My son is 25 yrs old and living on the street's in our community. He's on probation. Isn't following through with any of the number of things stipulated in his probation. And has yet to be violated. Regardless of the fact that we have called police on him ourselves. And tried effortlessly to contact his probation officer. Who will never return our calls or answer us. He comes home long enough to take a shower, give me his dirty laundry in exchange for clean laundry. Let me fill his backpack/s with food. And repair the tire on yet a different bike in his possession. I go day's and weeks without hearing from him. I call hospitals, jails, morgues, police stations, and file missing person reports. When he does show up.... He always has a story. He's been shot at, robbed (over 50 times, I might add) of his measly possessions, he's been beat up, his tent set on fire, his multiple phones stolen and broken, he's been knifed, his foodstamps stolen (we've replaced 4 cards and I currently hold it in my possession so he cannot use it to exchange for drug's and as a way to lure him home, so I know he's alive). When he does come home for brief periods of time, he smells like a dumpster, his eye's are dilated, he talks a mile a minute about conspiracy theories, aliens chasing him, shadow people, and other odd things I cannot begin to wrap my head around. Sometimes he's just talkative. Other time's he's sad and depressed and wants to sleep for hour's and days on end. And on some occasions he's volatile. He's attacked me in the past. Throws violent temper tantrums and outbursts. He tells me he uses "meth" to stay awake on the street's. That he does it solely for this purpose. Because he's afraid to fall asleep. He was a beautiful baby. I was a terrible mom. I loved him. Very much. But I was young. I was not equipped to raise a baby. And so my parents adopted him. They loved him unconditionally. They more than provided for his every need and desire. He went to the best school's. He had the best toys. The best vacations. My father adored him. My parents loved him beyond measure. He grew up with the love of music and drawing. And could play the guitar and the piano. He made beautiful artwork. And wrote amazing poems and song lyrics. He was always a little different. He would crawl from his room at 2 years old and climb the counters. You'd find him on top of the refrigerator. Or he'd stack chairs and unbolt every extra lock on the door and run deep into the corn field's in the dead of night. He was beyond curious. He was diagnosed ADD, then ADHD, then Bipolar, then Schizophrenic.... He saw the best doctor's. It's Attachment Disorder. It's Maniac Depression. Medication after medication. Dropping out of school. And boy was he smart. Almost too smart. He truly could have been anything he set his mind to. A doctor, a lawyer, a scientist, a pilot... Anything. But he chose dope. He chose the streets. He chose to be homeless. He rebelled against any type of authority. We've put him in rehabs. He leaves. We take him to appointments.. He won't follow through. We set time's and places... He won't show up. We search for him around all the places we know to look and he hides. I continue to try because I feel guilty. Even though he says he forgives me and how much he love's me... Is he still angry at me?! Am I not doing enough?! Did I fail him?! Am I still failing him?! Maybe this time I'll get through to him?! I'm his Mom... I gave up once. I can't give up again. He has a daughter of his own. He lost custody. They both did. They loved the street's and dope more. She is almost 5 now. Does he think about her? Does he regret his choices? Does she look like him? My husband and I have an 11 yr old at home still. The older children understand more. His sister's try to help him. His 17 yr old brother keeps his distance, because it hurts too much. But our 11 yr old doesn't see the drugs and the street's. He knows. But all he sees is the brother that play's video games with him. The brother that teaches him to draw. And talks Pokemon with him. And then he leaves, as suddenly as he showed up. Leaving us with all the unanswerable questions. Like... "Where is he going?", "When will he be back?", "Why won't he stay?", "Where does he live and what does he do?". So we're honest. What more can we be? He understands far too much for his age. But he has something we've begun to lose.... Hope. We live in a society that if you are foreign and sneak into our country... You are offered anything and everything for free. But if you were born here, have mental health issues, and/or drug and alcohol addictions... You are not allowed the same services. Yes, there is MediCal community based programs that offer little to no help. He meets every criteria for their help and he's still denied. And private rehabilitation... That blows my mind. Yes, they accept some personal health insurance.... $1000 a day for detox and $850 a day thereafter for treatment. What mentally handicapped or drug and/or alcohol abusing person has maintained a job to afford insurance, let alone the cost of what private pay would be?!?! For Godsakes, his PO has the ability to commit him to inpatient treatment and won't! Instead we are told "don't enable him", "tell him no", all while I watch my phone for the last phone call I might get. How do I get up every morning and just wait?! What do I tell my poor mother, every time she calls me in tears about him? What do I tell my children about their brother? What do I tell myself?! I don't even know this boy anymore. He doesn't even know himself. Who could he be? Is he even still in there? Has he done so much damage, that even if God willing he got help, would he ever be "normal"? Could he function in society without constant help? I ask myself these questions and 100 more just like it, everyday. How do I save my son while protecting my other children and myself? He's only 25. He should have his whole life ahead of him. 25. And all I can think, is I'm going to outlive my child. I'm going to do what no mother... Myself or my own mother... Should have to do.