Not only does he “find” money for his next fix, he begs, he borrows, he steals it. I overheard him say to a friend how easy it would be to knock an elder over and run off with her purse. The friend’s jaw dropped, then he sputtered, no way would you do that to an old woman! someone like your gramma? besides they usually haven’t much on them, just a few coins for a loaf of bread. Only the last remark meant anything to my son.
Depravation. Gone is any inkling of moral fiber. Needing a hit outweighs everything. Who has he become?
When he came out of rehab he had no place to go, again. So I let him stay at my place since I was heading out of town for a few weeks. The condition was that he had to stay clean.
I left hoping I would find him alive in my apartment. I returned for a few days to pack for my retreat to Orcas Island. In those short few days while I was at home he was agitated, moody, sleepless. I should have guessed he was back on H. But I didn’t clue in until I noticed my car was gone one night. He had needed a hit and drove to get it. And I mysteriously was short $600 from my bank account.
I found out later he was back in the thick of it. He would wait for me to fall asleep, creep into my room on his hands and knees, and sneak my purse out, then sneak it back in. He would grab any cash, but not all or it may raise my suspicions. He took the car keys and the car but said it was only for a joy ride from feeling bored. Later I discovered he had taken my bank card, guessed my PIN and helped himself to as much as he could withdraw in one transaction. I found out when I get back from Orcas. He’s now long gone, but still has my apartment key. Stupid me.