I grew up with drug addicts. I know all the tricks they use to get their next high. When my youngest son came home in May telling me that he had dropped out of school and gotten a job here in my home town, I wondered what was up. He knew from his upbringing that he needed a job before asking to come home. The people in my house work.
Over the last 4 years since he moved away to college, I asked my oldest several times about the youngest son’s drug use. He assured me that the youngest wasn’t using drugs. His behavior, in my opinion, was consistent with that of a drug addict. He cut off communication with his family– unless he had a need. I would text on holidays and random days I would send an, “I love you”.
He moved back in with hardly any possessions. It broke my heart to see that he had so little to his name. He car was run down, not registered in a year and I found out later, not insured. He went to work every day, even worked overtime on Saturdays, which, for a brief time, allayed my fears of drug use.
I came home from work one day and the youngest was in the driveway, not at work. His car was running and he told me he had not gone to work because someone had hacked his phone and was trying to kill him. He was going to go down to Charlotte to kick this guy’s ass. I talked him down from that– my oldest son was angry with me for not believing the delusions at the time. My middle son and I tried to get youngest to set up new accounts, go to the police, etc. He refused.
Youngest had trouble sleeping, got caught vaping in my house and we had words. I went to therapy and my therapist mentioned the new marijuana that the kids are vaping could cause delusions and psychosis. In my mind, I was already thinking about schizophrenia because he’s at the age it is most common to occur. That evening, I asked youngest about using and he admitted he had. Then he asked, “I know this is a stupid question, but have you ever tried it?” no, I have not. Anyone who knows me knows my family history and knows I have never tried an illegal drug in my life.
He was gone for a week dog sitting for family friends. While he was there, he called the police because he thought someone broke in and was trying to kill him.
The following week, as I went to work at 4am one morning, the youngest was still up. His weird hours and never being able to sleep were also a sign of drug use to me. I spoke to him and he became agitated. When I returned from work that day, he was freaking out about stolen socks. We got into an argument over his delusions and my not believing that someone hacked his phone and coming several hours out of their way to kill him. He threw a very large fit, broke my select comfort bed in his rage, threw his TV to the floor, then picked it up and threw it again. I knew he needed help.
That day, I tried to call douchewaffle. Several times. No answer. I looked up the work number for his sister and brother and called. His sister was mad that I had called her at work to ask her to get word to douchewaffle that I was having youngest involuntarily committed. You cannot make this stuff up. Mad. I said, “All I have ever asked y’all to do is love the boys more than you hate me.” I hung up.
It was very difficult to go to the magistrate to fill out the paperwork. Marty went with me. My middle son was a listed witness on the paperwork. We thought there would be violence when the police arrived to get him, but he went without any anger. A psychiatrist evaluated him and had him admitted. He was (and is) having delusions. Two other psychiatrists evaluated him and decided he either had schizophrenia or drug induced psychosis. He was released because he no longer had health insurance. Douchewaffle had dropped him from insurance several months prior. The releasing psychiatrist told me that he was being released, not because youngest thought the delusions were delusions, but because, “He is pen to the possibility that the delusions aren’t real.”
My middle son and I had talked to the doctors over three hours in those few days- speaker phones are great for that. We continued to tell them that youngest could become enraged. They kept telling us that he wasn’t angry. We knew better. The day he was released, he got a ride from the hospital and came home. Here is the short version:
He became enraged, punched me, starting hitting his brother and threw my phone so hard that it punctured the otter box and damaged my phone. I called 911. After the police left, youngest gathered his things and lived in his car about a week before darkening my doorstep once again. He needed a shower. Before allowing him to enter, I made sure he understood the rules: no violence, no drugs, no vaping in my house. Any violation and he would be out.
He made it a few weeks. One morning, I went to my basement to do my PT exercises and he was up and we spoke. I forget exactly how the conversation went, but he told me that he had a plan. When I asked him what his plan was, all hell broke loose. He began screaming and cussing. Told me how crazy I am, on and on. I told him that he needed to get his things and leave. He obliged.
Almost two weeks passed. I was awakened in the middle of the night by a call from the police. It took me a minute to wake up enough to understand what was going on. Long story short, my youngest was threatening to kill people and the police wanted to know if I knew his whereabouts. Through this very long night, I learned a lot.
Whoredog abandoned her abandoned grandchildren with her grandmother in her 80s so that she could take a job here in my hometown to help with youngest. Douchewaffle is living with her when he isn’t flying or at his home in LA. I called douchewaffle twice before whoredog answered his phone. I asked if youngest was there. She responded that he was not there “right now”. When she asked why, I told her the police were looking for youngest. She became indigent to which I replied, “Thanks for getting involved.” She yelled, “Don’t start this with me,” a theatrical performance for douchewaffle who was likely standing right next to her. I simply said, “If you want answers, you’ll need to ask youngest.” I hung up.
Through the night, my oldest got in touch with youngest and we tried to determine his location. The police called my middle son. Douchewaffle and whoredog asked middle son if it was I who called the police. Really!? Yes, really. Middle told them, no, the police also called him looking for Joseph.
When morning broke, the police officer called to give me an update. He was finally able to talk to youngest using douchewaffle’s phone. They were never able to determine his location. The officer told me that he felt douchewaffle was also delusional. He kept telling the officer that youngest was fine. The officer told me about his conversation with youngest. The officer asked what youngest was doing and youngest replied, “I am watching for cars. People are trying to kill me. I am also watching houses.” When the officer asked how he got the phone numbers to threaten people he was told, “I google the address and the phone numbers pop up.” I didn’t know this until that day– we tried it and it actually works. Rather scary, don’t you think?
That same day, someone from church messaged me information in messenger. It turns out that one of the victims and her mother go to our church. I called the mom and we spoke for quite a long time. I tried to convince her to get all parties involved to press charges. I felt that being arrested might wake youngest up to the fact he had a drug problem. No one was interested in pressing charges. They simply wanted a paper trail in case the threats continued. After our conversation, she forwarded some of the voicemails left for her daughter, her boyfriend and her boyfriend’s mother. They were horrifying. Absolutely horrifying.
After the fact, we found out that youngest moved in with whoredog and douchewaffle. They paid to fix his car, I forgot to mention the wreck. Sidetracking. His car was already missing the back bumper and was dented all along the passenger side. One day, he got into a wreck and presented an insurance card, not knowing his dad had stopped paying for car insurance a month prior. oops. So, in just over a week, douchewaffle paid to fix the car, paid to get it inspected, paid to get it registered AND gave youngest some walking around money. G-R-E-A-T. Funding someone’s drug habit.
I fully suspect youngest used the money he was given to get drugs, had a psychotic episode and threatened to kill people. My middle son had his bone marrow biopsy up in Cincy during this time. I had reached out on social media to the youngest son’s ex-roomate. He called while we were driving. We found out that youngest was not only doing mj, but he was doing mushrooms, acid, ecstasy and who knows what else. My oldest later found out from a friend that youngest started doing acid in 2018 when he first moved from my house to college. He had lived with me for 2 years before heading off to school.
In all of this, the last thing you expect a father to do is to blame it on the mother. But that is where this crazy journey went. Douchewaffle told my other sons that youngest only needed a little R&R and time away from mom and he would be fine. Even when presented with some of the voicemails and information on all the drugs in play. They are so delusional that they really think this is my fault.
Which leads me to the point of writing all of this– I share this so that other parents might wake up before it is too late. I am raying that whoredog and douchewaffle wake up before they fund youngest’s drug overdose.
My oldest brother dies of a drug overdose. My parents bailed him out his entire life. They paid Steve’s debts off over and over again. When Steve had children that he couldn’t care for, they bought the food, cribs, clothes and diapers. All of which enabled Steve to buy drugs. Two weeks before Steve died, I argues with my mother that he was still using drugs. She assured me that he was only on pain pills for his back. I pointed out the obvious, but it fell on deaf ears. Two weeks later, they gave my brother $600 in cash for a hotel room and work boots. He bought drugs instead. He injected those drugs into his arm and died. He was in the hospital for 36 hrs before he died and yet my parents waited until he died before they called me. Steve’s drug habit all started with using mj. He overdosed on crank.
My youngest brother, David, used mj. He committed suicide at the age of 20. Mike who is 61, if he is still alive– is a heroin addict who has been in and out of the AZ state pen 3 times. His habit started with using mj.
I’m going to end this blog entry with a post I made on FB. I share this in hopes it wakes people up to the reality of drug abuse:
We found out from youngest’s old friends that he started dropping acid back in 2018. He worked in Seattle his first two summers at UNCC and that’s where he started using marijuana. His ex roommate told middle and I on our way to Cincy that J has been doing acid, mushrooms, ecstasy and a lot of mj.
He became very distant. Cut off our entire family. He communicated with Matthew now and then and would show up for holidays. For years now, I kept asking them about drug use and they assured me J wasn’t using drugs.
Yesterday, I read an email that was sent to me from douchewaffle several weeks ago- one I hadn’t read all the way through before. He really thinks he’s the better parent because he’s been funding Joseph’s drug habit all these years. Douchewaffle didn’t do both our parts, he only did his part— and it was the WRONG thing to do.
I’m being open about this for other parents out there. STOP FUNDING YOUR CHILD’S DRUG ADDICTION. You are NOT helping your children by paying their rent, late fees, or by buying them cars. IF your child is having money issues, can’t hold down a job and is failing classes, instead of FUNDING THEIR FAILURE…..investigate. Love isn’t giving your children money.
I grew up with drugs addicts. I grew up being abused by drug addicts. I learned first hand from my parents that bailing out drug addicts only feeds and funds their addiction. The $600 my parents gave Steve for a hotel and new work boots bought the crank he shot up with. They funded his drug addiction and, ultimately, his death. They bought cars for them, paid off their debts over and over again. When Steve had children and didn’t buy his own children what they needed, my parents bought everything- clothes, diapers, cribs, high chairs. EVERYTHING. This funded his drug habit. Instead of taking care of his own children with the money he had, he bought drugs. He bought drugs because my parents enabled him.
I am convinced that youngest living with whoredog and douchewaffle for the two weeks before the big snap, getting his car fixed, car insurance and registered, and given a bit of extra walking around money—- with no effort required from youngest—-everything just handed over to him on a silver platter—is what led up to his tripping on drugs, threatening to kill people and the police calling me looking for him in the middle of the night.
Today, I woke up praying for douchewaffle and whoredog to wake up before they fund youngest’s overdose. I’m praying that they can somehow come to terms with the fact that youngest is a drug addict. That they can somehow see that funding his habit by doing everything for him isn’t the answer.
I kicked youngest out for a second and final time. I refuse to have drugs in my home. I refuse to be physically and verbally abused in my home. Sean doesn’t deserve to live with this shit. I grew up with it and I refuse to allow my other children to be harmed by their sibling.
It was sad when youngest came a week and a half or so ago- digging through what little things he owns and left here— looking for drugs. He asked middle what I did with his dried fruit in a jar. He was jonesing for his drugs that I had thrown away. I threw his bong away, I threw it ALL away. Zero tolerance.
Imagine a world where youngest got kicked out of his apartment instead of bailed out. Imagine a world where youngest wasn’t handed over cars. Imagine a world where youngest didn’t continue to get student loans when he was failing out of school.
He may have hit rock bottom and woken up and he wouldn’t be a hundred thousand dollars in debt with no degree.
Douchewaffle funded ALL of this.
******Thanks shithole Seattle and Washington for making mj, a gateway drug, legal. I know this will piss libertarians off. I have three brothers who all used mj- David committed suicide at the age of 20, Steve went on to stronger drugs and overdosed on crank at the age of 33 and Mike is 61 and a heroin addict who has been in and out of the state pen 3 times— he’s 61 if he is still alive. All started with pot- so save your nasty comments about weed being so fucking safe. Maybe that is all YOU do, but many people who use it go on searching for a better high.