Demon Run Pt 2 is a sequel to Demon Run Pt 1
The demons have run back to their closets for now or they appear to have. Tall Girl (TG) came back home and stayed all day helping with the house and kennel…and staying the night. She was up early and out to the Gym telling me she would be back for ‘our Friday’. Before I retired and returned to my southr’n roots we would celebrate Fridays together, cleaning the house for the Sabbath, shopping for Challah, gefilte fish and bringing home a roast chicken. This Friday we managed to work in a noon viewing of Inglourious Basterds. After the movie we settled into Chili’s for Sunch (a combination of supper and lunch). One of the good things to come out of her relationship with Dying Fiancé (he is out of remission with his cancer and fading pretty fast) is stimulating her desire to know more. Our conversations, as a result, are more interesting as she asks questions that I at least have an opinion about or can discuss differing points of view.I did a check in asking her how she felt and observing that her anxiety and hypomania of the past 3 days seems to have subsided. She acknowledged that it was better. I did ask her why she, given she had been so adamant about not staying alone at night had returned to his house to sleep. I was surprised to see her actually blushing. She muttered in her chest that it was something she was trying to work on. I asked her if her therapist was involved with this and she nodded. I asked her why she just didn’t tell me what she was doing and she blushed more. I shifted my tea glass round and round in my hand and said, “I’m sorry you are feeling embarrassed about this but I never slept alone until I took a road trip away from you kids and your dad one year. I absolutely had to prove I was capable of doing it on my own. And, as it turned out it was very important. I don’t have any problem at all with you working on that given his situation and the fact I’m not going to live forever.”
I did ask how you slept and you replied, “Better than I thought I would…it comforts me to be in his bed with his smell on the sheets and the pillows…guess that sounds silly.” Not at all. All of it sounded like good coping mechanisms being applied. It was then and there that I decided I”d never ask her if she was using drugs again. Why? What would I do with the information? Would it change the outcome of any particular situation? TG is an addict and will always be one. I’d rather her recovery, if I have anything at all to say about it, be between her, her, and her therapist.About this time two good friends on OS, Patricia K and Cartouche, each blogged heart rending pieces . both of which can bounce off one another and in my mind’s eye, the eye that watches my addict daughter, helps lay some things to rest. My friend, Patricia K, writes on her blog about her son: (I) Talk about being paranoid, because of all that we have been through with David, I am always concerned when David walks out the door to go to work, hang with friends…David's drinking has resulted in (his) tota(lling) two cars; threat (s)to commit suicide… getting into fights so severe he had almost lost an eye…
You ask if I understand how you can feel paranoid about every time he leaves the house and, indeed, I can though I agree with the comments in your piece from other OS’ers who suggest it sounds more like love and worry than paranoia. You see paranoia only works if the danger is not there and you know, despite not wanting to know, that you are not being paranoid and the danger IS almost assuredly there.
Cartouche in her splendid piece, Spill Contents, may well have had something else in mind when she wrote the piece but if art is supposed to affect each of us as it needs to, I hope she forgives me for using parts of her essay to talk about those of us struggling to live with this. She says:
You are absolutely right (in your own mind).
And nobody is going to change that.And how could they? For the evidence is there…in our hearts, pocket books, relationships to our other children...it makes hoping for better so difficult, trusting so difficult. We have to KNOW IT ALL or none of it works. It is our drive to perfection eating away at us. If we can just be sure all the t’s are crossed and I’s dotted, then it will be okay, the demons will stop spider crawling through our hair.
There’s a lot more to it than you think,
so don’t start thinking you know. We cannot crawl inside their heads nor should we want to. There are things TG has done in fits of mania that I am, as she sagely notes, better off not knowing.
This is not to say it does not matter. It matters to me because it matters to you. That doesn’t mean I can always do something about it. Maybe all I can do is tell you that it matters. Sometimes it doesn’t, but I don’t have to tell you that.
It does not mean we won’t still be stuck with picking up the pieces but our children can never grow up if we worry so much about the consequences of their choices. Do as much as you feel you need to being sure the resources are in play should they need them: the phone number to the mental health crisis hotline; the number for the family doctor or whoever has been treating him and begin breaking the habit of waiting, waiting, waiting for the next disaster to strike. And tell him not to call until he has put one of the resources into play. Equally important: Renew yourself to your family, friends and to yourself.
It is not always about you. It’s rarely about you.
Nobody is istening. Including you.
I know…it feels like we are being disappeared. The illness is like that and, crablike, it begins consuming everything in its path…not listening. We forget to listen to our families, the ones who can succor us. Do we forget the difference between ‘…can’t and won’t..?
Make room for other things, places, and people. The more one begs for something, the less chance they have of receiving it. Beggars can be choosers by making the choice to stop begging.
Can you?Can I? I won’t know till I try and this past Friday I decided to try…to stop begging? To stop begging to see the medicine holder, to stop begging to know every minute of everyday where she is. Can I trust her? I don’t know…maybe for some things. More importantly can she trust herself as she begins taking the more advanced steps toward managing her illness. Will I stop begging? I already have.
Addendum: Many thanks to Patricia K for sharing her journey and Cartouche for permission to use her essay.