Inevitable Horrors

I was working at my computer when Kyd walked in the door.  We had spoken earlier on the phone because he needed money, but he didn't tell me he was going to stop by.  

"You scared me!" I said. 

"Sorry." 

I got my wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it to him. 

Is this enabling?  He has to eat. 

"Do I have any clean laundry here?", he asked.  

I went and got him a small pile of clean clothes that he had not yet taken with him.  He chose one t-shirt out of the pile and left the rest.  

"Is that all you need?", I asked. 

"Yeah, I just need a different shirt.  This one's too tight.", and he grabbed the front of his t-shirt to illustrate.

We walked back to the kitchen and toward the door.  Things were awkward.  I could tell he was feeling unwelcome at the same time he was feeling entitled -- neither was true.  Both are common errors in the thinking of addicts, or those who are mentally ill. Despite my years of experience, I still cannot find magic words that will correct this thinking, flip it on it's head.  

"Have you talked to your Dad?", I asked...tentatively.  Kyd's father recently had a minor heart attack.  He's 41. 

"No, but I need to talk to probation."  

"Why?"

"I'm thinking about going up to work for Dad."  

Oh god, oh god, please no.  

"I'm not sure that's a good idea", I said. 

Kyd got angry. His flat affect immediately switched to agitation.  His voice rose and the cursing started.  I tried to calmly reason with him, remind him of all that had gone wrong the last time he went to stay with his father.  He shot the reason down with a string of circumstantial excuses that wouldn't be a problem this time. 

I took him outside. Lexi was home and I didn't want to expose her to anymore of Kyd's anger, and I didn't want her to start butting in -- it would only cause a more rapid escalation.  

Divert. Protect. Diffuse. Intervene. 

Nothing I said helped. He walked away loudly proclaiming, "I try to do the ONE thing I can! I have NO other options! I'm trying and do I get any support from you?! NO!!"  

The urge to yell back was strong. The urge to point out all I had done, the money I had just given him, the place to sleep two days ago when he had nowhere else to go...

I stood on the porch and watched him go, again. 

Inevitable horrors.  If he goes to live with his father, each of them a ticking time-bomb.  

I didn't sleep until 4:00 a.m.