Sunday, January 05, 2014

Jason is lying on the couch when I get home. I sit down next to him. The skin around his eyes is tight. I can tell he is struggling. We talk about his day. He spent the day with friends and smoked pot. I ask him if he thinks the pot made him worse. Normally I would agree that pot is better than meth, but it can also cause schizophrenia in young people. Given what Jason is already dealing with I have not thought it is a good idea for him. The one time since his overdose that he has tried pot it definitely made him worse.

The day after that first time we were driving to a doctors appointment. He was irritable and told me not to talk if I would not tell him what was going on. He was convinced there was a global conspiracy against him. He was sure I knew about it, but could not tell him on fear of death. I broached the idea that pot smoking had worsened his psychosis. I was using phrases like 'do you think' and 'have you noticed' trying to be gentle. Finally he looked at me and said, "Should I smoke pot? Yes or no?" "No." I answered. "Ok, then I won't." He said as he laid his head back and closed his eyes. As far as I know this is the first time since then.

He thinks it is the nutmeg making him worse. The website had said it could take a while to see the effects. I mention that maybe he should be googling ways to get better instead of ways to get high. He shakes his head and laughs gently. "Mama, I'm going to have these voices in my head the rest of my life. I might as well have some fun too." I disagree. I tell him the medicine is starting to work. He just needs to give it time. It was not one night of meth that changed his brain. He asks me to read to him. I say yes, but can I get something to eat first. I have been out all day and know that lying down reading will put me to sleep. I would like a cup of tea and some cookies before bed.

I am eating my cookies, that I dunk in my tea, when he walks by. He has been in his room. He has a resolute look on his face. "Never mind mom." He says as he walks by. "I am going out to smoke a cigarette." I sit on the couch and flip through channels while I wait for him to come back inside. Lane walks in about thirty minutes later. I ask if he noticed his brother outside. He did not, but his car is still there. I wait another fifteen minutes. It is midnight. I am exhausted. I walk outside and yell his name. I look in his car. I cannot find him. There had been a couple of cars come by while I was inside waiting. I assume he has called a friend to pick him up. I go to bed and sleep fitfully.

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