I have been sicker than a dying dog ever since I took #4 to detox on Saturday afternoon. I thought I was going to get a good nights’ rest for the first time in a long time and have a sort of “reprieve.” Not so. I think I had held on and as my friend Deb said “as soon as I knew he was okay, my body gave out.”
#4 called me yesterday around noon-thirty. I knew as soon as he got “hey mom” out, he was drunk. I asked him where he was and he said “outside the detox place.”
Great. He lasted a whole day and a half. He said he wanted to “come home.”
I told him he had forfeited his “home” when he decided to leave detox and start drinking. I suggested that he call Loser and ask if he and the WTC would put him up for a while. He said “okay.” Then he asked me to bring him his phone.
Sure. I’ll get right on that. I’m so sick, I can hardly move but I’ll get in my car and drive for over an hour to get your fucking phone to you…the phone that has no charger because you left it at some “friends’ house.”
Then, I have #3, my youngest daughter beating the shit out of me via text. I know she cares and like my RBS, she sometimes needs to kick my ass because I tend to make people wonder if I have anything that even resembles grey matter anymore.
I told her I was too sick to text, so she called me. She was screaming “go to the doctor…and I know it sounds like I’m yelling at you and I don’t mean to but go to the fucking doctor!” I told her about the sign on the door of my doctors’ office that says (and I am being absolutely literal here) “if you are sick, have a fever or are coughing, for the protection of the other patients, please do not come in.”
The first time I saw that, I actually asked the receptionist if it was supposed to be a joke. In her slow Southern drawl she said “no-wa, mayam.” I’m Southern so I’m not making fun of her accent…just that she seemed to be quite incensed that I thought it was ridiculous. I really like my doctor but I really don’t like the staff there…and I’m probably being a little pissy right now.
I think I’ve had two Boosts in the last two days. I know I’m dangerously close to going back below a buck. It’s taken me four years to get to 105. Now, I’m at 101.
I have no idea where #4 is. My neighbor came over and knocked on my door. I didn’t answer because I was afraid he was going to say something like “I’ve seen your son sleeping on your porch” or maybe even “your son has been sleeping on my porch.” Hopefully, I’ll hear something.
When he showed up on my porch Saturday morning, having no idea that he had been in jail, or what had happened, I asked him if he realized that by having these “friends” bring him to my house, he was potentially putting me in harms’ way.
He’s done that before. Not only did he bring drug dealers to my house, he brought them INSIDE my house, while I was asleep. That’s when I had to meet them in the middle of the woods the next day (per Losers’ orders) to get his computer back.
That rather large man who brought #4 by the other day, watched me like a hawk. Maybe he was watching to see if I was going to “make a phone call.” I told #4 that I was sure he had told this man that I lived alone and now he knew where I lived. I don’t think anything registers with #4…except where he’s going to get his next fifth or pint or whatever it is.
I really, really do believe that #4 is trying to drink himself to death, to punish Loser. I don’t know what makes that child think Loser will give a shit. He doesn’t give a shit that he’s alive…and #4 thinks he’ll actually give a shit if he’s dead?
Of course, it would get him some sympathy from the WTC and all of his friends and family, when he cries and pretends to be so saddened over the loss of his only son. He can get even more sympathy when he reminds everybody that #4 got his alcoholism from MY side of the family.
Whatever helps him sleep at night.