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Hey Loser-Stop Harassing My Child & Stop Stalking!!!

You know, I know you are an addict. Still I wonder why.

Don’t you have a sister?

How would you feel if this were to happen to your daughter?

Mistakes, yes I have made a few. She has, too.

She hasn’t loved you, never will.

Let it go. Let it go.

It was never a healthy relationship and has crossed all bounds now.

It will never be a friendship, it can’t because you’ve crushed it.

She has loved others, but not you.

She can’t drive if you won’t let her steer through this mess.

You say you cared about her, but you are killing her.

No matter what you say, text, write, call it is all lost. You lost her long ago.

Don’t blame me for what I’ve done, you left me no choice. Don’t curse me, you’re the one who gave me a voice.

I won’t go away easily, I will fight and fight.

I will not fail, so you can sit there awake in your drug induced insomnia.

You can wonder in the fog how you came here to this impasse.

This is my daughter and I will fight the fights she can’t. If the worst happens, I promise I will end you. Yes, you heard me right.

Mistakes, yes I have made a few. She has, too.

She hasn’t loved you, never will. Let it go. Let it go.

You know, I know you are an ADDICT. Still I wonder why.

Don’t you have a sister?

How would you feel if this were to happen to your daughter?

Now we’ve come to the end, don’t you think you should, too?

When Do We Get to Recover?

I know that recovery is a process, but who are we fooling here? The other day I lost my temper and your father says you react because you are having withdrawal symptoms. My reply is when will the withdrawal symptoms end and today is a classic example.

You requested your presentation to be emailed to you. I discovered your messenger was still logged in. This gave me an opportunity to verify who you are in touch with. In a different world, I wouldn’t need or even think of doing this. I live with an Addict who has little interest in truth or actual recovery. So, I must check up on her before things get out of hand. Today, my spying as you like to call it revealed the “birthday” gathering you hosted brought drugs into our home. Drugs that we don’t even know the name of. Perhaps if Sharon never divulges the name to you we will be lucky that you only had a short trip.

I live in fear of more than one person stepping into our house or your room. There is safety in numbers for you, safety in being able to hide your activities behind the others. Scapegoats in all of them should I find the wrappers or packaging.

What was an atrocity to me was you telling one college friend that you don’t do drugs or drink and asking the other what the special drug was that she shared with you when the both had come to our house for the same gathering. I’m shaking my head just thinking about it and wondering when will it all end.


There are steps to recovery, but you are still sitting at the bottom of the stairs. We have tried and tried to get you to come up the stairs, but you continue to fall down. Another frustrating and disappointing day leaving us in the wind and waiting for you to come up the Steps to Recovery. 

Rock and a Hard Place

This used to be only about BB, but more and more it’s not just her. I live stuck between two substance dependent people. BB and her father. The only problem is he doesn’t see he has problem or how his dependency leaves me handling all of this all alone.

Last night was a case in point. He had gone out for “exercise at the gym”. In the meantime, I find out her stalker is back in action. We thought this had been taken care of, we had done all the right things (police reports and informing the U.S. Embassy here) and he had gone away for a while, a very short while.

The phrase “Hell hath no fury….” is hurled against women, but it’s not only women who fight back when they are rejected. Worse when the person is an addict who has no intention of recovering. So, he has threatened all manner of scandal and terror against my daughter because she has rejected him. She told him clearly on several occasions and he refused to accept it. She even offered a hand of friendship only which he construed to mean she had feelings for him. Thus, he has become her stalker, her terrorizer, and the threat of all threats.

Now the problem is my daughter does not handle stress well. Most recovering addicts don’t from what I’m told. So, it’s not surprising. So, when my daughter is sitting sad, shell-shock like in her room with tears running down her face. I want to change that before she makes a wrong decision and takes something to relieve her stress, her pain that she shouldn’t. Her go-to drug is sleeping pills with oxy taking second place. It would be great if I had a supportive spouse, but mine is out getting sloshed. It would be great if wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing family members would also stay away, but of course I’m leaving in a dream world.

I call her father to explain what is going on, but it was a HUGE mistake. When he arrives home he gives an oscar winning performance basically kicking her further down into a hole. I knew all the words that came out of his mouth were lies. So, I said nothing at all. I waited until the time he was asleep and then verified what I already knew.

In the morning I congratulated him on his performance. He back tracked and tried to convince that it wasn’t, but I had all the information. Then he decided to do the right thing. Nothing is ever easy.

My daughter going off to university still looks shell-shocked. Please keep her in your prayers today that she stays clean and sober.

BB’s Mom

St Patrick’s Day

When I was growing up, St. Patrick’s Day was a day to wear green, eat Corned Beef and Cabbage and look for 4-leaf clovers in the yard. My family wasn’t a drinking one, so I never associated drinking with St. Patrick’s Day.

It is strange that a day that began as a death anniversary, eroded to a day that most people now associate with getting drunk. After all if you’re Irish you drink until you can’t think, right? Wrong.

This thought came to me, when on St. Patrick’s day my daughter began asking to buy alcohol to go out and celebrate. In a way, I was offended (being that I am Irish in part) that the only thing she recalled about the day was drinking. The conversation didn’t end well as you might imagine. Denial that drinking is related to her drug issues is a huge issue. In the end, she decided not to drink and spent some of the day at home and some of the day at her Uncle’s .

Anyway, if you’d like to learn more about St. Patrick’s Day visit this site. In the meantime:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.


Round and Round We Go

I don’t know why I speak, you ignore and we end up in this circle. We’ve been down this path many times. It is a pattern.

You don’t like me checking on you or snooping around. Still, I am worried that this journey is heading in the same direction. You say “It’s all good”, but is it? How is it good? How is it different?

You began a huge undertaking that led me to admit you to rehab the last time. The time after that I slept with you for a week while you went through withdrawals. Is this the life you want, bouncing between bouts of drugs and withdrawals – if you don’t end up killing your self. Today, you were upset about your friend who relapsed again and why no one told you. You are emotional and everyone knows this. That is why they didn’t tell you. Your reaction was what they feared.

You say you are an adult. When will I see adult decision making from you? For now, I am accepting your “assurances”, but I will be watching and waiting for the “boom” that I am sure will be coming. I hope you surprise me – in a good way this time.

It’s Not Only About You

Image 48This week after your “slip” I felt as if you were angry. Was it at me or yourself? I don’t know. I look in on you, to make sure you are OK or to make sure you’re not doing something wrong. I’d rather not have to do this, I’d rather you weren’t an addict, I’d rather many things, but none of that is real. Nothing can explain the tears I shed for you. The nights when I awaken and hope that you are ok, even though you’re just in the next room. The nights when I awaken worried that you’ve hurt yourself or that I may find you on your bathroom floor. This is not a nightmare, it is life. It is not the life any of us wished for you or for ourselves. I don’t get a thrill out of searching your room for pills or other drugs. You think that I spy on you — do I have a choice?

You refer to your father as “That Man” or “Your Husband” among the more notable endearments. Let me tell you, as bad as you think he is, you are worse. Worse because you are like the gun sitting on a table that you can’t tell if it has a bullet inside or not until you pull the trigger. You can blame your father for many things, but the man he is today came out of worrying about you and chasing after you when you ran away. Did you think we were emotionless and that none of the things you’ve done had any affect on us?

I fight with myself every day. Should I stay home or go out? What activities should I participate in? Can I go for my walk? What should I plan to do? Can I go to a meeting? All are dependent on how you are doing.

This morning you complained, when I gave you your daily allowance that you are the oldest among your classmates and always have the smallest allowance. Are they recovering addicts, too? Have they slipped as many times as you have? I’m sure the answer is no here. Their parents can trust that their money is being spent on food, not drugs. Whereas we can’t.

The one thing you should know is that your addiction is not only about you. It affects all of us.  When you are doing well, the whole family is happier and when your not we are all stressed.

I found this poems over a year ago, perhaps it will give you insight on what I go through and what your father goes through. Don’t miss the last line, because it’s also true: 

I am the Mother of an Addict

By: dfdwilkins

This is not like being the mother of a child with cancer, diabetes, or aids
This is not like being the mother of a child who is serving with honor in a foreign land
This is not like being the mother of a child who lives no more and is mourned by all

I am the Mother of an Addict

There are no marathons or fund raisers for this disease, no sweet girls selling cookies
There are no flags flying, or bumper stickers to proudly acknowledge my child’s deeds
There are only tears and silent screams, dread of what the next knock or phone call brings

I am the Mother of an Addict

I see my child and I am not glad, for though I ache to save my child, with relief I let them go
I see my child with fear and suspicion, as I hear all they say and I can but endlessly hope
I see my child and wonder will I ever know them again, hold them again, see them again

I am the Mother of an Addict

They say it is not my fault, that I did nothing wrong, there’s little I can do
They say it is not my child’s fault, just a disease of disgrace, with no pity, no cure
They say be strong, but my life stands still and my friends and relatives move on

I am the Mother of an Addict

I watch the rest of my family suffer with sorrow and pain through the addiction
I watch the evening news and cringe as another mothers addict child is arrested and called scum
I watch a young man beg for change, for food and know he could be my own

I am the Mother of an Addict

I remember the smiles and look at pictures of my sweet little child
I remember the hugs, and kisses, the scrapped knees, the soccer games
I remember their plans, their goals, their hopes and dreams.

I am the Mother of an Addict

I look for child to come home, to call, and so I do not sleep
I look for my child to find the strength to battle this terrible disease
I look for solace, for help, for a cure and I grasp at what straws of promise I can.

I am the Mother of an Addict

And I hope, in endless hope for future free from drugs
And I hope in restless sleep of a way out of this nightmare
And I hope, and I pray, and I cry, and I plead, but always,
I love my child.

I know you believe that what you do only affects you, but that is simply not true. Your parents aside, what do you think your brother feels when you do the things you do? I recently came across this poem the author is unknown, but it gives a good perspective :

I am the other child.
The ok one
I am the sober child.
The one on the sidelines.
I am the observer.
The one watching him slowly killing our parents.
I am the angry one.
The one who’s pissed because he’s
destroying our family.
I am the sad one.
The one losing her first best friend.
I am the reassuring one.
The one holding her Momma as she cries.
I am the torn one.
The broken one trying to hold everyone
I am the confused one.
The one who wonders how we became
so unimportant and invisible.
I am the other child.
The ok one.

So no, it’s not only about you.