Tuesday, 17 November 2009

Boy wonder's gone with the wind

Boy wonder, twenty twenty is gone. I am now alone in the house with two vile creatures with foul mouths terrorising me and my younger two sons. How dare you swear in front of my children. Be quiet. Who the fuck are you bitch ? Don't speak to me in that way.

I am afraid.I am not brave. My mouth is motivated by the need for calm as I have a six year old and sixteen year old to protect.

Where's that c u n t - but they didn't use the gaps.

Yes I opened the door to find two leather clad black men with scars down both face, and shaven heads and earrings, standing hands on hips on my red doorstep in the hot sunlight.

Where's that cunt - where's that fucking cunt ?

My neighbours are sitting in their flower filled garden, eating finger food, sipping wine and playing with their children with a small multi-coloured ball that rolls down the path towards my front door. The two year old toddler begins to run after the rolling ball towards the men with scars. Come in I say.

Boy wonder turns into Olympian athlete with the knocking of the door

Knock knock who's there - friend or foe.

I wondered who had the damn audacity to knock with such audacious vigour on my cottage door in the Worcestershire countryside,where peace and quiet and calm are in abundance.

One Sunny August Bank Holiday Afternoon.

One sunny Bank Holiday August afternoon, our peace and tranquility was blown apart by loud bangs on the front door.

Three brothers sitting watching tv together, aged 6, sixteen and 20. Twenty Twenty has been living away from home for almost four years and feels he now wishes to come home and be a part of the family of three boys and Mom.

I found it hard to believe ,but hey, he's my boy and I love him and always hope for the nightmare to stop, so why not give him a chance, again.

Sunday, 15 November 2009

A never ending monologue

It's hard to recall the spiral downwards - but it's here for me and your brothers to see in all its glory.

Euphemisms permeate your life

I'm you with a cock Mum

One of my beloved eldest child's favourite phrases -
remember I'm you with a cock Mum- and don't you ever forget it.

I haven't don't worry.

The Great Story Teller

Oh come on, he's not all bad- well I never said he was bad- just that his actions are bad- but then I get caught - how can I separate out the egg from the yolk, the actions from the man, and at 32 he is a man.

He's not bad - maybe -well what the hell is bad ? He prides himself on telling me he's got the same birthday as Hitler -I don't even know if it's true. But his intent is to disturb me. That fact is like butter melting on toast to me these days, like a kite soaring off into the sky ; his stories are just that- meandering narratives filled with imagery that does not chime with me, and are erased in a moment by the wind. He's full ofbullshit.

He's a greatstory teller. He's got a highly wired imagination and he knows how to mine it.

Oh yes, he is the great pretender.

I'm dead. Yes, really.I've died many a time;this is because at some point or other, over his 16 years of drug abuse, he's needed some feeble excuse or other to drown the fact that he cannot be arsed to turn up for the latest fantastic job he's recently acquired with his charm and charisma.

Saturday, 14 November 2009

Everything's a drug !

One way journey from cannabis to crack but there's no easy way back now - check out my blog - Highs Lows Crack http://bit.ly/1EgDp5

Check out my twitter too mumsagainstdrugs and check me out to see if I've got any marbles left rattling around in my head after all these years.

Yes I know everything's a drug. That old chestnut come rolling along again, but there's a huge gulf between a cup of tea and the rock of life and death- crackcocaine.

You're hooked on caffeine Mum. Maybe so, but I'm not going to ramraid a shop to get a cup, am I ?

Baby to Bastard in 32 years

The first time ever I saw your face is a great contrast with the last time.

I looked into your sweet little face on the April day you arrived in this world, and saw a tiny new born baby, and was filled with overwhelming love for you.

I looked into your adult face the last time I saw you and I could not find you any more.The boy, the child, the teenager, the young man, have all one by one, been poisoned by drugs. Along the way, each drug you've used has stolen a little more of your soul and your heart.

You are lost in the mist of time and misery ; I can see you aren't happy. I can see you are angry. I can see you hate yourself. But I can see that you also care more for and about the drugs, than you do about anything or anyone.

Fuck you is one of your favourite rants : Fuck you and your judgments when I question you on yet another appalling action you've taken.

How did this happen ? How did we get from the baby to the bastard in 32 years.

I'm the lucky one. Because these days, finally, I see the truth. I can't be fooled. I have the answers before I have the questions. And now you despise me even more.

You are living a lie. You believe your own lie.You are prepared to shaft anyone to get what you want and need. A high.

Thursday, 12 November 2009

I was brought up in the ghetto don't you know

I, declares number one son to all and sundry for sixteen years, was a neglected child, brought up in the ghetto, by a visciously unstable mother who had no morals and beat me to a pulp. Regularly.

Funny ghetto.

rock bottom and crackpot excuses for being found with crack

Rock bottom - surely that must be photocopying your arsehole.

Next to that has to be microwaving your crack to get it dried out more swiftly.

Captain Crack boldly cooking where no crackhead has cooked before.

Here comes Captain Crack and his skyrocket crackcake.

And finally, here's a burnt teaspoon that Jesus left behind. Yes JC himself.

These aren't my pants

What's an eight ball of crack cocaine ? Well I haven't got a clue.

But when police in America found a huge ball of crack that size, the guilty party's excuse was, they're not my trousers.

All excuses are clearly in essence, based on stupidity.

But that was16 years ago - look what's happening now

Yes indeed,the sciving off school, the shoplifting, the sorry Mum over and over again ; these were just the early foundations for a life to be lived badly; for a life that wasted an abundance of talent and instead trashed all in his path :Me, my children, all friends and now my neighbour and finally his own housemate robbed too.

Disgraceful. I'm hurt crushed but also angry. and I can finally see the light.

The last to know

I am the last to know that you my son, haven't been at school. Meanwhile for the past months, the local vicar's been harbouring you and his equally out of control son, in his Victorian vicarage with its huge Shaker style kitchen, luscious library and ample velvet armchairs ; his tranquility is only shattered by rock music and two laughing hyena teenagers.

It's 2pm in the afternoon, so they should be locked into a geography lesson, or taking a French oral exam, or mounting the wooden horse in the gym. But no they're bouncing around the bedroom instead. Laughing up their sleeves at the stupidity of one parent and clergyman who's ripe for the plucking.

O My God ! Reverend Pratt makes me a coffee and still has one ear cocked to the radio - it's the cricket he smiles - we're doing really well. He's definitely batty.

Wednesday, 11 November 2009

A straight line

It's so hard now under the current stress to think in a straight line.

Violent teachers

When that teacher hit him with a hardback maths book, over the head, I was straight in there ; and within two weeks, the boys were moved to a more civilised school, where the headteacher promised not a finger would ever be raised to the boys.

Over-protective mum or good parent ? He was always in trouble for some minor misdemeanour or other.But nothing could ever have prepared me for the escapades that followed

The child is the man

Give me a boy until he's seven say the Greeks, I think, and I'll show you the man.

Not to blame the child, but he was imbued with an inherent desire to push push push, against everything and everyone.

Bright , vivacious, humorous, sporty, early reader,speaker, and thinker.

Sparky and witty. Cheeky but not rude.

tunnels and trains

Looking back over my shoulder ; I can see the lies in your eyes. On the train , taking it two stops to bham.

Mum says seven year old, as the train enters the tunnel, what's a prostitute ?

I nearly choked on my bon bon. We're still in the tunnel. It's a lady that sells kisses I say. The whole trains erupts with laughter.

Love does not alter when it alteration finds

O no, in the face of teenage adversity, it is an ever fixed mark. I want answers and I want them fast. Teenage nightmare has come to light. Letter from headmaster. Your son has been absent , well cutting to the chase for, most of the term and he won't be doing any exams. Are they insane in that bastion of comprehensive idealism - that boy is a genius. Jesus Christ.

Boy am I mad, hopping mad. What the hell - where have you been all day - at the vicarage.

The vicarage, the fucking vicarage...right. I'm off to see that idiot vicar.

We are not the Waltons

He was always in that bedroom - wouldn't eat with us, wouldn't help with the washing up, wouldn't do any chores. We are not the Waltons, is your favourite phrase.My friends don't help. I bet Dominic has to help in that Christian household two streets away.

I could see the church spire through my kitchen window. Like hell he does. He makes his Mum cry if she tries to make him do shit. Don't use that filthy language.

They've taken his bed off him. Don't be ridiculous. Yes, they have. Why would they do that ? Because they're bastards.

Then one evening he gave her a sharp surprise.

I can still recall that note on the bedroom door. Halt. Do not enter. We are alseep Mum. We are fed up with you entering this room at eleven o'clock every night to kiss us both good night ( other son aged 13 - big boy aged 16 ).So went the narrative of the modern day Keats. Almost poetic. And whilst I wanted to burst in and say, gotcha, I thought otherwise. The last few words put me in my place. We want our privacy Mum.

I put my ear to the door and listened. Silence. Fair enough I thought.

The Vicar's son Dominic Benson

Dominic Benson the adopted child of the local vicar, and 6 foot tall son number one, have moved into a flat in a house just seven doors away. Imagine that. The idiotic vicar thinks it's best to fund the two sixteen year old boys' premature excursion into independence - given they're going to do it anyway. Well how could they, if you hadn't coughed up hundreds of pounds for rent and given that dipstick adoptee, an allowance. What's this, tales of the very unexpected, decanted to Birmingham. How damn ridiculous can the clergy be ? Very, as it happens.

I'm leaving home you say. No you are not I say. Watch me. and I did ;as you packed the quilt, cutlery and plates and a couple of mugs. Put those back I say. They aren't yours. That'll teach him me thinks. Sod you he says and bangs the door and is gone. Later that night around eleven, he's knocking at the door in his parka. Mum. MUM !!!! Can I have two pounds for the electric meter. We haven't got any lights. Oh good I think, he'll soon be home. Stop being childish, we've got plenty of electric. Just get back home. And then he was gone. Into the dark dark night. He went quietly.

The stolen bike

You decide one November evening to borrow my boyfriend's bike. My partner's bike. You took the bike of the man I live with, and pedalled furiously to the other side of the city, to see your girlfriend. I'm getting fit you declare. Like hell he is says boyfriend, who knows better than me ; my eyes are heavy with maternal lovedust. Next day you return , well next day means thirty six hours later, with no bike in tow. Where's that bike ?

Cool your boots, it's locked up safe at a mate's. Liar I say. Give him a chance says boyfriend, but I know for fact this is crap. I am 90% able to detect his bullshit drug shite lies. That is often enough and on this occasion, definitely sufficent to wipe the smile off his face.

And he didn't even ask, says boyfriend. Now I smile at his innocence, as if he would ever ask for what he wants. He just takes everything I say. Put your finger into the wind and see which way the wind is blowing. he's taking the piss. Your bike's gone for good.

Idiot Boy

You didn't like it when I called you Idiot Boy casually one Sunday when you'd decided to be normal - for once, for an hour or two.

Bullshit Billy dropped in for some grub.

Dominican Republic et al

Superb vacation in Dominican Republic with my lovely girlfriend. No dosh left, so rang mum and asked her for a couple of hundred - I know she's been saving. Will she be mug enough to give it to me. Oh yes ! Three weeks of bloody heaven, away from all those parasites that think they're my family.

My sister cried yesterday

Your aunt cried yesterday when she heard the latest antics.

Well you are now a devious lying manipulating conman, who has ripped off his gullible trusting housemate.

He's a weirdo you cry ; he's so untidy ;I can't stand the weirdo. I've got to get out of here. Yes. But not because your housemate dropped crumbs on the floor and the ratcatcher had to come from the council. You are not on this planet. Disparaging though this does sound, it's sadly fact.

Now why would you and your girlfriend ever want to share a house with someone so diametrically opposite to you? I wonder....

Start a residential home for recovering addicts

The cascading domino effect of drug abuse, means the idea of starting a recovery home for addicts, really appeals to me.

Maybe that's because I just want to stand on a homemade plinth and wax lyrical about their wasted lives. And the jinx their hijinks puts on on anyone in their orbit.

My son has taken the proverbial and yes I do know he's ill - of course ; but the babe in arms, the three year old on a trike and the funny teenager are a veritable world away from the conman he's become.

He was such a handsome boy.And now his face is hard. So is his lifestyle.

Lying like a stone in the bed

People ask : How do you know your kid's taking drugs- you don't: my son was withdrawn, quiet, compliant, overly secretive, sleepy, uninterested in being part of any family activites.

Many teenagers without drug problems want to absent themselves from the family circle. I did. I left home at 17 myself.

Spots and moods

It was the spots that gave the game away.

Spots and big black rings under your eyes.

A baby is for life not just for Christmas

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, please put a spliff in my stupid son's hat.

I'm angry now. We are none of us perfect. But how damn selfish are people with drugs. I want I must have. I need, I don't care if I'm robbing my brothers or my Mum.

Baby baby I'll get down on my knees for you

Baby baby I'll get down on my knees for you

Yes, over the years,I've been down there. Many reasons, including drug dealers hammering into my house and threatening me and my two other children; and feeling terrified that one day you'll be killed in one of your escapades with drink and drugs and women.

Addictive personality dot com -I've read all the revelatory texts in existence.I've boned up on parental guidance on drugs. I could write those damn things inside out upside down turn it all around again.

So when you were put into my arms wrapped in swaddling, all five and a half pounds of you, retrieved from the incubator, I confess to a feeling of terror. The realisation that this cute cutchy bundle of life and limbs, was mine all mine to take care, of hit me like a thunderbolt. Mother of baby forever and ever.

Where did you get that dog where did you get that dog ?

Where did you get that dog ?

From the dog's home.He cost you £60. Where, I demanded in my serious Mother voice, did you get the money for that animal ?

And for the next 16 years, I've been wondering where you got the money for this that and the other. And yet you've always needed more, from me who had little, and from your brothers and friends and anyone else who ever crossed your path.

You walk the high road and I'll walk the low road.

Mother Earth and the one eyed dog called whizz

He left home at 16 & a half, suddenly, and brought a limping three legged dog home on his next visit, called Whizz, with one blind eye. What is going on ?

Yes, I know you've already heard this one, but I suddenly feel the need to unravel that critical incident, which has been locked away in my memory. Hello Whizz. Whizz, what kind of a name is that for a dog ? It's a great name. Not a great Dane I joked. Oh how moronic was I ? What an easy target I, the mother earth am, easy to be duped and this is the beginning of 16 years of you running slipshod over my life and emotions, with your deceptive smile and your charismatic laugh.Ha ha ha, Mum's mad. Mum's crazy. Indeed I am.

Cracking up

Cracking up inside - but the world doesn't know. He's not only skewed his own emotions with drugs, but mine too. I live a duplicitous life, saying I'm fine when I'm cracking up inside.

10drugabuse - now following me mumsagainstdrugs on Twitter: Teen abuse New York.I find that tragic as he's thirty two and this has been 16 years of misery for our family.

Just wondering how I am going to get through today.

He's homeless again which is a long story. But totally predicatable.

The Highs and Lows of Crack Cocaine Addiction.

He left home at 16 & a half suddenly and brought a limping three legged dog home on his next visit, called Whizz, with one blind eye. What is going on ?

He was a gorgeous funny little boy -now he's a hard faced user on a mission - inside I still see a little boy lost - hard but lost & alone.

The dictionary of drugs: by me, a once upon a time innocent mother- this horror wasn't written on the tin called motherhood.

Remembering his first smile his first steps his first word, which was "out " - wish he'd want out of his addiction dotcom.

Reflecting on how my son has declined from a six foot athlete genius footballer, lovely boy, into a lying mercenary desperado who needs a high at any cost.

This is not about blame, but about truth and reality and getting to the point. He's killing himself with drugs every day of his life.

When that baby boy was put in my arms I felt pure joy. Today I see a man destroyed by chemicals and he thinks i am the one with a problem.

Thinking two out of three ain't bad - but that's not the point.

He's screwed up so much for us all,not just for me, but for his two brothers too.

Pondering on the last 16 years of shit ;funny how time goes by, as the song says: Painfully is the answer

Welcome to my world. a world of the lost child aged thirty two.almost thirty three; not fun at all

You used to be my son

She used to be my girl, as the song goes,well he used to be my boy. Not any more. Now he's toxic and lost and viscious and totally dishonest: Lies run through his blood, his bones,his tongue, his veins, his head and his heart. Lies have penetrated his skull and entered into his soul.

Welcome to my world


Mums against drugs.Pathetic words to a drug addict son, but they're all I can find to sum up my desperation.

I'm watching my son delude himself that he's fine, when he's dying before my eyes.

He thinks he's in control. He's out of everything in fact. Out of work, out of reality, out of the family, out of his social circle of friends. He's out of sight, soaring out of reach, sinking ; the highs and lows of a life on crack cocaine.