Shame

I don't know for sure that I can adequately explain my feelings this morning, but I will try. The following may be misunderstood and most probably disagreed with, but I always attempt to accurately describe my own thoughts in this journey and the words below explain my emotions this morning. I own them. They are mine.

I seldom feel shame. But there are a few situations where I do. The situation with Mike, that blog tells all about here causes me some shame.

I feel shame because a wonderful person had 18 horrible days because we asked her to do us a favor. We tried, at the onset, to explain Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder and to warn her that there were no guarantees. I told her that I had no idea exactly how long it would last or what stunts he would pull, but I asked her to give him a chance. And she began a very frustrating journey with a person who not only violated his lease daily for 14 of the 18 days, but also engaged in illegal activity multiple times in her apartment, disturbed her other tennants, and caused a ruccus in the neighborhood. She has the hassle, without receiving any money, of owning an apartment that he managed to trash in 18 days that she is stuck cleaning (we have offered to help her). She has been lied to by Mike and his friends, verbally abused and accused by Mike, and had to listen to angry tennants and neighbors.

Why am I ashamed? Am I ashamed because of Mike's behavior? No. I am ashamed of myself for getting someone else involved in our mess. The hours this past week that Mike has spent in our home just stopping by for five minutes at a time have been so disruptive that I can't even articulate them. So he cannot live here. But in the past we have born the brunt of it as a family and not asked someone else to help.

We heard several people tell us that it was not fair for us to allow Mike to be homeless without doing something. We agreed -- we are his parents after all. So we found someone to rent for him in exchange for work (which he never, as I'm sure you know, did). We bought him several things for his apartment. We loaned him a mattress, sheets, pillow, blankets. We did his laundry for him here. We let him come here three times a day to eat. I got him a job which he didn't even have to apply for, and he refused to go to it.

He managed to let it all fall apart in 18 days.

I'm not ashamed of my son. Who knows how much of it he can control. But I am ashamed for involving someone else. Because I knew better. Call my cynical, call me jaded, tell me that people will rise to the level of your expectations, make it sounds as if I am controlling his behavior by my pessimism, but it really isn't that.

Mike has a disability. It makes him impulsive. It makes him lose track of time. It makes him have trouble connecting his actions with consequence.

But at this point in time it is more than just a disability. He does not want to work. He does not want to accept direction or instruction from anyone. He is disrespectful and rude not only to us but to his former landlord and to law enforcement. He does not want to be law abiding.

Right now it is FASD, but it is more than FASD. And you cannot reach someone who does not want to be reached. And for me to attempt to ask people to step in and rescue someone who does not want to be helped is unfair only to the person helping. I should have known better. I'm ashamed of myself.