I fear I have made a mess of it.
Capturing random images and scenes over 60,000+ words, and even I’m a bit confused about who the protagonist is. As I lay on my comfy bed typing, I’m weighing the idea of doing a drive-by with my son at his AIR BNB. Just a “good morning” knock on the door. Instead, I’m writing my side, this side of the events unfolding. What if I need to take action immediately?
My fantasy as I spoke to the husband on Saturday was a Father’s Day full-blown intervention. Of course, we realized we needed a professional to ensure that the subject is captured in a willing or broken state. Either is fine. Everyone is involved. Everyone tells him how their current lives are impacted by his misdirection and attempted magic tricks. He has pulled a few rabbits, a few guns, and a few get-out-of-jail-free cards. He also has zero understanding of how his summer is brutal for everyone in his gravitational orbit.
He has shown himself to be a passifist with a lot of weapons. He can’t watch Vietnam movies about the actual use of the killing machine he wraps himself around every night. It’s either too scripted or too orchestrated. He prefers YouTube videos about rifle training, and paramilitary training. I can’t explain how the art of storytelling has done the hard job of giving us civilians a sliver of understanding. We have no idea. My son says he’s got a lot of weapons experience, but he has NO TRAINING and NO FUCKING IDEA the pain he is inflicting.
He also expresses no desire to go hunting. “I like shooting paper targets,” he says.
“When was the last time you were at the range?” I asked him yesterday, Father’s Day.
“Probably two weeks ago.”
He’s not ginning up a spree of violence. This kid has a hard time being mean to people who are being mean to him. He is a sweet young man with an ability to “present” well, and yet seething underneath the lies, is more lies, and dreams of “more ammo, more weapons.”
And if we know anything about benzo withdrawal, and my son has used this excuse at least five times over the last year, yet claims he’s not using or addicted. Yet, he suffers on.
And tomorrow is an LTC (license to carry) class that I’ve invited my son to attend with me. He will have to loan me one of his pistols. That’s where this gem came out.
And later that same night, the one where he said he was coming for pizza and then couldn’t figure out how to leave his house in two hours of elapsed time. But then, at 9:45 he’s ready to come plant my vines. Um. I get a ping back randomly at 7:30 am on Saturday.
So, is he disoriented and doesn’t know when Father’s Day is? He wanted the $100 to plant the vines. I was at my GF’s house. At 9:45 he FaceTimed me. “Nope, not taking that call.” He was sitting in his car in front of my house, I learned later. Maybe I should’ve offered $100 to have pizza with us.
And… Fuck. The LTC class I had been asking about, was yesterday. What a Father’s Day gift that would’ve been. Better than being trapped and carted up to the mountain of forced kumbaya circles and personal encounter groups all day.
No proof of life yet. I’m going to my noon workout. It is important to take care of your own health when you are near someone who is using and refusing. My health depends on enough quality sleep, food, and exercise. So, today I am releasing my son and taking care of my health and wellbeing. I have left a few texts this morning, but I’m no longer waiting for “proof of life” texts.
And, somehow, no matter how I try to be soft or creative with my “good morning” texts, I’m still looking for a first reply. It’s now 3 pm.
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