I just finished Beautiful Boy by David Sheff and it has left me deep in thought. This was a great book for me right now. I don’t know if it would have the same effect on the next person or even if it would have touched me as deeply if I had read it a year ago. It was just the right thing to read at the right time.

Here I am on day two of trying to punch out this blog post and I wonder if I can even manage to string two words together. Good books do that to me. I love good writing but when I read good writing I catch myself overthinking my own words that fall so far short of what I have just read. So you’ll have to either skip over the rest of this post and read the book yourself or humor me as I feebly try to explain why it meant so much to me.

This book has changed the way I think about addiction. And that means a lot because the subject of addiction has been a life-long puzzle to me. I just didn’t understand it. I’ve never been addicted to drugs myself. I’m “addicted” to sugar and food and even the internet. But I don’t understand what it is like to have my brain chemically altered in such a way that I will continue to make bad choices even against my own best wishes.

I’ve been paranoid about drugs since the day my dad sat me down and told me about these Mickey-Mouse stamps that have LSD on the back. I used to have nightmares about going to junior high and being pushed up against a chain-link fence by some scary kid with a black mohawk and being forced to lick stamps. What a funny visual that is. I actually used to have heart palpitations when a kid that I labeled “a bad kid” would walk into the same room. Maybe my dad scared me straight. Maybe I’m just a freak. Whatever it is, this has been a subject I’ve almost been obsessed with.

As you know my mother-in-law is an addict. She is an alcoholic and has been on a painful downward spiral for the past six months. I didn’t think she was going to make it out alive this time but she proved me wrong again. I never know. That’s the hardest part I think, just not ever knowing. When to trust her. When is she lying? When is she not? When to help her? When to not?

I think the biggest thing I learned from this book is that addiction is a disease after all. I NEVER believed that before. How dare my mother-in-law slide into the same category as someone with cancer or multiple sclerosis? People with diseases don’t choose to get sick. They don’t try to kill themselves over and over and hurt their family members in the process. It was preposterous to me.

David Sheff does his research. He is very thorough. His son is a meth addict and he goes to the ends of the earth to understand the drug and what it has done to his son. He actually looks at brain scans and sees how the brain is altered after that first usage of drugs.

I think I can get my head around that. That doesn’t mean I feel sorry for my mother-in-law but I can understand that her decisions are made through a filter. Her brain is predisposed to do whatever it takes to keep that dopamine pumping. Forgive me if I get the technical terms wrong. I read that stuff and it makes perfect sense but the scientific terms run out my ear and are never contained in my memory. All I know is that there is a scientific explanation for my mother-in-law’s behavior. She isn’t off the hook totally but her behavior is predictable. Which is crazy since “predictable” is not usually a word I would use to describe her.

Mr. Sheff and his son had a special relationship. He loves his son deeper than I love my mother-in-law. She is a sweet old lady and I love moments like these but I didn’t know her when she didn’t have a problem. I didn’t know her when she was a little kid with white blond hair and innocent eyes.

I do know Baby Bug though. I may have to erase this post someday because I’m terribly afraid of her reading it and I want to protect her from my fears as long as I can. Worst of all worst-case scenarios, I don’t want to cause a self-fulfilling prophesy. I feel so terrible even admitting this to you guys that I think these things but often I stare at her and feel like crying because I’m so afraid that she is going to inherit this addictive gene and will someday be in a gutter addicted to meth. Meth addiction is my greatest fear.

Toby assures me that we are giving Baby Bug the best possible childhood and she has every chance in the world to grow up happy and healthy. Usually children that become addicted to drugs or alcohol have a gaping hole in their heart. Something terrible happened to them at young age that causes them pain and they cannot develop normally because of it. I don’t plan on ripping a hole in Baby Bug’s life. In fact I am going to do everything I can to make sure there will never be any holes at all. But you can’t control these things. Sometimes kids from perfectly healthy homes get addicted to drugs.

I’m just a mom and I worry. I am a worrywart.

Reading this book has given me some relief from my endless worrying. There are signs I can look for. There are actions I can take. It’s good to talk to your kids about drugs early and often, Sheff says. Of course we knew that. But it isn’t good to talk about your own experiences with drugs. Often kids will interpret your survival as a go-ahead. If my mom did it and turned out okay, then I can too sort of thing. I didn’t know that.

Mostly what I take away from Sheff’s book is that addiction isn’t the end of your relationship with your child. Sheff still has a relationship with his son. I don’t know if his son is still sober but at the time the book was published, he was. I’ve heard since that they even do press conferences together. This gives me hope. I don’t mean to be a pessimist. I one-hundred-percent expect Baby Bug to be like me and never even try the stuff… but part of me wants to be prepared for the worst. Part of me doesn’t want to be broadsided.

Sheff also explains that it is so important to take care of each other when you are dealing with an addict. Toby and I know that firsthand. Toby has been through so many ordeals with his mother, you’d think he would be an expert at dealing with it, but it still takes its toll every time. He tries to push it out of his mind and carry on but he tells me that his work suffers. He has a hard time concentrating.

I know I have a hard time being my happy cheerful self when his mom is drinking. I’m constantly waiting for the phone calls. Constantly watching the caller ID to make sure I don’t pick up the phone for another social worker who is going to sucker me into feeling guilty for something I am not guilty of.

I don’t have a solution for these problems but I do have some tools. It does help to listen to other people’s stories. It’s a huge problem and so many people are going through it. There is some strength in that. We are not alone even though at times we feel so incredibly alone. I personally haven’t had much luck with Al-Anon but I know it’s there.

Maybe I can stop looking at Baby Bug and imagining her shooting up. I can still hold her close but I won’t be crying because I see her with sunken eyes and sores all over her legs. I’m scary like that. I scare the crap out of myself. I hope she never knows the extent of my imagination and my fear for her. I’m sure she will cause me great worry for many many years. My mom says she still stays up at night worrying about my brother and I and we are in our thirties. I guess it’s something that never goes away.

I don’t mean to be all doom and gloom. I finished this book feeling uplifted. Comforted that there are other parents out there who do not give up on their children. My life may be hell if I have to go through this but for Sheff it paid off that he didn’t give up on his son. This comforts me.

Baby Bug isn’t going to be my mother-in-law. She has me.

This sketching every day is fun but it’s making my blog not very colorful! Where are the fun pictures of Baby Bug?!!! Bring back the color you say? I agree. All this black and white and gray and a little bit of red today is very boooooar-ring.

But I have to post this because there is a story behind it and if I just leave it there sitting in flickrland people might make up stuff about me being depressed. Which actually is sort of where this idea came from BUT DON’T WORRY! I am not depressed! I’m actually feeling pretty happy and silly as I write this at two-fourty-two in the morning. What can I say? When I get free computer time, I use it.

This little drawing was supposed to be of some depressed looking goth teenager reading a novel. I even had his hair worked out. It would be black and flat ironed into his face. He’d be wearing skinny pants so skinny his legs looked like sticks. And then of course he’d be holding this book which would be funny as hell because who needs to read a book about being depressed! Hahahahahaah! I crack myself up.

Then I got bogged down in how to make the title of the book show up at the right perspective but have it still be readable…and it was just taking way too long! I don’t have time to be making complicated sketches when I have a toddler around! Not to mention, every time I break out the pen and paper she demands that it is HER pen and HER paper and then colors all over whatever I am drawing.

So this is what I’m left with. The book. I think it’s a pretty good idea for a book actually. It would be a parody. I’d write chapters and chapters about how to be morbidly depressed. I’d cover the small things like how to insure a hangover by not drinking water (thanks BA for that one) all the way to how to obsess about the hopelessness of world peace… You’d spend so much time thinking about how pathetic it is to be sad, that you’d actually end up doing the opposite and feel happy. Does that make sense?

Of course I’d have to heavily rely upon research from people like this blogger. In fact, maybe I’d even ask her to co-write it for me since she’s already written several books. I love her blog and continually find inspiration from it. Just read the quotes down the right side (not at the top but a little ways down) and I dare you not to feel inspired to be happier about your life. Happy isn’t that hard after all. It just takes some work.

Turn that frown upside down!

Now lets get some color back in this blog!

I’ve had a post on my heart for months now. I’m not exactly sure how to write it. I’m not even sure if I should write it. It’s one of those things that is so close to home that I just can’t see the forrest for the trees. And it involves my family and maybe they don’t want me to write it. Maybe I need to respect their privacy. But at the same time it’s really hard for me to sit by and say nothing.

As you may know… times are tough. My brother is unemployed and has been on and off for as long as I can remember. He’s moved in and out of my mom’s house so many times, nobody keeps track any more. My brother also has two beautiful daughters and an amazing wife*. They are riding this roller coaster life with him. I don’t know what to say about why this happens. I don’t want to judge his decisions in life, although I am the big sister so of course I have a million nosy opinions that are not that appreciated I’m sure. I just know that it hurts. It hurts everybody.

It comes in handy when I’m walking out of the grocery store and somebody holds out a can asking me to donate money to this cause or that. I can look them in the eye and say with a clear conscience, “I have my own charity, thank you. I’m trying to keep my own family off the streets.” And it’s true. I am. But I’m not. Not in a way that is making enough of a difference anyway.

You see, I’ve been scraping by all my life to escape the poverty I grew up in. All my growing up years my Dad pounded into my head that I had to go to college so I could live a life that was better than his. Every time a collection agency called and I had to close the bedroom door so I didn’t have to listen to my mom sobbing, I became more and more resolute that I would not live this way. My dream in life was not to live in a fancy house or drive a fancy car. I dreamed of not having to worry about money. That was my dream.

In a way my dream came true. I was lucky. I was blessed. And I also worked really really hard. I graduated from college and found work that paid well. I learned to live below my means and that was probably the best lesson I ever learned. Then I met Toby and together we finally figured out a way that I could be a mom and not have to work (though it’s like pulling teeth to get me to stop).

But even though I’ve managed to pull myself to the other side of the poverty line, my heart is still very much tied down to it. In order to escape I cannot always help my family out when they are in need. If I helped out financially as much as there is need, I would still be stuck. The pit of need is so deep there is no hope of ever filling it. We would all be pulled down to the lowest common denominator. We don’t all live out of the same pot. We are not communist.

I also have to think of the future. I know things are going to get worse. The real estate crash is just starting to rear it’s ugly head and soon California is going to be in a depression. Not to be an alarmist but we have to be smart. We can’t just let history broadside us.

I know my parents health is going to steadily decline. I don’t mean to be a pessimist but I know the odds of someone being struck with cancer or some other deadly disease is very likely. If we’re smart we should almost just start planning for these things. Not to create a self-fulfilling prophecy but to just save money like crazy. It only takes one snowball to roll you under.

I don’t know exactly what to do. I wrack my brain daily with ways to save my family. My brother is about to be evicted from his apartment and will probably have to live in a shelter. This is not the end of the world. Maybe once he is actually “homeless” he will finally be taken seriously enough by the paper-pushers that run government aid programs. Maybe they will get a social worker who actually can help them for a change.

Even though it’s a really bad idea (for my parents who are struggling and have no hope of retiring until they are 104), my mom’s house is still open to my brother and his family. My nieces can stay there any time. There is always enough love to go around. There just isn’t enough money.

Where do I come into this picture? I don’t know. I’m constantly trying to think of money-making ideas for them. My brain is spinning a mile-a-minute all the time. It’s almost an obsession for me.

We visited a screen printing shop over the weekend (I’m trying to get some Gumball t-shirts printed) and immediately I fell in love with the idea of buying the business from the old man who was running it. Of course this is silly because A. I do not have the kind of money it takes to buy a business and B. I don’t think it was for sale.

How fun would that be though? I could make the designs. My mom and my sister-in-law could run the office. My brother could do the manual labor and keep the machines running. I could make every kind of t-shirt I ever desired! Of course my brain immediately started day-dreaming about painting the little shop and what kind of landscaping it needed because I am just so out of touch with reality when I dream…

It probably will never happen. It will get cast aside like the other five-thousand-and-nine ideas I’ve come up with. There is no easy way to get rich quick. I know absolutely nothing about the screen printing business. I don’t know what kind of overhead a business like that would have. If some punk rock kids could become millionaires printing t-shirts out of the back of their van, could we do it too? I probably will never know. It’s too big of a risk. But it’s an idea.

Fortunately, unlike money, ideas do grow on trees.

*Yes! Please do click on her site. She has ads and every little bit helps.