He calls her daily to complain. He's forced to get up early in the morning to work on a labor ticket. He shares an apartment with two other addicts, both older men who don't like his kind of music. He has to wash his own clothing. The food sucks. He has to go to meetings after work. He wants to go back home.
His list goes on and on.
She asks about getting him into our treatment program, but doesn't have insurance.
I can feel the pain in her voice and want to somehow comfort her. But there's not much I can give her in way of a painless solution. So I start talking about reality.
And the reality is that it's good for her son to start paying the consequences of his addiction. If he doesn't get the message at his young age he might find himself residing in worse places than our halfway house program.
Maybe a homeless shelter. A spot under a bridge. The hot streets of Phoenix. The big yard in Florence. Tent City. Not exactly living the dream.
She agrees that he needs to grow up and take care of himself. But it's painful to let go.
I suggest she not pay attention to his complaints. Don't let him back home. Encourage him to change.
I suggest she not pay attention to his complaints. Don't let him back home. Encourage him to change.
