You Are Not Alone

Startled out of sleep by a loud noise, I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. A persistent knocking at my front door had thoughts racing through my head. Everyone was home asleep. Who could be knocking in the middle of the night? What's going on? I climbed out of bed and crept toward the stairs where I peeked around the corner, trying to glimpse who was outside my front door so late at night. Through the window I saw a police officer standing there. A million scenarios that would elicit a visit from a police officer in the wee hours flipped through my mind. None of them were good. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I quickly grabbed a robe and descended the stairs, dread pounding through me with every step.

"Ms. Meehan?" the officer asked.

"Yes," I answered hesitantly.

"We have Jackson." He quickly added, "Don't worry, he's okay; he isn't hurt or anything. But we need you to come get him." 

Wait what? My sleep-fogged brain tried to process what he was saying. They have Jackson? But Jackson's in his room asleep. 

"He and another boy were caught at the park in possession of marijuana."

My brain still hadn't caught up to what he was saying, but I was sure he was making a mistake. My son doesn't do drugs. My son is in bed sleeping. Isn't he?

In a daze, I retreated to my room, threw on some clothes and met the police officer back outside. I hopped in my car and followed him to the park where I found my son sitting on the curb in the parking lot. I honestly don't remember what I said to him or what he said to me. Everything is a bit of a blur. I recall the police officers telling me that Jackson was completely respectful and compliant, and I remember thinking - So what? He's supposed to be respectful and cooperative. That doesn't change the fact that he has drugs. And I didn't even know he had sneaked out of the house.

The police officers didn't arrest him. They issued a civil citation instead. I remember thinking that Jackson was lucky to be given this chance. The officers explained that Jackson would need to complete some tasks like community service and drug tests, and if he successfully completed each job assigned to him, and didn't get in any other trouble for anything else then this infraction wouldn't go on his record. 

This happened almost 2 years ago. Not coincidentally, it was about the same time I stopped blogging. Jackson is incarcerated right now. For the third time since then. And I'm done being silent about it. There's such a stigma attached to addiction. You can't talk about it without being judged. Strangers form opinions without understanding the problem. Well-meaning friends say insensitive things. Acquaintances feign concern simply to get the latest gossip. I wanted to avoid all of that as much as possible.

BUT for every person who says something ignorant because they don't understand, there's someone else out there going through the same thing, and thinking they're all alone. Addiction is isolating. It shouldn't be. You're not alone. I know how much addiction sucks. I know how much if affects not only the addict, but everyone around him. I know how addiction looks to an outsider who believes - All he has to do is stop. It's as simple as that. I know how as a parent of someone struggling with addiction you are consumed by guilt, uncertainty, anger, helplessness, compassion, and frustration. I know how it feels to be at war with yourself about how far to go in helping your child. I know what it's like to build up walls and the need to detach for your own self-preservation. I know what it's like to beat yourself up with What ifs - What if I hadn't gotten divorced? What if I hadn't moved? I know what it's like to field ignorant comments from people. I know what it's like to cry through Al-Anon meetings. I know what it's like to pretend like everything's okay while inside your heart is shattering, and I know what it's like to shove all your emotions down deep so you can appear strong for your other kids. I know what it's like to wonder where your kid is, if he's still sleeping outside somewhere, if he's alive. I know what it's like to see him being taken away in an ambulance, barely coherent because of an overdose. I know what it's like to be threatened by him while he's under the influence. I know what it's like to see him being lead into a courtroom, dressed in a jumpsuit stamped with Orange County Corrections, his hands cuffed and chained around his waist.

And I know I don't want to be silent about it anymore. Because if I'm going through this and feeling isolated, I know there are others out there dealing with the same struggles and feeling the same way. And you are NOT alone.