After I took #4 to the hospital and gave him a choice, he left and I didn’t hear from him again until Wednesday. He texted me and said “I hope you are doing okay.”
I asked him where he was and he said he was walking toward my town. I told him to stop by the house (what was I thinking?) and we’d chat, if he wanted.
He said he would and I waited and waited and waited. Finally, three hours later, I texted him and asked where he was. He said “it takes five hours to walk there.” I told him to tell me where he was and I would come get him.
I didn’t hear from him again. Three more hours went by and I thought I heard the screen door on my porch open. He was there and looked like he was walking away. He was soused. There was some car in the driveway, with a rather large man in it.
I asked him who it was and he said “my friend.” I asked him if he was one of those friends who bought him booze. #4 didn’t answer and I knew the question annoyed him. He sat down and I asked him if he didn’t think it was time to go to detox. He said “probably.”
I told him he could stay on the porch and the next morning, we’d go to the behavioral health clinic in town. He said “okay,” and then walked out the door and got in the car with that man.
This morning, I got up and he was on my porch. He was soaking wet and surprisingly, sober. He apologized for “being late but he had gotten here as soon as he could.” He was still thinking about the other day when he was walking to my house.
I told him he had shown up…drunk. He didn’t remember anything. I told him he had been beaten up and whoever did it, took everything he had.
Then, I told him that I thought it was really nice of the police station to allow him to sleep there after he had been beaten up. That’s what he told me. This morning, he told me he had been arrested and that’s why he was there. Wow. I’m glad I didn’t go up there like I had planned and thank them.
He said he had been in the hospital last night and had walked to my house in the rain. Again, I asked him if he didn’t think it was time to go to detox.
His stomach had been hurting and like always, he drinks to ease the pain. Again, he said “probably.” He asked me what day and time it was. He said he had an appointment with “Steve.” The psychiatrist at the behavioral health center is named Steve. I asked him if he wanted me to go with him but he said no.
I asked him where he had been the last few days. He didn’t know.
I found out that Steve is a man at some cafe in town. He goes up there and talks to him. I had to control my anger when I said “so you can’t keep an appointment with somebody who could possibly help you but you can keep an appointment with some man you met at a cafe?” I asked him if this Steve gave him money for booze. He said no.
I asked him if he would come back so I could get him some help. He said he would “definitely be back.”
I waited two and a half hours before I went looking for him. I went to the cafe and talked to a very nice woman named Ann. Steve is her husband. They run a cafe, where you can get free coffee and snacks. They ask for donations but never turn anybody away. A young girl was sitting on the ground outside. She was homeless but asked me if I was okay.
Ann was familiar with #4. She said “he just looks so lost.” Then, she told me that what he talks about is how much he hates me…for destroying the family. She asked me a little about the “situation” and yes…I destroyed the family and our marriage because I wouldn’t let a piece of pig-shit love his tramp and treat me like his whore. I didn’t say that to her of course, but the bottom line is that I did destroy the family when I left Loser. Nothing is Losers’ fault.
Everybody who has talked to #4 has said the same thing. “He’s trying to drink himself to death to punish his dad.” I know that and have talked to #4 about it. It’s difficult but I told him that Loser wouldn’t care. I reminded him that Loser called his sister and told her to tell me to throw him out on the street…in 15° weather. At best, Loser would look at the WTC, wipe his brow and say “whew.” Ann believes the same thing.
After our chat, I headed home and there was a strange car parked on the street beside my house. I pulled up behind it, wondering who it was. The screen door opened and what looked to me like a punk kid drug dealer walked down the steps and came walking toward me. I was just about to throw my car in reverse, when he identified himself as an undercover police officer.
He had picked up #4 outside a grocery store in the next town. He said #4 wanted him to come tell me what happened. He was arrested…again for open container and public drunk.
This young mans’ name was officer Griffin. He said they almost brought him home but discovered that he kept doing the same thing. He suggested that I get him involuntarily committed.
The police officers here are the nicest people I have ever encountered. They have brought #4 home three times to keep from taking him to jail. They have never expressed concern that #4 is a nuisance. They express concern that he might step in front of a car or fall down and seriously injure himself.
I called the Mental Health Clinic and they told me to come talk to them, although it didn’t sound promising. It’s in another town about a half-hour away. I was the only one there for a while and then somebody opened the gates.
My phone won’t ring for weeks at a time but when I’m out somewhere, it rings. Ann, from the cafe called to see if I had found #4. I went outside so I wouldn’t disturb anybody and here came the men….smoking and coughing up a lung. One of them came over and asked if I was single. Another one asked if I’d like to go have a drink “after.” Are you fucking kidding me? Sure….I obviously look like a party girl.
I was finally called in and John, the counselor told me there was nothing he could do for me…especially since #4 was in jail. He told me that if I went to get him or if he came here, to call them back and they would try to help but #4 had to present a danger to himself or somebody else. I know that. I used to run EMS. I also know that I could lie and use the system but I’m not going to do that (although I am so desperate, it had occurred to me.)
I guess I will see what happens when he gets out. Officer Griffin said he could possibly get out this afternoon, if he was sober. If not, it will be tomorrow morning.
I wish I could cry. I wish I could scream. I wish I could eat. I wish I could sleep. Mostly, I wish I could spit in Losers’ face.
Ha. I moved to an idyllic little town, where your neighbors speak when they walk by or throw out an arm when they drive by and I am now known as the mama of the town drunk.