After supper Jason told me he was going to Liberal to see some friends. He had seemed hesitant about going. It seemed like he was not sure if he really wanted to. He made up his mind to go. I said, "Don't do meth." "Not planning on it." He replied. His answer worried me. It sounded rather vague.
While he was still having delusions and bad days they were twenty times better than they had been a month ago. I did not want to go back to that.
Early in the morning I got a phone call. It was my sister. She is nine years younger than me; only eleven years older than Jason. He had called her to come to Liberal. He was thinking about smoking meth. Her and her then boyfriend went over to the party he was at. The friend who he had followed into the meth lifestyle was going to jail the next day. He wanted Jason to smoke one last bowl with him. Jason had been declining the offer, but he wanted to accept. He liked meth. He had told me before that he liked the drug, just not the voices it caused in his head.
He described it to me once. He said that the first time he took it he felt like Superman. There was this confidence that made him feel like he could do anything he wanted. He could save the world. Then after a while he needed the drug to feel confidant at all. Without it he just sat in a room full of people afraid to talk. I had witnessed him like this.
Before he moved back in with me he had come to town to take me to lunch. I had to lean in with my ear next to his mouth to hear him speak. It had broke my heart. Now that he was off the drug he still was not his former self, but he could speak at a normal volume.
Fria Chica arrived at the party. Jason's friend sat her out a line too. She is also a recovering addict. She and her boyfriend both refused. Jason did end up smoking a bowl that night. Just the one. We were sure that he would have done much more had she not went to help him. She called to tell me what had happened. I thanked her, hung up the phone, and cried. I prayed that he would come home and continue trying to get help. She brought me a chocolate bar to eat at work that morning. It is good to be surrounded by family who know my vices.
A friend, who is also a recovering addict, sent a text to remind me that relapse is the thirteenth step. He reminded me to tell my son I loved him and that he needed to forgive himself and focus on recovery.
When I went home for lunch Jason was home. I sighed in relief. I felt as long as he kept coming home we could get through this together. He was a mess. I was afraid to leave him, but had to go. I had planned a birthday party that evening for Fria Chica at my house. I was not sure if I should cancel it or not. One of my personality traits, not sure if it is a good or bad one, is that I always think I can do everything. I rarely turn down people who ask for my time, even when it is stretched thin. I hate to call in to work. I never cancel things. I just plow ahead and expect things to work out. They usually do.
I walked into the yard and noticed Jason standing outside smoking. I stopped to sit and talk to him, all the time thinking about the cooking I needed to be doing. Jason needed to talk. His brain was tormenting him too much to leave him alone. I talked to him a few minutes then ran in to put a pan of water on to boil. I ran back out to him only to notice that my aforementioned friend was sitting down talking to him. They had a few things in common. Things like speed addiction, the depression associated with the addiction, and an attempted suicide.
Each time I ran outside to talk to him they were still talking. The house was filling up with family. It was too many people for Jason to handle in this state. Having one person sitting in the calm outdoors talking to him was what he needed. I will forever be grateful for friends who help me out when I need them. Later after everybody had went home Jason started a movie, climbed into my bed, put a pillow over his head and listened to me read. We were back on track. We needed help.