A year of healing, dangerously

I was supposed to get better. Ease the tangled knot that clenched my solar plexus. Clear my head and clear a new path. Instead, I jeopardized my mom’s safety and risked my family ties.

My plan was to move out of Vancouver away from a pressure-cooker job and a debilitating commute as well as get off the slippery slope of a financial abyss. I moved back to my hometown into my childhood home. I reached out for family support. I was hoping for a new start.

Within a month Troll followed me here. It became another year dedicated to managing  him. But this time was different – I could give it my best shot. I wasn’t an absentee parent anymore. I wasn’t stressed at having to manage everything on my own. I could really be here for him.

I would get him into a routine. Monitor his meds. Get him to appointments. Help him take baby steps to become independent.

By the time he left I had accepted the reality – I can’t do anything to help him with his addiction or his mental health. I don’t even know if I can help him stay alive.

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