That day, I just wanted it all to stop

I felt totally out of it the day Charles called on June 4, the day before he killed himself.

The heroin addiction was still new and I was confused with the despair in his voice. I didn’t know how to identify what it was. I felt overwhelmed because not only could I not fix this, I had no idea what to do.

Should I take him somewhere? Where? What’s the matter with him? Why I am hearing what I’m hearing? What is he saying? Does he want help? Am I being manipulated again?

When I didn’t know what to do, I shut down. My brain froze. And I wanted it to all go away.  I wanted it to stop and let me think.

i felt completely and utterly helpless. My child needed something and I didn’t know what that thing was. Feeling helpless and powerless was a feeling I had become accustomed to in my child’s disease process. But this felt different.

My brain was screaming at me that I needed to act, but when that feeling of extreme desperation and helplessness kicked in, I had no access to my thinking brain. It flew away and I had no strategies to re-engage it. No resources to turn to to get another perspective. When it did end because he ended, I was racked with guilt. Did I cause this? Wish him away because he was a “problem child?”

It has taken years to understand that moment. Years of struggle to work through it time and time again.  I wanted someone to tell me what to do. The crazy thing is, I wanted him to tell me what to do.

A hug from heaven?

Published by

Anne Moss Rogers

I am the mother of two boys and the owner of emotionally naked, a site that reached a quarter million people in its first 18 months. I am a writer and professional public speaker on the topics of suicide, addiction, mental illness, and grief and currently working on getting a book published. I lost my youngest son, Charles, 20, to suicide June 5, 2015. As talented and funny as Charles was, letting other people know they matter was his greatest gift. And now the legacy I try and carry forward in my son's memory.

7 thoughts on “That day, I just wanted it all to stop”

  1. Your own version of a brain attack. I love how you make these experiences understandable and accessible. Thank you, as always, for sharing. ❤️

  2. Our family always kiss each other good night- it’s what we do. The night Curt ended his life, I didn’t kiss him good night, because I felt he didn’t want me near him. I regret that every day, but I can’t go back in time. Hindsight is 20/20.
    Only God knows what’s in our mind, and hearts.✨

  3. I am so vratefu2for you Anne. You have opened up a shelter not only for all of us grieving parents but also for those suffering from addiction and mental/emotional illness. You have the courage and compassion to speak for us all. Big hug, God bless you.

  4. You should not be hard on yourself, though I know we, as Mothers, do this readily. The heroin addiction was foreign to you, so how could you speak and understand the language if you were in a foreign land? When I began to realize the depth of my son’s addiction, I judged myself harshly for not picking up on the signals sooner but I was very naive about drugs. Though we still have our son, I experienced all of the emotions you described. I felt as though I were sinking in quicksand in the middle of thick fog. You survived this so you could give US the strength to keep advocating for our “wounded birds.” I am grateful for you!

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