Like I have expressed so many times before - I wish I could just sprout wings and take flight. I would fly away. Just like that. Fly to somewhere peaceful, warm and secure. Away from here. Away from my life as I know it right now.
We have had a tumultuous week with Taylor. Turner has had a high fever - some sort of flu. Now I have it. I do not even know where to begin with Taylor - other than he was accepted to a Crisis Residential Center and did not want to go.
He went this morning and then decided to leave. He called and asked to be taken to a mental hospital. Does he want help or is this a ploy?
As I sit here with my head pounding, my throat grows tight and then a wave of coughing erupts from within. My head pounds harder especially listening to the demands of the little boys. One is thirsty one hungry. Turner is hot again and needs meds. I await for a phone call from Stace to see what is the situation with Taylor.
Just as I expected - the phone rings and jolts through to my inner core. Taylor is begging to come home. Just ONE more chance. Like a million times before. One more chance.
We can not make him understand. He is out of control. He wants what he wants when he wants it. An addicts mentality. Manipulation. A fungus that is growing rapidly.
Twisting a parents heart and ripping it out of their chest - that is what kids with addiction do. They beg. They cry. They play on your sympathy. They get you so confused and wear you down until there is nothing left of you.
He is my SON. My CHILD. Yet he now lives in an adults body with the mind of a little boy. He does grown up things that are so stupid, then recoils like a young child. "I'm SO sorry...I won't do it again."
I am catapulted back to 1995 when he was 5 and he tried to sneak a fresh hot chocolate chip cookie. He was too small to reach them and in his efforts to get the one that I had placed so neatly on the top of the pile, he knocked the plate to the floor. Cookies spilled all over and the plate broke into pieces. He stood in the midst of the mess with his shock of blond hair and his sky blue eyes filling with tears. "I am SO sorry Mommy...I didn't mean to."
I know HE doesn't mean to yell and hit things. I know HE doesn't mean to leave and not come back for hours. I know HE doesn't mean to come into our home under the influence of drugs and or alcohol. HE doesn't...but the disease does. The addiction that has invaded him like a monster means to. It will not leave us alone. It haunts us in our waking moments. I creeps about when we are asleep, lurking and stealing our peace. It makes his depression dark, dingy and horrible.
Where is the help? What do we do? Stace is out of work still. The fact we may not have a rood overhead next month is just a side note at this point. We have been there before. One more challenge...
Cry out to Jesus.
This is my only answer. So, Jesus here we are. We are crying out to you. We need you. Can you hear our cries? We are confused. We are weary. We are burdened. We are lost. Come find us. Help us find the way...