So, I know I haven't been posting in a while. And that's because of alot of things, mostly ego based. I want to show new people that the program works, so I don't want to post bad news and lots of drama, and especially as the quarter was winding up all my life was drama drama drama. And now that I'm an OFFICIAL! COLLEGE! GRADUATE! () the drama has been ratched up.
  Because technically I'm not in classes any more, my eligibility for state/federal aid has been cut, those are the rules. Ok, kosher no biggie.Well, this means that I have a $2,000 rent check from housing. Ok, this is becoming a headache, but ok. Well, after talking to housing this is the deal: the procedure is that after I officially find a job, bring in the paperwork from said job, then fill out paper work requesting a release from the lease, and volia! I'm done, no strings attached, no bills. Should I elect no to follow said policy, I will be sued for the full amount due immediately. The logic goes this: the university doesn't want to find themselves liable for a student winding up dead in a car or something like that because they HAD a roof over their head, HAD food, HAD supervision, and then moved out to BFE and so on. the logic works and I get it, it's not such a bad deal, save for the $2,000 bill. After talking to the bursar today, it was explained that, even as an alumni it would be in my best interest to go take a couple of classes, part time, get my aid reinstated, and owe a significantly less amount, and have the bill recalcluated. the Bill will be due 4/20, and the rest is history; given how this is the first week of classes, I haven't missed much (the prof was sick and canceled the first day, so yeah). So it sounds like things are pretty straightforward
  Enter the family. Mom has been adamant that I need to leave the apartment. I have sent every piece of information availible to her--the website, paperwork, phone numbers, et cetera; I've had people call her (I undesrstand she never called back), given email addresses et cetera. Today, out of complete frustration, I finally just had the landlord, head of the units call Dad, & I understand it went very well, Dad seemed very pleased. Even after talking with the landlord, Dad and mom agreed that I simply need to be released from the lease, and move back in with him.
  That's when my nerves were shot. all the emailing, all the mailing, all the telephoning. "Dad, I'll move in if you go to rehab." The conversation went from there. JADER, as we call it was in full effect. Finally, I got the answer I wanted, I suppose, and yeah, it can be argued I pulled out the big guns to sabatoge any sort of me moving in with Dad; that I said what I said to get what I wanted, to stay where I'm at.
   when I look at it, and ask honestly, "why did I say it?" the honest answer is that "I just can't take it anymore. I'm too tired."  the authentic answer is that, well, it's what I've struggled with since I came into al anon: I don't want my dad to die.
 I told him that. I told him I loved him, that I worry about him, and that I worry about all the drugging he's doing. And that I want him to be happy.
  It's that I don't want him to die. And that I'm tired of the drama that enables him to do whatever he wants. And that, even if he makes no decision to do it, at least I said it for me.
  I sent off an email to mom, who's been doing whatever she wants, and saying it, which hurts, too. I told her the same thing. Drug rehab. with outpatient. He's gotta get sober, get help. Otherwise no dice.
  I'm sorry this is long, but I feel all numb. All scared. All frightented. I told the big and bad secret. I said it out loud--my dad's on drugs. And I don't want him to die, not this way. I worry about him, that's the even worser secret--I mean it's like "you worry about a *drug* *addict?" And it's like...he's my dad. And if no one worries about him...I do. I feel bad. When he screams and yells and calls his staff names, making the nurses cry, I know how they feel. When he treats the residents like their scum, stupid little children, I want to hug them and tell them "You have no idea how much this is NOT your fault" When he yells at the families of patients, and makes them all embarassed, I want to yell back. And when he screams at me, calling me names, I want to hit him, just one good hit, to knock some sense into him, to tell him "can't you see how much of a mess you're making your life into?!"
  I guess I didn't know who else to go to. Marge and I have been talking. She's worried about me, she knows this is no small step. I guess I just wanted to tell some al anons that even on my best day, when I finally take all of gods courage and use it I feel so scared.
  Thanks for reading. I really needed to talk and be vulnerable.