And, I understand that. We had a family conference with an addictions counselor, and he explained the battle between the limbic system and the cerebral cortex, and how survival will always trump reason in that battle, and that The Oldest's brain is now wired to equate survival with the drugs.
|tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies|
I remind myself that The Oldest is a drug addict and not to be trusted, but that he's still The Oldest and deserving of unlimited love. That his words are not a lie, but a truth that may not stand up to time.
The things he says are so much of what I want to hear. I want to believe them ... in the moment he says them they are not just an idea, but a future that makes all this okay. And yet, those are not the lies that get me into trouble. The lies that really mess with my head are the ones I tell myself.
- Maybe there's some other explanation for where the booze/money/my mom's wedding rings went
- Maybe he can just get better on his own
- Maybe mom just misplaced her rings - she is getting forgetful
- I'm sure the drugs he's doing aren't that bad
- Maybe he really does like having a nowhere job and couch surfing with his friends
- Surely this is more because of his dad's 'abandonment' anything I did or failed to do