Matt is truly ill and it hurts beyond belief to see him in pain yet he hasn’t a clue he’s even sick. I have so much hate in my heart, not for my son but for my son’s debilitating disease. Schizophrenia is a real nightmare and it kills me knowing that unless he gets on meds, he’s doomed to a life of existing.
This evening he asked, “Hey dad, could you buy me a pack of cigarettes?” What could I say? “No son. Smoking will kill you.” Right now he hasn’t a clue that in two days, he’ll be back on the streets and he’ll be sleeping by the creek that runs thru San Diego. If ciararettes provide a little bit of comfort then I’d buy him a crate.
Tomorrow morning we head to the DMV to get him an ID and then to the bank to get him a replacement debit card. I know he’ll lose both in the coming days but what can I do other than help him. Even if he loses them, he knows he’s loved and I cared about. The thing is, he’s still a loving soul caged in a sick mind. This too will pass