Addiction

“Mum! I’m home!” Tom called into the still house. His heart sank and he felt a familiar dread settle on his chest. He threw his schoolbag on the floor and flew into the living-room. It reeked. She wasn’t sitting on her chair, so he ran to the only other place she ever was, the bathroom. And there she was, lying face-down on the cold tiles. Tom’s fear turned to panic as he turned her over gently, brushing her soft hair from her face. She was frothing at the mouth, eyes closed, but she was breathing.

“Thank God.” Tom breathed as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her carefully down the stairs. There would be no need to call for an ambulance, and therefore no fear of a social worker knocking on his door trying to put him into care. That could never happen – his mum needed him too much.

“Shhh. Shhh. You’re ok. You’re fine now.” Tom kneeled over his mother, stroking her cheek as she slowly regained consciousness.

“Here. Drink some water.” He propped her face up and held the glass to her lips. “Don’t ever do that to me again. You scared me so much. Promise me you’ll stop it with the drugs – I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Promise me
“I – I can’t. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.” She sobbed into her hands.
“But it’s driving me insane.” Tom replied, but without conviction. He knew trying to convince her never worked.

“Tom? Could you please follow me?” The principal said calmly to Tom the next day at school. “I’ve been speaking to your teachers, who have voiced some of their concerns about your education. You have been falling considerably far behind in your school-work and exam results, but more worryingly, some of your teachers have noticed the smell of smoke lingering around you.”

Another lie, another excuse, and another referral to the school councillor, Tom resolved to do something about his mother’s addiction. He would not let it ruin his life.

Every day was the same stressful routine for Tom keeping his mother as well as he could, but he was always scared of the effect the various drugs she used had on her health. Tom looked after both his mother and himself and was put under a lot of pressure keeping his home situation from the probing teachers at school. Most of the time she sat in a depressive state, mumbling to herself, oblivious to the world, but sometimes her boredom morphed into anger and she lashed out at Tom. Sometimes Tom felt angry at her as well, because she was ruining his social life, his performance at school and his general enjoyment of life. However, he knew she needed help, and until she got it, nothing was going to improve.

“Mum? I need to speak to you.” His mother was looking a bit more attentive than usual, so he thought it was a good time to tell her what he had done. He knew it was for her own good, but whether she would see it that way may be a different matter entirely.

“I’ve been researching a bit into your... problem, and I’ve found somewhere I think might help you quite close by. It’s a Drugs Rehabilitation Centre.” Tom was terrified of her reaction.
“You’ve... what?! How dare you do this without my permission?” Tom only expected this, and had his answer ready.
“You won’t help yourself, so I’m doing it for you. Look, just go along once and see if it helps. Please, for me?”

After an hour of silent fuming and refusing to talk to him, Tom convinced her to go to the clinic the next day. She firmly believed it wouldn’t work, but Tom was determined to prove her wrong.

The next day when Tom got home from school, his mother was at her appointment at the Drugs clinic, so he sat waiting for her anxiously, hoping he had done the right thing. When he heard the door slam, he knew it wasn’t good. His mother was seething, though thankfully not at Tom, but her counsellor. Tom knew she didn’t like being told what to do, but he thought she just found it difficult admitting her problem to other people. According to her, he had just asked ‘pointless’ and condescending questions, but he knew admitting she had a problem was the first step to recovery.

Tom knew his mother’s addiction to drugs wouldn’t be cured quickly, but after three weeks of no progress at all, he was starting to lose faith.

“Why did you have to make me do this stupid rehab thing? All he does is ask pointless questions and look down his glasses at me – I feel like a fish in a bowl being examined from all sides. He has done nothing to help me whatsoever.” Tom listened to her rants and assured her it would get better with time as long as she stuck to it.

Over the following weeks, her attitude towards the counselling sessions became less heated, and Tom thought she was starting to admit her problem as she began to trust her counsellor. She came home from the sessions in a better mood no longer blamed Tom for enrolling her into the clinic. It was a slow process and Tom didn’t expect her to be clean of drugs for a long time to come, but it was progress for which Tom was endlessly thankful.

One morning Tom came downstairs to find his mother crying in the kitchen. She had tried to make breakfast for him, but she had burnt it and got upset. Tom was moved by her effort to look after her son, and although it hadn’t worked, it was the thought that counted, and he appreciated her efforts to be a good mum.

“Today, the counsellor lowered my dosage of medication. He thinks I’m doing well and have been making a lot of progress.” Proudly she recounted her session with Tom three months after her first meeting.

“Well done, mum. I’m so proud of you.” And it was true. She was still not completely free of drugs, but they no longer had her under control. As he looked into her eyes, they weren’t glazed over; she looked alert and a lot happier. She believed in herself and Tom was so proud of the progress she had made.

“Thank you, Tom. For everything. I’ve never been a good mother, but I want you to know I am so grateful for what you have done to help me. It’s going to get better now.” And for the first time, Tom believed her.