Again and Again and Again….

Our story always gets better! So I was having some company the other day and naturally decided to do some housecleaning. The worst room in the house? My 17-year-old’s, of course. She was at work, so I did the usual stuff—picked up the dirty clothes and put them in the hamper, threw away the abundant trash, made the bed…then I needed to vacuum, so I picked up the random junk off the floor, including a nice small box by the side of her bed.

I opened it and it STUNK from marijuana. The box was her stash—a glass pipe with sticky residue, a few boxes that sift out the leaves, a little baggie of pot, and general paraphernalia. I’m sure they all have names; I just don’t know what they are. After pacing a good bit and cursing out loud, I texted her to call me ASAP.

She did what you’d think, the typical bullsh*t—pretended that she forgot about it, said she hadn’t even smoked in soooo long, claimed it wasn’t hers…etc. I told her I was throwing it out and she angrily said that was fine, but I should save the boxes so she could give them to someone. I screamed and carried on and told her how disappointed I am. She, on the other hand, was cold and didn’t apologize or react the way I’d hoped. She was entirely stoic, which is the wrong response in my opinion.

I’m ridiculous, possibly weak—I actually washed them in the dishwasher, scrubbed out the box, and let her dispose of them as she saw fit. They’re not in my house or her car, but I still should’ve thrown them out anyway. I know it, but I didn’t do it. You don’t have to beat me up; I already have.

I feel like it’s all hopeless. I try so hard to trust my child, try to give her the benefit of the doubt because she can be loving, lovely, and lucid—but sometimes I think she has a borderline personality and cannot empathize  and have normal emotions that don’t involve herself.