My life became focused on Jason when he moved back in with me in July. He was sick, very sick. The drug had caused serious psychosis. It took months to gain his trust and convince him to seek help. He was afraid of doctors. He did not want to quit the drug. Even though he said he did. He wanted to find a way to be well mentally without having to give up the drug or his lifestyle. This was not possible.
He cut back to using about once a week. This did not give his mind time to heal. He would get more and more irritable until he would go out and use again. Some days it would almost be a relief, because I knew we would have at least one good day. I made sure he ate. I would read to him when he could not sleep, which was often. His brain tortured him. He was sure everybody could read his mind. This is a common delusion with meth addicts. He would hide under the house some nights. He was tortured and scared. He needed help.
On October 4th I convinced him to see somebody. I made two appointments. One, the place our family doctor had recommended, could not see him until the 28th. The other place could see him on Monday. It was Friday. We only had to make it through the weekend. Saturday he packed a bag and left. He told me he would be back in a week or two. I made him promise to be home in time for his appointment Monday. Sunday I went to the movie with a friend.
My phone went crazy when I turned it on after the movie. Jason had swallowed almost two grams of meth in an attempt to kill himself. He would have succeeded had my sister not found him. After a week in a hospital in Amarillo. We were home. I had tried to convince the doctor to keep him longer, to bring in a psychiatrist, anything but just release him. To everybody's shock he said that Jason was fine, he just needed to stay away from drugs, and sent him home with me. Now the search for help began.