Spiraling
I really think I've lost control of my son. Yesterday I got a text from my Chase VISA card asking if I had made a suspicious charge. I had not. I got online and checked my account. There were a number of charges I hadn't made - Grubhub, amazon, Apple, etsy, and a few more. I got a sick feeling in my stomach. Called Chase and they listed a few more that hadn't shown up yet, totaling over $1,200. I listed the purchases I hadn't made and fortunately I'm not responsible for them. They canceled the card and will send me a new one.
I looked in WillJ's room and noticed the blinds were up on the window closest to the front porch. They're never up. Didn't take too much effort to figure out that he'd gotten my card number, probably from our amazon account, or just off the card in my wallet and written it down, and made Grubhub orders late at night, which were delivered to the front porch, he'd climbed out the window, gotten them and brought the food back in. There was a big delivery bag from McDonald's under his bed, and his trash can is jammed with takeout boxes. The boy does not know how to cover his tracks. There are other items of clothing in his room which I know I didn't buy him, as well as a couple of electronic items - small things. Apparently, he ordered some big ticket stuff from Apple. I don't know what he was thinking.
I picked him up from school and he asked how my day was. I told him lousy - I'd gotten a call from Chase about some unauthorized charges on my card, that they were going to do a Fraud investigation to find out who'd made them, gave him the total amount and said that since I'm not working right now I didn't know how I was going to pay for it all. He was quiet after that. We were going directly to his therapist appointment, and I'd called and told her all about it. He sent me a text from her office saying he'd made the charges, was sorry, and had canceled his orders. Like that makes it OK. He wonders why I can't trust him. It breaks my heart that I can't. I can't trust a damn thing he says.
I'm trying. God knows I'm trying. But he's really making my life hell right now. I wish I could afford therapy. He's getting it, but only once a week for 45 minutes. But I need it. I don't sleep; I'm depressed; I get nothing done; it's affecting my health, mental, emotional, and physical. And not having insurance right now, this is not the time for things to start going wrong. I'll talk about his rages later. Or maybe I've already talked about them, in which case I'll talk about them again.
If you are the praying type, pray for me. Say hello.
I looked in WillJ's room and noticed the blinds were up on the window closest to the front porch. They're never up. Didn't take too much effort to figure out that he'd gotten my card number, probably from our amazon account, or just off the card in my wallet and written it down, and made Grubhub orders late at night, which were delivered to the front porch, he'd climbed out the window, gotten them and brought the food back in. There was a big delivery bag from McDonald's under his bed, and his trash can is jammed with takeout boxes. The boy does not know how to cover his tracks. There are other items of clothing in his room which I know I didn't buy him, as well as a couple of electronic items - small things. Apparently, he ordered some big ticket stuff from Apple. I don't know what he was thinking.
I picked him up from school and he asked how my day was. I told him lousy - I'd gotten a call from Chase about some unauthorized charges on my card, that they were going to do a Fraud investigation to find out who'd made them, gave him the total amount and said that since I'm not working right now I didn't know how I was going to pay for it all. He was quiet after that. We were going directly to his therapist appointment, and I'd called and told her all about it. He sent me a text from her office saying he'd made the charges, was sorry, and had canceled his orders. Like that makes it OK. He wonders why I can't trust him. It breaks my heart that I can't. I can't trust a damn thing he says.
I'm trying. God knows I'm trying. But he's really making my life hell right now. I wish I could afford therapy. He's getting it, but only once a week for 45 minutes. But I need it. I don't sleep; I'm depressed; I get nothing done; it's affecting my health, mental, emotional, and physical. And not having insurance right now, this is not the time for things to start going wrong. I'll talk about his rages later. Or maybe I've already talked about them, in which case I'll talk about them again.
If you are the praying type, pray for me. Say hello.