Ex-Rebel
10-15-2007, 03:13 AM
I'm sure a blog has about three sentences to acquire someones attention. I'm also pretty sure it only takes one poor sentence to lose it. Having said this, I just used up my three sentences... I'm already fighting an uphill battle.
My parents have been fighting an uphill battle for the past 4 years. They are the kindest and most genuine parents a son could hope for. They are filled with love and hard earned wisdom. They have been fighting tooth and nail, thinking, crying, talking, shouting, praying, and begging for their son to make it in the world.
And that son is ME.
I started life well with a good family and nice rural community. I did well in school, getting A's, and keeping good close friends. I graduated high school with honors and a 3.8gpa, no history of drugs or sex. Didn't get in fights, and even acted in the school plays. I was every parents dream.
Shortly after high school things started to change. I was having trouble keeping jobs and I found a therapist to try to "fix" me. I dropped out of college. Never held a job for more that a week, and became more and more depressed. I kept going to the Doctor, "something is wrong, I just can't get it right". The doctor, being a poor one just kept signing the prescriptions. Max dose Zoloft, max dose Abilify, max dose Ritalin, a side of Xanax try some Adderall, "you are looking better this week".
I started smoking, then drinking, then doing drugs. My parents started noticing less money in their wallets and purses. I went from clean cut 185lbs, to a shaved head, goatee, pierced/tattooed, 300lb angry man. Move out of parents home, move right back. Got an apartment with friends, 3 months later show up at 3am with a car full of my stuff, looking for a place to sleep. Mom, I need gas money. Dad I wrecked my car. I need money for my prescriptions, you just don't understand. My parents leave on vacation, the cops show up the day they get home. Your son is in jail for buying kids alcohol, one of them had to get there stomach pumped in the E.R, and they drank in your home.
Fast forward to a phone call in the middle of the night, "Hello, this is the E.R. are you the parents of *****? He has been admitted with lacerations on his wrist from attempting suicide....
Fast forward to today. I have a good job. I have one mild antidepressant, and a couple pills for the ulcers my old medications gave me. Drugs do not interest me. The money I spend is my own. I meet with one (new)counselor every two months(Mostly just to shoot the breeze, as our hard work is done). I smile every morning that I get up. I love going to my parents home to tell them how I am doing, what I did that day, what I will be doing next week.
My parents are kind, loving, good people. They raised and taught me well. Everyday that I have, I owe to them. Everyday is a gift because when I hit my very lowest, and couldn't physically bare the weight of my fall anymore. Only one thing was left... One unflinching, immovable object was in my way that wouldn't let me go. In the end all I could see were my parents weeping for me. All I knew was the unfailing love that my parents had for me, the times they stood by me. The times they had held me as their 300lb "mean tattooed son" cried like a child...
For all of you parents who read this, whose child is taking the fall. Just know from the son who put his parents through it all, and from the bottom of my heart... I love you Mom and Dad.
My parents have been fighting an uphill battle for the past 4 years. They are the kindest and most genuine parents a son could hope for. They are filled with love and hard earned wisdom. They have been fighting tooth and nail, thinking, crying, talking, shouting, praying, and begging for their son to make it in the world.
And that son is ME.
I started life well with a good family and nice rural community. I did well in school, getting A's, and keeping good close friends. I graduated high school with honors and a 3.8gpa, no history of drugs or sex. Didn't get in fights, and even acted in the school plays. I was every parents dream.
Shortly after high school things started to change. I was having trouble keeping jobs and I found a therapist to try to "fix" me. I dropped out of college. Never held a job for more that a week, and became more and more depressed. I kept going to the Doctor, "something is wrong, I just can't get it right". The doctor, being a poor one just kept signing the prescriptions. Max dose Zoloft, max dose Abilify, max dose Ritalin, a side of Xanax try some Adderall, "you are looking better this week".
I started smoking, then drinking, then doing drugs. My parents started noticing less money in their wallets and purses. I went from clean cut 185lbs, to a shaved head, goatee, pierced/tattooed, 300lb angry man. Move out of parents home, move right back. Got an apartment with friends, 3 months later show up at 3am with a car full of my stuff, looking for a place to sleep. Mom, I need gas money. Dad I wrecked my car. I need money for my prescriptions, you just don't understand. My parents leave on vacation, the cops show up the day they get home. Your son is in jail for buying kids alcohol, one of them had to get there stomach pumped in the E.R, and they drank in your home.
Fast forward to a phone call in the middle of the night, "Hello, this is the E.R. are you the parents of *****? He has been admitted with lacerations on his wrist from attempting suicide....
Fast forward to today. I have a good job. I have one mild antidepressant, and a couple pills for the ulcers my old medications gave me. Drugs do not interest me. The money I spend is my own. I meet with one (new)counselor every two months(Mostly just to shoot the breeze, as our hard work is done). I smile every morning that I get up. I love going to my parents home to tell them how I am doing, what I did that day, what I will be doing next week.
My parents are kind, loving, good people. They raised and taught me well. Everyday that I have, I owe to them. Everyday is a gift because when I hit my very lowest, and couldn't physically bare the weight of my fall anymore. Only one thing was left... One unflinching, immovable object was in my way that wouldn't let me go. In the end all I could see were my parents weeping for me. All I knew was the unfailing love that my parents had for me, the times they stood by me. The times they had held me as their 300lb "mean tattooed son" cried like a child...
For all of you parents who read this, whose child is taking the fall. Just know from the son who put his parents through it all, and from the bottom of my heart... I love you Mom and Dad.