavior toward those suffering from the disease of addiction.

The medical society must recognize and enforce long-term treatment as the standard of care.  We must model addiction treatment after cancer care.  From diagnosis through comprehensive treatment, substance use disorder deserves the quality and continuum of care as any other chronic disease.  Self inflicted or not, the insurance industry must recognize Parity.  The medical and pharmaceutic communities  must be held accountable for their combined role in this deadly disease.

Compassion and understanding must replace stigma and discrimination.  We must look beyond the disease.  Self inflicted or caused by the irresponsibility of others, every life is worthy of saving.

 

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