This is for your own good.

So in the chaos of what has become my life, I forgot my password for this blogger thing and gave up many times, which is pretty indicative of my life in general. I know it doesn't sound like it but I am feeling much more optimistic this grey morning.

Max was in the hospital for 11 days and even had 3 really good days last weekend. I was feeling great then on that last Monday night visit, the angry, sullen, hostile man-boy was back. He hates me, how can I do this to him, I am ruining his life, I am no longer his mother. He told me didn't take his Adderall that morning and maybe that's why he was so anxious and agitated. I don't know if I should believe him or not, but I told the nurses and then he denied it right to my face in front of the therapist, social worker and doctor. This kid has some mad lying skills. I still think he should become a lawyer or politician. Or a Hollywood Agent.

I have been useless at work so they sent me home. Thank God I work at a place that understands these types of issues, very intimately. I am sick to my stomach every day, can't eat, can't breath and feel frozen with fear indecisiveness. What do I do with him? My insurance has run out and I have major anxiety about this "vacation in the hospital" -- how will I pay for it? Even my co-pays for the 7 days they did cover it will be huge. And then what? Where should he go after the hospital? Some people think I am over-reacting and he should be at home. Some people (most of the doctors and therapists that have gotten to know Max over this past week and half, say he should he sent to UTAH to one of of locked facilities for the year), some people think he just needs a 30 day rehab. UTAH is $10,000 a month and is not covered by insurance. How do average people get help for their loved ones?

Late Wednesday night I got a call. He has been accepted, even though he's a flight risk, at a rehab in California close enough to home so I can visit. Everyone kicks into high gear. Doctor calls in prescriptions, I pick them up, pack his bag, hire an interventionist and his partner an off-duty cop, to get him from the hospital to the rehab because I know he won't go willingly. $1,000 for a 45 minute drive. Again, how do people afford this stuff?

Three large men drag him out of the hospital, no shoes. As suspected he is not going willingly. For someone who is under 100 pounds, he certainly has a team of medical professionals, and a cop, scrambling for control. They won't let me ride in the elevator with them so I take the next one and follow behind trying to keep an eye on the situation but also hoping that no one will think I am with them. This is one of the worst sights ever. I run to the bathroom and throw up. My hands are shaking. How can he make me feel this way?

I only want to help him because I love him so much. I hope that one day he will realize this. For now, he still hates me.