If I were a runner and this was a marathon, then I believe the phrase one would use to explain my current state would be…she’s hit the wall.
My research indicates that if a runner hits the wall, it’s usually somewhere between mile 21 and 23. This is great news because if the wall doesn’t appear until 80% into the ordeal, then perhaps we’re 80% through this nightmare.
Continuing with the research, I discover that said situation can be remedied by brief rest and the ingestion of food or drinks. (Funny, I’ve been ingesting a surfeit of food all week, yet I still find myself in this slump.) So I am forced into the cerebral place that seems to always snap me back into my stronger, tough-loving, disciplinarian self…summer memories.
In June, M’s doctor told us he was an addict, but I quickly reminded the doctor, “He’s only 16; isn’t this what everyone says teenagers do?”
Even as the words came out of my mouth I knew how pathetic I sounded, especially since there at my feet sat the smelly, brown paper bag. The bag was filled with empty liquor bottles, lighters, chewing tobacco, cigarettes, and a few other repulsive items I found, quite easily by the way, and brought to show the doctor.
My son who at only 15 and 3/4, was addicted to alcohol. This is a heavy burden that I am not quite ready to fully digest. Right now, all I can do is extract him from the toxic environment that made his path so fast, so dangerous, and so sad.
Good. I’m back.
My aunt Nancy told me about your blog and I've since gone back and read all your posts. I have no idea what it would be like to go through what you are, but your posts are very eye-opening and compelling. My thoughts are with your family.