Addicted to the Addiction

When you have a sick child, the illness takes on a life of its own. If your child’s life is at stake, it is common for the very illness causing such harm to become an obsession of those battling it. It may be inconceivable for those who don’t experience it first-hand, but addiction is an epic battle between living and dying, especially when the addiction is to opiates, which can cause overdose, trauma or death with one exposure. In my quest to discover answers and treatments, in my struggle to find the silver bullet to quell my son’s addiction, I have had the opportunity to speak to many parents on a similar journey. Our stories are all uniquely our own, but we are the same. Our heartbreak, our fears, our challenges and our successes literally mirror one another’s. Our stories are ours, but in some ways, this is the story of us all. One thing I know well is that mothers of addicts often become addicts themselves. Yes. The family members who care for an addict, the very people the addict depends on for support and guidance often fall into an addiction trap of their own. I have fallen into this trap. Only my addiction isn’t to opiates or alcohol, but to the very thing that has caused our struggles. I have become addicted to my son’s addiction. The truest definition that I have found labels addiction as compulsive, harmful behavior that causes destructive consequences to health, finances, relationships and careers. I have an obsession to my son’s illnesses, and like most moms of addicts, my obsession borders on addiction. I am addicted to my son’s illnesses, and I am obsessed with keeping him alive. My obsession is what keeps me awake at all hours of the night, reading research, searching the internet for resources and treatment plans that may be the “right fit”. My obsession is what causes me to plot out the day at 3 am, certain if I make just one, or three or five more phone calls when the sun rises, that I will discover someone who has successfully treated kids like Tim, some untapped expert who is different from the many others who have failed. My obsession has infested all areas of my brain, so that there is room for little else, because the voices in my head telling me this is life or death are louder than the voices telling me to pay the electric bill, or get to the grocery store or that I have piles of work waiting. The voices of fear are louder than the voices of responsibility, telling me to spend time with my younger two children, to make sure they do their homework, and to get them to sports practice on time. The voices of fear are louder than the voices of love, telling me to invest in my relationship, to connect with my boyfriend, to not sacrifice the love of my life in the name of addiction. And the voices of fear are far louder than the voices of obligation telling me to return phone calls of family, get the oil changed in my car or focus on required meetings or deadlines. And listening to those voices compelling me to save my son leaves me emotionally bereft, unavailable for normal feelings like joy or pride, because the voices in my head speak of the sheer terror of a life in jeopardy, a life that I created and that was born of me. And the fear of losing that life is far too powerful an emotion to deny. It takes over everything. Every conversation, every relationship, every moment of the day. The terror causes me to be absorbed in finding solutions, causes me to obsess over the intricacies and minutia in every decision that must be made in Tim’s treatment. It causes me to ignore people I love and the realities of life, because in survival mode, I am obsessed with staving off death. My obsession tells me that Tim’s needs are so vast that none of us will survive the consequences if I make one wrong decision. And so I am obsessed with the decisions and with the fear and with the voices. They say that addiction is a family disease. And it is. Everyone sacrifices and everyone suffers. But this is my child. And giving up isn’t an option.