Powerful life in my son and in myself. I see the risk and the advantages. I learned two things about my potency at the earliest recorded memory in my neural network that this book has energized.
A buddy of mine, was telling me about my son. His son has recovered from the exact addiction. But he was talking about my dad. “You need to tell your son, he comes from a long line of powerful men. His grandfather was a badass. The power and the charisma are a double-edged sword. He has to understand how both are liabilities. Both are weapons if you learn how to control your mind.
The discipline of martial arts has always helped me in learning how to quiet the monkey mind. My son has no such training or process. I’m trying to get him to take the License to Carry training and certification tomorrow. He’s resisting even something that he LOVES more than anything else at the moment. Yes, a ton of shit is in motion. He has ever right just to peace out on his bed and contemplates the universe. I’m afraid he’s in some form of tweaking that we aren’t recognizing.
Well, the signs have been announced by him for years.
“Going through some withdrawal shit. This is rough.”
In comparing notes yesterday it re-dawned on my ex-wife’s husband. “Oh, shit, I never heard about the burner phone.”
“What the fuck. It’s the reason we’re here.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it. I would’ve killed his phone immediately.”
My daughter told me in December and that’s when I lept into action. There is no reason to have a 2nd phone unless, as my daughter said casually, “Oh yeah, he’s a drug dealer. 100%!”
And she was spot on.
No one wants to be the taddle. My daughter loves and is tortured by the shitty actions of her brother. Somehow, the slip to me did not get slipped to Mom and the husband. More concerning, the 2nd phone information did not get from my ex-wife to her husband.
WTF?
I seem to be saying it ten times a day.
It’s Monday after Father’s Day, 2024. I’m saying WTF again. Tomorrow I will meet with the Therapeutic Assessment therapist to give my perspective and I suppose life history. And at the end of this process the hope is their recommendation will be “in patient treatment.”
But, that’s a joke, right?
If they recommend my son to go to the mountain, they lose the rest of the revenue they could realize if we stayed exclusively under their care. But, at this moment, my son is holed up in an AIR BNB with his weapons. I’m guessing his therapist knows very little of his smart lies. He presents quite well. So do it.
I recall many years of my own struggle. I’d show up with the round therapist and talk about all my plans, all my ideas, and my energy bursting at the seams. But, as I was enthusing all over his comfy couch, I was contemplating suicide, living with an active alcoholic, and acting like I had it under control. Sure, I was something called hypo-manic, but that’s where we neurodivergent souls get our charm. The warm life of the party is either high or bipolar.
I know my son is good at compliance and telling his mom what she wants to hear and then doing the exact opposite of what he just agreed to. The guns are not supposed to be in his AIR BNB. None of them. He agreed to sell at least one of them, to help defer his debt consolidation payments that his mom and her husband are paying on his behalf. Yes, somehow, he has a new Glock, a 3rd pistol. He’s growing his arsenal.
We are waiting for his rapture, rupture, or epiphany about the mountain, and the TA therapists, holy recommendations. We’re all waiting. There is a fantasy on my ex-wife’s side that imagines my son will abide by his agreement.
“He’s promised to follow the advice of the assessment,” the husband said. “Um, about his promises so far…” “Oh,” said the husband. “Right. Damn. “You’re spot on.”
Today, this morning, at 10:00 am I am NOT WAITING FOR MY SON TO WAKE UP.
It’s me, that has woken up again. This time, I believe it is time to land the plane. If it has to be a mountain crash that stops the pain, that’s good. Not a death crash. Not LOST. No, merely the reality of Xanax withdrawal and the 90% success of patients in recovery. But here’s the kicker:
Did not relapse in the first year.
That’s our goal. There is no FIX. My son will probably struggle with mania and darks for the rest of his life. As you grow and learn about yourself, there are things you can do. I have written books on it. Of course, why would my kids read my books? They won’t.
The success rate of self-directed weaning and withdrawal from Xanax has a 20% success rate, no time horizon given. And this is including the fuckers running at 6 am, the disciplined ones. My son has spurts of discipline, but he’s been provided no healthy training. Instead, he’s leaned into guns and his own personal hell. Perhaps we can do the class together tomorrow. My guess is he’s going to spoil that idea or simply sleep through it.
Alone and complaining of loneliness, my son. sleeps with a Glock on his cock, one in the chamber. And professes to cuddle with his AR. This is not an indictment or a defense. This is merely a record of my own dismay and concern. And the actions we take over the next two weeks may have a significant impact on my son’s quality of life. The long-term view, not just for today.
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