There’s been an addict in my life for over twenty years.
I’ve locked my doors. I’ve hidden my purse. And I’ve been stolen from regardless.
I’ve been mad. I’ve cried. I’ve been hurt. I’ve been embarrassed and ridiculously angry.
I’ve pretended not to care.
I’ve done to Al-Anon, and yet the worry remains.
My sister has been “clean” for the past four years to the best of my knowledge. She might actually be finding the way to live with her addiction, but just one overheard conversation and my temptation to go into “she’s high again” mode jumps on my shoulders like one of Jack Hanna’s animals going after David Letterman.
My goal each time is just to keep the animal from taking a crap on my head.
Last night I overheard my son talking to his mom (my sister). I could hear him repeatedly asking her what she was talking about. Each time he said it I felt my shoulders pull higher and higher.
“Why isn’t she making sense?” “Is she slurring her words?” “Fuck, she’s using again.”
We learn in Al-Anon that the addicts’ problems are not ours–that we don’t have to react to them. But when you’re raising the addict’s child how can it not affect you?
I AM a mamma lion. Don’t mess with my kids or I’ll cut you.
I won’t think twice about it.
Even if you are my sister.