When the Day is Done

People all over have it rough these days. My struggles aren't as difficult as some. I appreciate my education, my experience with a 12 step program, and my place in the world. My problems I can deal with. I can't afford to take on other people's problems because I soon make them my own. I have fought codependency since I found out what it was.

I take on other people's agony, and then I live it enough to get an adrenalin rush or two out of it. That sounds rather cold anc callous, but it's one of my negative living patterns that I'm aware of. I went through a stage of re-living the emotions of my own divorce by putting myself in the choas and recklessness of my friends' and associates' divorces. I'm long past that.

But show me a single woman trying to make it on her own, usually with kids, and I get suckered in. It's not only the emotional turbulance, but I usually end up parting with money for their gas or dinner, or sometimes beer. Maybe everybody does that. I know I take it over the line, stick my neck out, and do to much, or get too involved. It's hard for me to put up a boundary wall between their woes and mine. It's like the wall surgeons have to put up in war. MASH did a few shows on that issue. My nature seems to draw me to disaster, and to have the need to try to fix things.

I had a real problem with that wall when I was teaching. I lost sleep over knowing my students' living conditions. That comes with teacher burn out.

My girlfriend, Liz Castro, is a single parent with a 15 year old daughter and a 13 year old son. My friend battles alcoholic tendencies. Her son is bipolar, schizophrenic, and spent his recent birthday locked up in juvenile prison because he shoplifted a phone from a phone store.

Liz said he was in special ed, but now she says he can't read. He's been locked up for three weeks. The first delay was because he didn't read the booklet. Who's fault is it that he can't read? This is the hard part, where I usually come swooping in to save the day. I could tutor him this summer. We talked about reading at the library together last summer, but I never made it happen.

Her son is only being treated for bipolar, and he's currently prescribed just one medication. I'd be willing to bet that the incarceration people aren't making sure he gets his meds every day. Odds are he's getting nothing. I stayed with Liz for a while this evening, and she was in a mood to let it all hang out, as we used to say.

One night Liz was sound asleep, and her son suddenly appeared next to her bed. At 12, she had to go put him back in bed because of the creatures or white things in the ceiling trying to get him. To me, that sounds like schizophrenia, and the boy needs to be on way more meds.

Whose responsibility is that? How educated about how many things do you have to be before the system can turn around from what it's doing and help. Communication helps. Love helps. How many times have I lost my heart and half of my head helping an adolescent. I don't want the responsibility of being a teacher again. It's too emotionally exhausting for me. How do I turn away from getting involved in the lives of my girl friend and her son when I feel like I can help?