Merry Christmas and All that Shit

Well, he got out of UCLA and then right back into ... a new hospital on another 72 hour hold. This time I thought that perhaps a San Diego hospital might be a good alternative. I am getting sick of paying $11 to park in the UCLA parking lot for 30 minutes. That, and all the film premieres they have in Westwood theatres next to the hospital, is sort of getting me down. Two very surreal, but equally delusional, worlds happening simulatenously.

How did he end up in San Diego? I tried to go down south to visit my mom for Christmas on the Thursday before Christmas, but he flipped out and wouldn't get in the car. Apparently he had a date with the drug dealer at 3 and so he wasn't prepared to leave at 1 when I wanted to leave. Much drama ensued and I gave in, came back (from being parked around the block) for fear he would make good on his promise to OD on heroin. I just wanted to have a nice holiday (for once) and thought that planning his funeral would most likely put a cramp in the holiday festivities. Oh, I sound glib now, on January 11, but on December 23, not so much glibness on my part. (I've reached that very ice cold stage now. Apparently, I should have gotten here long ago.)

Ok, so I freak out, my mom drives up from San Diego that night and then she and I sneak out of the house early the next morning, with the puppy, tip toeing around, "Shhhhh.....don't wake....HIM!" It's as though we are talking about King Kong and not a 104 lb. 16 year old boy.

Yeah! We are in our cars, zooming down the 405 and both just so thrilled to have made our escape.

I have a very good friend who has agreed to pick up Max later that day and drive him to San Diego. They will both stay for Christmas Eve dinner and then leave the next day. I don't know why my friend is being so generous but she is and I gladly accept her offer.

They arrive Christmas Eve. He is almost drunk with happiness. Or maybe he'd been hitting those FourLocos again? Or some sort of drug. Whatever, he's nice through most of the dinner, then he leaves the table, lays down and passes out. Business as usual. We ignore him.

Then it's time to pass out gifts. He comes to, and starts this low, angry grumbling about how he "hates all his fucking presents. Worst fucking Christmas ever!" I lose it. This is the point where I hit the proverbial wall. I fall down to the floor, crying. I can no longer take this. It's over.

After much pain the police take him away again. Merry Christmas.

He stayed in that hospital for 5 days. Then with my good friend for 4 very long nights. She got a lot more than she bargained for and I owe her so much. I am also glad that people are finally seeing just how sick (and mean) he really is. He needs so much help and I am tired of doing this by myself and being the target of all his hatred.

He's now at another Los Angels area rehab (main residents: gang members ordered by the court to live there). After only 6 days he went AWOL. They found him but it's just a matter of time before he AWOL's again.

Then what? All I know for sure is that he is not coming home to live with me....for a very, very long time. Years even. I can no longer control him. I am scared of him, and for him. I cannot afford to have him live in my home. I cannot continue to put my life on hold and live like a prisoner in my own home, any longer. I am withering away and am at risk of becoming an accomplice in my own son's demise. I will not accept that role.

I love him. But I am now letting him go.