Worst Mother Ever Syndrome Posted by:Brigitte--Wednesday, June 05, 2013

I, Jessica Rabbit, recently declared myself a bad mother. I am struggling with trying to shake this self-imposed title that for the most part is seen as irrational by the majority, including my husband and the four Rabbit children. I have five children, so one of them does agree that I am indeed a bad mother to him. It is because of this one person, my son Herman that I am writing this.

I do not want to share this with him; I am writing this as a means for therapeutic catharsis, hoping that by putting my thoughts in written form, I could gain more insight into myself. Even though Herman is the second child of five, Herman’s addiction made him the child that I fought for the hardest, walked on egg shells for , cheered enthusiastically for behaviors that were simply expected by the other children, lost sleep over, cried the most for, ruminated on , and almost lost myself over. I was also the one who called the police on him and according to Herman “lied and got him locked up with horrible people”. I do not regret the latter. I remind myself constantly, that I have four other wonderful, talented, honorable and accountable children. Somehow their love, respect, and accomplishments cannot fill this gaping void of pain in my heart right now. This is just one more thing that also fills me with guilt. I had such a hard time letting Herman go, although in theory I knew it was the right thing to do. I am now holding him accountable, which also includes knowing that I cannot have a relationship with him until he embraces recovery. The fact that my own son, heart of my heart, is toxic to me and my family is very painful. His addiction, which brings out his disrespect and belligerence, is something from which we needed to separate ourselves. I remember once when Herman was sick as a child, we isolated him from the rest of the children, so they would not become infected. I still stayed with him, and braved getting ill, because I was his mom. However, I became ill with the same virus, and passed it on to several other family members. In a lot of ways, the same thing is happening now. Herman is sick, and poses danger to our family. I can no longer stay with him until he gets “better”, or risk infecting the family. The rest of my family is thriving in the new calm that Herman’s absence is providing. I was told by them that it now finally feels like a real home. For me, I feel horribly that someone is missing, although I am grateful for the calm. So there will be no more Sundays afternoons spent with Herman, for the sanity and safety of my family. 

My son Herman is an addict, although if you ask him, he will tell you differently. For those of you that have addiction in the family, you are aware of the chaos it provides. Loving and mothering an addicted child is so much more than just chaos. As mothers, our bond and love for each of our children is not measurable. In my case, I loved Herman so much that he actually had me convinced at one point that down was really up, black was really white, stop was really go… I got so caught up in the insanity, that I was compromising my true convictions, and feeling guilty and horrible about myself in the process. My initial plan was to fade quietly into the proverbial woodwork of PSST, because I felt that I was not the sort of messenger the dedicated parents from PSST needed. Adding insult to injury, Roger and I received the 2012 Parent of the Year award. The beautiful plaque that the courts gave us said we worked hard to save our son, but was also a stark reminder of our hypocrisy, because we recently gave up and quit on our son. I grimaced in embarrassment when I thought of our speech that night, proudly smiling for photos with all the juvenile justice system. What would they think of us now? 

For unexplained reasons, I felt compelled to let the group know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth (so help me Lloyd). I tested the waters by sending out an update during the last virtual meeting. I typed out the words” Roger and I told our son we could no longer have a relationship with him until he embraces recovery”. I was certainly not fishing for any compliments, and I had immediate email sender’s regret the second I clicked on send. I felt like I had quit and given up on our son. Our last interaction was a huge disaster, and could definitely go down in the PSST record books as script for best role play of what not to do. I did not remember hearing or meeting anyone in PSST who ever did that to their child. I do not remember ending the relationship ever even being considered as an option. After all, we had spent so much time together in family therapy at Herman’s many placements, practiced the tried and true skills of PSST, and now we chose to no longer have contact with each other. How could this happen? We all know the answer, addiction. 

In our neighborhood, we were the shining examples of good parenting. Herman left our house handcuffed in the back seat of a police cruiser in early August 2010. A mere 17 months of placements and many PSST meetings later, Herman was transformed into the all American boy next door. People no longer recognized him, and several that did actually shook my hand, complimenting me on a job well done. The community was actually thanking me! It was a true Cinderella story, a miracle. Maybe Herman could be one of those miracles that we all applaud. However, slowly my miracle was falling apart. Herman was using again, and we stood by our word as per our contract, that after three strikes, he was out of our house for good. On January 4, 2013, eight days shy of one year that he came home, Herman moved out. Several months later, the neighbors who once complimented me were now showing concern .Through some portal, they were able to find out what I already knew,that Herman was no longer looking or acting the same. They wanted to give me a “heads up” because they were confident that I could steer Herman straight again, Roger and I just needed to re-do the magic. My initial magic was Lloyd Woodward, Kathy Tagmyer, PSST and the legal system. However we had exhausted all of the good /magic that could have ever been gotten from our dream team. Roger and I actually asked that Herman be taken off of probation in March of 2012. It was definitely the right thing to do, because we were at the point of diminishing return with Probation and placements. Roger and I felt we could and should handle this as his parents. 

So what did I do or not do that caused me to feel like I was a bad mother? I will tell you it was not from the many placements and stays at Shuman. From 1/4/2013 to 4/21/2013 I let Herman show up hung over, reeking of drinking the night before, or high and smelling like weed into my home. In retrospect he was very disrespectful in many ways to both Roger and me. The other four siblings would hide in their rooms whenever he visited. Somehow I had developed a different set of standards for Herman than the other four Rabbits. Initially I was grateful that Herman was just smoking weed and not spice or thankfully to our knowledge, not using heroin. He was only expected to pay his bills, stay out of the legal system and stay alive. This was very different from the bar we had set for the other four rabbits. I was just happy to have a relationship, and let Herman be Herman. I foolishly believed that since he was no longer living in our home, I could roll with things when it came to Herman’s drug use. He was my son, my flesh and blood. A mother’s love is not measurable. I could not imagine ever not having a relationship with him, no matter the cost. I was willingly chugging the Herman Kool Aid.

I suspected Herman was abusing amphetamines, namely Adderall or “college crack” .I told him my concerns about the amphetamines, and was relieved when he told me he was just drinking and smoking weed. Things were now getting pretty bad, for I was now endorsing his drug use, a line I thought I could never cross. Meanwhile the other four were expected to not use drugs or drink alcohol, until they were legally able to drink, get good grades, excel and be honorable and accountable. Clearly I was setting a double standard. I chose to be blind to injustice, as well as to the degree of damage that the Herman chaos I was permitting was causing my other children. If you look to the right column on the blog, you will see the heart felt and powerful post written by my 17 year old daughter Kitt, titled “My God Darn Screw up Brother”. She wrote it for a school English paper, and received an A. My other daughter, Kitt’s twin sister Katt, informed me of how much time I spent helping and talking about Herman, to the point that she was very angry and sick of it, she said that she felt invisible My oldest, Zeke, who is Herman’s older brother by 14 months said that he was glad to have some respite and live at college because of the chaos. Zeke’s has many academic achievements, including consistently making the dean’s list. My youngest son Zach said he did not care, and had nothing to say. However I believe that the ones who say the least have the most to say. 

Then there is Herman, the reason I am even aware of this blog. He showed up to our home still celebrating 4/20 on Sunday 4/21. Roger was working on some administrative work related things, and the other siblings were hiding in their rooms, which was the norm. I should add that I pretended to not find it strange that everyone hid when Herman came, leaving me to chatter away with mindless conversation, while washing his laundry, and clearing out my pantry of food to give him. I was saving him at least 25 dollars per week in laundry, plus saving him food expense. He now had a bigger weed/alcohol budget thanks to me. Still my head was in the sand, a fact I knew. I just loved him so much that I wanted to believe him and his delusion of doing well. The blatancy of Herman’s drug use, compounded with his diatribe of how I “wronged him by placements”, hit me squarely in the eyes that day, I cannot accurately describe the events that led up to the interactions, but succinctly said, I had it. I believe it was ultimately his disrespect of his father that finally got to me. 

Roger and I both sent Herman letters to clarify our positions. I apologized for my name calling, and explained the stance we are taking. I told him that I made a huge mistake in thinking I could roll with his drug and alcohol use. The words “hear us now, believe us later, your drug use has cost you your family, but will prove to be more costly in the future”, were emphasized. Herman blames us for his drug use, and says he is using less with us out of the picture. Herman refuses to interact with me, saying I am one of his people, places and things. I guess I am, if Herman is trying to feel justified in using. In my heart of hearts I see no other way of handling this. I did everything imaginable to get him the best help and support. I did the responsible thing as a parent. There is no way that I can endorse Herman’s criminal behavior any more. We needed to protect ourselves and our family from Herman. Things were becoming progressively more chaotic and dangerous. Sadly, this was our only option. Herman told his father that this break was for the best, and that I needed to let go. So now I have Herman’s permission to let him go. Would more did I need? There is a saying “Let go, or be dragged”. I think I sometimes chose to be dragged. However I know that is not rational thinking, so I am letting go. I think it is a process that includes mourning. It has been almost 2 months since I have seen or heard from Herman, and I feel myself getting stronger. I think most rehabs say it takes 30 days to detox, I am feeling a tiny bit better about our decision. 

Roger, Herman’s father, has a very different view of the situation and what we are dealing with, as well as what it did to the family. He states “As per the contract, Herman must be on his own and must now face the consequences of the real world. The dialog became abusive, disrespectful and he was still using. We needed to protect our family. We still love him, and will be there for Herman whenever he embraces recovery”. 

So there you have it, the Rabbit family statement on the record. There is one last thing that I would like to share in closing, never forget the power of one kind word. Personally speaking, the comments and support I received when I reached out really helped to uplift me, to the point that I am starting to feel like myself again, and worthy to give out advice . 

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written by Brigitte

The PSST meeting this week was chock full: there were several terrific role-plays and good discussions. As often happens, there was not enough time to cover everyone's issues. There seemed to be a theme among some parents whose kids were no longer on probation and no longer living at home. Many are struggling.

This is the scenario for Francois and I. Pierre has been out of our home since relapse after relapse told us to try something different. After leaving a 1/2way house, he went directly to a 3/4 house. For two months, we all started to breathe a sigh of relief that maybe this time he could do it. He was going to meetings, working, speaking for his NA group and enjoying his family again; and we were enjoying him!

Sadly, I can't say that is the case right now. After leaving the 3/4 house, the past three months have shown a steady decline in his commitment to recovery. He doesn't go to meetings, hasn't held a steady job in three months, and doesn't have a place to stay except for couch surfing with friends. He admits to using but claims it was only 4 or 5 times. Neither Francois or I believe that for a second and his actions confirm our fears. Until last week, he hadn't asked us for anything and we were still able to enjoy his weekly visits.

Last week he asked if we could help him find a place to stay. I told him that our offer of paying rent on a 3/4 house is still valid but obviously he would have to be clean. He didn't like that option. I said if he were clean, he could stay here short-term (a week or two), but only if he would agree to our rules, daily drug tests, and be actively look for a job. He didn't like that option either. Instead, he proposed that we co-sign a lease and pay the first month of rent--then he would take it from there. We told him that wasn't going to work for us; we would wait until he is clean and has a job before we could talk about an apartment. Naturally, he didn't like that option either. 

I reminded him that, for three months, we have been pressing him to get a job and a place to stay; we had warned him that the day would come when he will be stuck. That day is now here and now he has to figure it out. He left angry.

He came by again a few days later and tried to convince me that his girlfriend and her mother needed $50. The request was so ridiculous, it was alarming. Surprisingly, he agreed to a drug test. It was positive as I had anticipated. When I refused his request, I saw the intensity he used to show when he was actively using and out of money. "You know that PSST group you go to?" "Yes." "Is that why you have become such a bitch?" "If by 'being a bitch', you mean not giving you money, I suppose." He got angry and said go to hell, quickly apologized, then left. I went downstairs and found a hole in the wall. Now it was my turn to be angry.

Next day he wanted to come by and I said no. He stopped by anyway. Francois asked him to leave and explained that we are willing to help but only on our terms, not his. He left although he didn't seem angry this time.Ugh. This feels like a terrible waiting game--waiting for him to become uncomfortable enough to want change. Waiting for him to hit bottom, yet hoping his bottom isn't life threatening. Each night I pray he is safe. We throw out offers of help that are contingent upon him being clean but he keeps batting them down. One thing that Lloyd said at the meeting last week really helped: Pierre isn't down all time. I often imagine him lonely, homeless and desperate. The reality is, he is out having a good time and shows us his desperate face when he wants something. Francois and I feel like he will need to fall pretty hard before he will make any positive changes but, boy, it is hard to watch. We continue to reach out to him but his addictive, manipulative behavior is starting to make it hard to maintain a healthy relationship. I keep thinking about how different he seems right now compared to when he first left the 1/2way house and it makes me incredibly sad. However, our home has become peaceful and stable since he left and we have told him we are not willing to let his addiction affect our family like it had in the past.

"I don't measure a man's success by how high he climbs but how high he bounces when he hits bottom."

George S. Patton

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A Younger Sister's View of Addiction Posted by:Brigitte--Wednesday, April 03, 2013

I want to share a short story my daughter Kitt wrote for her high school Literature class. The assignment was to write a short story based on the book The Catcher In The Rye. The guidelines were that the story could be fictional or as real as you like. The only criteria was that it must be written in the voice of the character Holden. Kitt's story is very real, and provides a glimpse into how siblings are affected when one of them is a drug addict. Many of the posts on this blog are written by parents, but  I think you might find this post written by a 17 year old insightful.

I redacted and gave pseudo-names to keep things anonymous. Many of you know my story, and some have met Kitt and my family. Kitt and I both agree that Herman provides great inspiration for writing material. Who knows? Maybe a book is in the making.

 

Jessica

 

 

My Goddarn Screw Up Brother

I don't remember much, but Toontown used to be such a vibrant place. I would walk down the narrow roads looking in all the store windows. Such gorgeous streets and gorgeous windows. They were decorated with twinkling lights and flowers that you could smell without sticking your face in them. The fall was the best time to roam around. They had this jazz festival that added the perfect touch of velvetiness to the crisp air. I swear, you could hear those guitars no matter where you were in town. I didn’t mind it that much. It was sorta relaxing. Listening to the solid bass keep time for the guitars as they improvised. These guys just did whatever felt right at that moment. They did what they wanted and stole the show while the bassist kept to the same old beat. I would hear people say, "Wow, that guy can really play" and I always knew it was about the guitarist. Never the bassist. That always bothered me. He was the one that kept everythingtogether anyway.

It wasn’t until 2004 that things started to go downhill for the town. Hurricane Ivan grabbed it by its neck and shook it to the point that the town is now unrecognizable. The flood destroyed all the potential greatness Toontown had in one night. My dad had a newly remodeled dental office down there. New walls, new floors, new everything. Ivan barged in and decimated the office. Ivan didn't play favorites, he knocked down all thriving businesses and families. Toontown is now a ghost town infested with drug dealers. Those goddarn drug dealers.

Herman lives there now. I find that funny. I don't know why, but it is. We drive down there sometimes and drive past his apartment. It's a dainty, three-story building with red bricks and white windowpanes. His apartment has a window that faces the street. I like it. Right before you reach his place you have to drive down this long road. I wouldn't mind it, but there isn't much to see. Just broken down houses and old businesses filled with people just trying to get by in their lives. As we approach his building, my mom always says, "I wonder if we can see Herman through the window." I don't get why she thinks he'll be there. He never stands by the window. Ever. If he does, it's to water his already dead plant. That bothers me. That he keeps the plant, that is. It's such an eye sore. I don’t know why he doesn't just buy a new one, but I guess I'll never understand. The thing is that's what makes Herman so frustrating. His reasons behind his actions never make sense. Probably not even to himself. He just does what he pleases and doesn’t give a darn about anyone else. He wasn't always like that. I remember when I was little I use to think he was the coolest person ever. God, you should have known him. He killed me. His mannerisms would make about anyone smile and laugh. He was a chubby, brown hair, red Kool-aid mustache kid. You'd liked him. We would play this game. We called it "Rescue Babies". My sister and I were probably four years-old, making my younger brother about three and Herman six. I would sit on a bed with my sister and brother and we would be hugging each other singing "Kumbaya". We pretend the bed was our wrecked ship. Herman would be laying underneath the bed, swimming in the made up ocean. The game was always the same. We would be singing, Herman shakes the bed, and we would scream. Herman would grab one of us and drag up into the "water". The order was always the same, too. First Katt, then Rick. I would be stranded on the bed alone. It probably doesn't sound all that fun, but it was for us. Herman was the ringleader of all the best games. God, I wish you knew him. He was the one of the funniest kids you would ever meet. Teachers would always say he was never a student, but they still liked him anyway. That Herman is gone now, though. I'm not quite sure where he went, but I doubt he would be coming back anytime soon.

Anyway, it's Sunday, so I know what to expect for the day. "Kitt, Herman is coming over. Help me clean up a little," my mom says. I don't exactly mind helping. I like cleaning. If you want to know the truth, I just don't understand why we have to clean for him. He doesn't want to be here. Well, he does, but for the wrong reasons. I don’t blame my mom for wanting a clean house. It's good to have at least something nice while he's here. It wasn't long until we could hear his bass blasting from his 2002 Buick. He looks pretty stupid in that car, if you asked me. Take this typical old person car and imagine seeing a nineteen year-old blaring rap from it. It just doesn't look right. I watch him as he pulls into the driveway and opens his door. As he steps out, I can see a few bottles roll out and on to the ground. I don't want to know what was in the bottles and I don't care. He walks to the door with his electric cigarette hanging out of his mouth and rings the doorbell as if that's what he's suppose to do. The only people who stayed downstairs for him were me, my parents, and my dog who won't stop barking. She usually only barks at strangers. She usually does it to protect us. The funny thing is that she knows Herman. She used to love him so much we would say Herman was her boyfriend. Recently, though, she's been acting like an angry ex- that is still bitter about the break up. Nonstop yelling.

"You look good, Herman" my mom said. We all know though that he doesn't, but it's the only thing to say to a person like Herman without fearing the response. He walks into the livingroom as if he still owns the place and turns on the TV. Next thing I know, he turns to me

"Turn the Wii on. I want to watch Netflix." I turn to him and he coyly says,"Please." I could have smacked him right then. I was watching my favorite show.

"Sure. What are we watching?" (I really want to throw this Wii remote square in his eye.)

"I want to watch Jackass. My friend said I remind him of one of the guys." He laughed. His laugh just makes me angry. Not because it's annoying, but because it's the pot head laugh. A mixture of a monotone "huh" and the typical "ha". If you ever have the displeasure of talking to a pot head, you'll know what I mean. Herman's friends have that laugh, too. They're all such phonies. None of them even like each other.

"Kitt, give me the remote!" I didn't realized I was still holding it. I tossed it over, but I missed. I was shaking too much. I pick it up and hand it to him. "Here." I avoided eye contact with him the best I could. I knew if I looked that I would risk seeing them red and glassy. I don’t think I could handle that. We watch Jackass and I can hear my parents in the kitchen.

"Roger, do you think he's high right now?"

"I don't know. Maybe hung-over."

"Go check," my mom, her neck begins to become beat red. I feel bad for her. I know she's worked up and there is nothing I can do to make it better. Her own son turned into her worst nightmare right before her eyes. That drives me darn near crazy. I think of what I would do if I ever had a son like him. Makes me darn near crazy. I know my mom did everything possible to help him and has given him so many chances, yet he still refuses to follow any type of rule. I just want him to leave. I would take the honor of kicking him out of this house myself. I keep picturing me grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. I would say, "What are you doing with your life? Just look what you have done." But I know I wouldn’t have the guts to do it. So I just sit here, teeth clenched and palms sweaty. I look over at Herman and he's asleep. I watch him and imagine how peaceful he would look in his coffin. It's a depressing to picture, but I know if he continues what he's doing, I'll need to be prepared.

I guess wasn't really paying attention for awhile because I heard yelling. It was Herman. I don't want to hear it, but I know I have to stay. I have to. "Herman, please calm down. It was just a simple question," my mom said. "This wasn't meant to be an argument."

"F" you, guys," Herman snaps as he stands up. That hit me right in the gut. I know it wasn't directed towards me, but it still stings. I couldn't help but feel hurt. I wanted to say something, but my father stepped in for me. "Herman. Sit down. Now. Don't you ever speak to anyone, especially your mother, like that."

"You guys effing suck." I hate when he says that. "I'm glad I'm out of here. I can't wait until I develop Alzheimer's. I don't wanna remember any of you." Does he even realize how ridiculous he sounds? Next thing I know, the door slams. He left and I can breathe again.

I stand in the living room by myself. He has to realize what he does to us. His siblings no longer want to spend time with him. He has to know they're all starting to hate him in the order of our "Rescue Babies" game. First Katt, then Rick. Not me though. I don't think I hate him. I hate what he does and what he will do, but not him. Sometimes, before I go to bed, I pray that he gets arrested. Maybe he needs to hit rock bottom. But I guess the thing is, he hit bottom awhile ago. I thought that would change him. But he is still continues down the same path. I could feel the tears starting to cloud up my eyes. I try to wipe them away, but I felt someone grab my hand. "It's okay, Kitt. We'll be okay."

 Living with and addict is like being in quick sand. If you ever been stuck in an end-less cycle like this, you'll know what I mean.

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