Morning all.
Yes, Joey I have an older son. It's not a happy story. I left his Dad when he was 3 (I was 23) and ended up in a tiny hamlet in very Welsh Wales. We weren't wanted in the hamlet and the general consensus was the council house should have got to a local Welsh person. Since my father lived in the county, this was the authority that had 'responsibility' for rehousing me. I suffered quite badly from depression and things weren't great. Strangely enough, wine wasn't a problem then. Anyway, we muddled on until I got a council house exchange. A mother and her grown up son had 'The Good Life' visions of living in Wales and wanted my house and half acre garden (I used to 'foster' a local farmer's sheep (and rams in the winter) just to keep the feckin' grass down). They had a flat in Aylesbury. I agreed to the swap without even seeing it - I was that desperate to get away! (They contacted me six months later wanting to swap back! No way!)
Turned out to be a fab flat, first place that ever felt like home to me. My son, however, got increasingly more difficult to cope with as he hit puberty. I tried so bloody hard to get some help. A friend, who had been through similar with her son, said the only time anyone would listen was after the police had got involved. She was right. After he got caught nicking silly stuff from WH Smiths, we had 'family' counselling for 2 years. Didn't help. One particular day, after he was threatening to run off again, I sat against the front door because that was the only way to stop him and keep him safe. I could hear him totally trashing his bedroom. I rang the doctors. What did I think he would do? I don't know, maybe some sort of injection, something, anything! He said he'd contact the families liaison people and they'd 'be in touch'. By this age he was taller than me, he would refuse to shower, stand in doorways and not let me pass, run out the door and not return until the police brought him back. One day, aged 14, he came home and I had to take him to task about a problem to do with money. He just wouldn't speak to me. In the end, he phoned his Dad (who hadn't bothered with him for years) and said he wanted to go and live with him in Portsmouth. We all thought he would be gone for a week and then come home - but, no. Looking back, I suffered a sort of break down. It was the worst thing for my son. Firstly, as he fell out with his Dad almost straight away, he was in a children's home (he was adamant that he didn't want to come back to me) and then he ended up in assisted housing, got arrested for being caught in a stolen car and the list goes on. I tried so hard to keep contact with him. I would phone every week and every week he refused to talk to me (he's since apologised for that but at least he knew I was trying). I'm totally convinced that he had been suffering from depression from quite early on - about 12, I think, but I couldn't get anyone to listen to me. During this time I travelled the 200 odd miles to attend social services meetings about him - every time.
The phone call from the police about the stolen car issue had me in the car and heading for Portsmouth with XP driving. We scooped him up, paid his over-due expenses and brought him back to live with us. Bought him clothes, fed him up, helped him sort benefits, job interviews etc. It was fine for a few weeks then he started getting up later, leaving his room a tip, staying up 'til all hours. He was offered a job on the local newspaper - we had a special dinner, so pleased! He turned up on Day 1 and told them that 'it wasn't for him'. Then, the police came round. He was arrested for causing criminal damage to one of our neighbours front door. I was in bits. I'd never been 'that side' of a police station before. Had to watch as he had his finger prints taken. The police officers were so nice to me. I was bewildered.
Since all this, I've tried to be there, even visited him in prison. (something else to do with a stolen car but, as he was over 18 at the time nobody would tell me exactly what it was about) which was possibly the most degrading thing I have ever done. I felt like a criminal myself. Had him and his girlfriend to stay ('the weekend' turned into 3 weeks!) after they both got kicked out because he was found in bed with one of the employees (this girl) of the sheltered housing he was living in. She was a couple of years older. Then found out he'd been lying and still had his room waiting for him, it was only her who was chucked out. Bailed him out, listened to phone calls at 3am etc. Tried to encourage him to get some help.
Loads of other stuff,court summons, bailiffs (for him!), letters from ex-girlfriends, goodness knows how many grandchildren. Feel guilty as hell about it all. I tried so hard. This was the most important job of my life - and I fucked up. He tells me he's been diagnosed with Bi-polar. I don't know what to believe any more. I can only hope he's getting the proper care. Sporadic contact from him, at best, right now.
There I go again, me, me, me. Sorry. xx
Lemony I can't watch anything with Dad's 'being there' or hugging daughters. x