Hearing a nurse tell a copper you're son is psychotic, is hard. Almost a week ago he was admitted to the mental health ward in Mount Gambier. Drugs and alcohol.
It's been an emotional week. Nothing compared to what my parents have been putting up with, him living in their shed and all.
He was let out on Saturday overnight, and stayed at our place. He was OK. Quiet and calm. Like his old self. It's going to be a hard, long road to get him back on track. I am scared. Although I am scared, this is the time for me to step up, to help him, to ask for help. To find help.
We returned him to hospital yesterday, as per the order he is under.
The big task is to find things, when he is discharged to keep him busy. To build his confidence, and find his motivation for life again, with out the use of drugs.
I was a drug user up until I was twenty nine. A pot smoker, never anything else, which I suspect isn't the case with him. He isn't telling me and because he is an adult, they doctor can't tell me either, the results from those first blood tests in emergency.
I regret the money I gave to drug dealers. I regret associating with the people I did. I'd like to banish all the drug dealers from town, tell them they are not welcome and to fuck off somewhere else. Like Bali, but I hear they aren't killing them anymore.
Besides all that, while we were in the Mount on Saturday, we took the girls to see the 56th annual Christmas pageant in the Mount.
To follow our family tradition, we put the Christmas tree up in the afternoon, after the pageant. The girls loved that their brother helped, and Summer hasn't stopped telling everyone that he put the star at the very top of the tree. She hasn't stopped exclaiming how pretty and so beautiful the tree is.