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Don't post here much, but there is enough quiet around here I can spill a little bit as I grieve. Oh, I have AA, I'm well supported, am celebrating my 21 years sober this month; I can list all the benefits of sobriety, the joy I take in service etc, the love I have for my career, the journey from the hellpit I came from to what I have today. My son knows about recovery. He knows about alcoholism. He knows about being raised by one. He's seen recovery.
My son is an alcoholic. You know when he was stationed in Iraq, I felt safer with him there? Because I knew, I knew. How sad is that?
My son is an alcoholic. To me, it's like saying 'my son has a form of cancer with a very low recovery rate, we can cut part of it out, we can treat it with radiation and chemo but there are no guarantees'
His father died of it. Every aspect of his life has been affected by it, one way or another. Usually, I leave the 'diagnoses' part to the individual involved, because that's the only way we 'get' it, but I grieve, I grieve.
What's happened is he's reached a 'bottom'. He's AWOL, went on a meth run which got too ugly for him so he's turning to his alcohol and hitting it hard. He's bewildered. He's frightened. He's defrauded unemployment, he isn't paying child support on and on and on. Problems piling up and seemingly impossible to solve right?
Got I hate this. He is exactly the age I was when I go sober, 29. He is hitting a very similar bottom, not in the details, but depth of the hole he's digging. He plans to turn himself in to the VA tomorrow, ask for treatment. We'll see.
I couldn't see him I couldn't talk to him, my husband had to do it, right now I don't have the grace of hope and I'm so afraid.
There, now maybe I can make some phone calls without breaking down.
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