When Tough Love Strikes..

**I’m on mobile so the formatting will be different from what you’re all used to.**

It’s been a full work week since my friend checked themselves out of inpatient to do outpatient therapy (the only thing they’d agree to as far as continuing treatment). I wish I could say it was going well. So far, what I knew would happen, has. I hate being a subject matter expert here, because if I wasn’t so jaded through experience, I could probably encourage more hopefully the situation at hand. Ignorance is bliss as they say, but you only have a decent chance at doing the right thing, when you’ve done the wrong thing before.

Within 4 days we received a message from the friend that they’d crashed again. Fearing the worst we asked what happened, and thankfully he wrecked on a push scooter. He busted himself up pretty badly, but at least he wasn’t driving drunk. He’d sworn up and down that he’d been remaining sober, but as many addicts do, he couldn’t keep his lies straight long enough to convince us. He’s still very defensive about everything. While in treatment he would lash out with why it wasn’t fair he needed this when so many around him partake in similar extracurriculars, but what he couldn’t add to that equation was that they weren’t addicted. They were able to put it down and handle their responsibilities before even thinking they might want to do it again. He thought the issue was with partying itself. While I don’t encourage drug use of any kind, I am aware enough to know it’s most people’s dirty little secret of an escape from life.

He lost all his possessions again. He unapologetically lashes out at the few of us he has in his life to support him then 180s to how much we mean to him. His bipolar is out of control. I know the desperate feeling of wanting to be normal. His fog isn’t going to lift without help, but we can’t help him do that until he wants to help himself. Fingers crossed and prayers sent he wants that before he kills himself or someone else.

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