I had written something - a expletive-laden rant - about my son, but it got lost. (Edit: it didn't get lost. how freaking wierd this damn night is getting...)

I can't talk to anyone about this. Really, who? How can I cry on someone's shoulder about the life my son, who is 23, is leading? After all that I did to my poor mother, how can I even justify asking for understanding or help in dealing with this?

My daughters will manage - they will survive - they are strong, bold, silly and something indefineable that my son doesn't have. My son is like his father - buying into the whole excuse for getting high. I hate it. I don't understand the appeal of getting high. I DID get high - I just .. it's such a waste of time. It's much more fun to dance, or read, or walk... I'd rather eat crow and sit with my family than get high because I have nothing else to do. I don't understand the mentality.

Even my eldest has found another way to cope. And my youngest girl is WAY too much like me. So what's wrong with my son? He wants to train for martial arts, but he has no concept or no ability to fixate on discipline and avoid what harms him. I don't understand.

And I don't know if he's just doing this to hurt me, retaliation for his inability to accept that I'm no longer responsible for his choices.

I gotta stop crying about this. I spoke to him an hour ago and I'm still sobbing. Who cares to hear this crap? He's 23, I should let him make his bed. But he's MY SON!!! I can't stop loving or wanting to fix my son!

And I feel horrible that I may have made my mother feel the same way about me.
every time I talk to my son I feel broken. I don't understand the fucking appeal of being high. it's so wasteful; you could be doing so much more. so you don't have money. READ. You can't stand being at home? Walk. lots. go t grandmas. oh wait; you fucked that up, with your cocky stupid mouth talking all that shit, blind to the facts kicking you in the head. right.

you're not getting anywhere high. your little bullshit well if I can't train then I have nothing and so since I have nothing I get high - omg how fucking stupid is that? I didn't raise a fucking drug addict - but your dad did, and look where he's at. a loser. you can ask me for money and know that somehow I'll get it to you; but you can't depend on your dad. yet you follow his footsteps, listen to his shit, and do exactly what he does, spout off about shit you know nothing about.

I hate talking to him. I feel depressed and I can't think straight. I cry all night worried about my son, who doesn't fucking worry about me or what his actions do to me.

Oh my daughters can survive. They are practically carbon copies of me, complete with indominable wills and crazy ass drive. They can do anything. Why can't my son????