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Addiction, families struggling with addiction, honoring the light, human suffering, light and darkness
The last few posts I’ve tried to write, again and again, disintegrated into dark rants and rages.
Rants against a society that fully recognizes how an epidemic of addiction is destroying our children, our families, whole neighborhoods and cities, filling our jails and prisons, and littering our streets and alleys with the living dead. And yet, and yet, how this same society provides painfully few resources toward treatment and recovery. A son or daughter seeking a bed at a detox center is forced to wait months for something affordable dole out thousands of dollars for a few short days, only to be turned out onto the street again when the stay is ended.
Rages against the fact that the few available programs designed to help recovering addicts will bankrupt most families, since the road to recovery, as all admit, includes multiple relapses. But instead of sticking with those who relapse, helping them when they most need support, these programs kick them out on the streets again. With no place to go, to start over again and again and again, with no end in sight.
Sometimes it helps to rant and rage. And sometimes it just creates a dark hole that sucks me ever deeper into despair.
That’s where I’ve been heading. What I’m resisting.
What helps is knowing that I’m not alone. That I’m not even worse off than most.
At least, I tell myself, my son was not gunned down in his first grade classroom by a half-crazed boy; he did not hang himself because he was cyber-bullied into thinking he was worthless; he was not hit by a drunk driver on his prom night; he was not blown up on the battlefield in a senseless war; he was not shot in a movie theater for texting his daughter; he was not lost somewhere over the Indian Ocean on a flight to Malaysia.
At least he was not sold into slavery as a boy in the Philippines; or forced to murder his family as a child-soldier in Somalia; or bombed by a wayward drone on his way to a wedding somewhere in the hills of Aden.
Somehow it helps putting personal suffering into perspective. None of us are free of suffering. Even if what makes us suffer is the suffering of others.
Suffering is not the point, we soon come to see. It’s not what matters most. It’s not what breathed life into us, what keeps us moving forward, or what makes our lives worthwhile—the lives of those we’ve lost, and the lives of those still here, and those still waiting to be born. We do well not to dwell on our personal sorrow any more than we must to move past it.
These willful rants and rages help no one. I can let the darkness suck me up and become another casualty. Or I can turn away from the darkness toward the light. I have that choice.
I can choose to honor the light in me and my son and all those who are struggling–all the fallen children, all the mourning mothers–rather than dwelling on the darkness that dishonors us all.
I can honor the light that lies at the edge of every shadow, that pierces the storm clouds, and melts the mist. The light that filters through tree leaves, and slants across the grass, and pricks the night sky, and rains down in moonlight on the dark meadow.
I can honor the light outside my window this very moment, this first day of Spring, where the hummingbirds dazzle the garden with a bright rush of wings–hovering and humming, everywhere, everywhere! When I stop, and look, and listen.
As you share I keep getting an image of seeds who lie dormant in the dark of the soil – and the ways in which disturbances and traumas oxygenate the soil and stimulate dormant seeds or ways in which fire at times uncoats seeds so they can sprout though they may have been at rest for years or even generations – bringing new life out of the darkness… Thank you for speaking to these trajedies among us with poetry… We have alot to learn about how to take care of one another…
I love that image of the seeds lying dormant. Thank you for coming here and leaving that message.
My son works in the recovery field doing insurance. Affordable Care just made it all worse. Even with insurance, it’s apparently harder than ever to get any inpatient care. I take his word for that because he works with this every day. We need a system that truly offers addicts and people with mental health issues what they need.
Yes, it’s unbelievable how difficult it is to could help when you want it and need it most. I’d hoped ACA would make things a bit easier. I’m saddened to learn that it doesn’t.
I was, too. It’s so upsetting. Too many people in my life need the help.
Wow! Your words touch my core. Honor the light. Keep the faith. Turn away from the darkness. You son is blessed to have you in his life, and you, him.
Thank you so much. I’m glad this touched you. That means a lot to me.
Praying and sending positive vibes for you and your son. Sorry he and your family are going through this. Kudos to you for looking toward the light.
Thank you, Susan. I really appreciate that.
The only way forward is sticking to the light no matter how seductive the dark may be. Hang tight, Deborah.
“Seductive” is a good word for the dark. It is that. Thank you, Brenda.
What an amazingly well written post! I could “feel” myself so much in it…the worry we have as parents for our children & counting our blessings for all that could but has not happened.
I tend to go through fazes where I “indulge” unwillingly to constant fear which drains me & others which are thankfully the larger part of the time where I stay head high & willfully optimistic.
Those times are living in its true essence, focusing on the precise moment & doing what is practically available to me to enhance the quality of a warm family life which we will all be able to cherish whenever we fancy going back down memory lane 🙂
My very best wishes go to you & your family for a strong, healthy & happy life together!
Thank you. Your comment here means a lot to me. I wish you and yours all the best too.
A brave and beautiful post. Perhaps to rage and rant is to acknowledge we are human in all our frailties. Perhaps the difficulty comes when we chose not to move on from that dark and de-energising place. Surely the hardest and most necessary thing – particularly when the pain comes from those we love most in the world. But you show how it’s possible to move forward, and to learn. Thank you, and I wish you both well.
Thank you, Rachael. Some days it’s more difficult than others to move forward. But I’m trying. Your kind words help.
My brother was addicted to heroin for many years. Alcohol also had its place in his life. Addictive behavior, of one kind or another, seems to run in my family but tends to be on the “workaholic” side of things. For a long time everyone in the family was naively in denial about my brother’s addiction. He held a prestigious job, had a family…
Except me…and my anger grew. It was an open ended anger. His job was in advertising and I had my issues there.
He eventually lost his job and his family. I’d been holding this anger and one day I took a long look at it. I remember thinking with a new clarity, that I may have lost my brother…I may have really lost my brother. That much of my anger was at him…for getting himself into this mess, for making me feel this waste and indifference…so close. Something happened after this. By “letting him go” as I thought I was doing…my heart opened to him and all the possibility of him…whatever would happen.
Thank you Deborah for reminding me of this…I haven’t seen my brother in a long time. He’s recovered, in a new marriage, keeps to himself, but our connection is ever strong.
Oddly enough, I’ve often wished my son was more like your brother, who was able to manage his addiction in ways for so long that allowed him to have a normal-seeming life. That’s how crazy-making this whole situation can become. [Deletions made]
I don’t want my every thought of him to be filled with sadness and fear. I want to honor the good that I know that he is, his sweetness, and beauty, and good cheer, and corny jokes, and laughter, the way he loves kids, loves his kids, loves to surf, loves to cook, loves to work out and ride mountain bikes and fish and dive. I want to honor that. And I can’t if I let myself go to the darkness. So I keep looking at that, all I love about him. And it helps, it really does. I know this sadness I’m feeling right now will pass. I’ve been here before. Tomorrow I’ll feel better. He’ll call, I’ll hear something in what he says that gives me hope. Or if he doesn’t call, Love will open up a place in my heart that lets the light in again and I’ll bask in that, and know that same love is holding him too, right where he is, right now. I have to know that. And stories like yours, about your brother, they help too. So thank you. Bless you and your brother.
Deborah – this is a beautifully honest post. You are a gifted writer. I think by writing words like this you are doing best that can be done for people with loved ones who are addicted. In my family it was my father and as painful as it was to see the inevitable progression of untreated alcoholism, I think an addicted parent is a whole different scenario than an addicted child.
I especially like your touching summary of the overwhelming number and varieties of evils that can happen to young people in this troubled world. Your son can be grateful that he has someone in the world who truly cares about his well being, a priceless gift that sadly, not all children have. I will offer my prayers for his recovery and your peace.
Thank you, CJ. Your comments and well wishes mean a lot to me. It helps to connect with others who have experienced something of this–child or parent, it’s painful and sand.
Pingback: An inspiring post and the reminder of the importance of Mindfulness | Codeine Addiction and Recovery
An excellent post really bringing home the importance of Mindfulness. It is all too easy to get engulfed in the darkness, become bitter and enraged but it changes nothing!
Shared on my blog 🙂
Thank you for the reblog and kind words. I’m so glad you stopped by.
Wow, Deborah… I felt your pain and your strength in this gorgeously written piece. I have a nephew with mental health issues (& at 13, video game addiction) who is falling through the cracks — and mental health professionals who are saying, point-blank, “Not much we can do. He’ll end up in the correctional system.” The ability to find the RIGHT resources – let alone afford them – seems daunting and impossible. the system is so broken.
Hummingbirds are incredible creatures (we’re lucky enough to have them nest each year, and have a camera over them to watch the eggs hatch, and the young grow). I will look at them in a different light now.
That means a lot to me, Melissa. Thank you! I hope something can be done to help your nephew. It’s so heart-breaking when all the doors seem to shut on those we love. As for the hummers, we love them too. What a treat for you to watch them hatch and grow! I was thrilled when I found the opening photo with the cellophane wings. Thanks too for sharing this on Twitter.