I wanted to be the best mother ever. In fact, I was going to right all the wrongs of my upbringing, that of my parents, and the result would be healthy, happy children who would go out into the world and do good, and perhaps, great things even. I failed. Miserably. My children were born sick, nearly died, and struggled with rage, depression, and drug use. They were molested and raped. Despite my best efforts. Most of their upbringing I felt confused, overwhelmed, angry, embarrassed, sad, and very depressed. Why?? I would ask myself. Why is it such a struggle? Why do they fight me? Why are they driven to make the awful choices they do? I want to guide and provide. They.wanted.none.of.it. "Good job, Mom!" "They were obviously raised right." "Well, of course they're great kids! Look what great role models for parents they had." I say nothing. I keep my dirty little parenting secrets private. Don't ask. Don't tell. "Don't blame yourself!" "Kids make their own choices!" "You did the best you could." "Us moms need to find someone to blame. Of course, it's always us!" Yeah, I know. I KNOW! Maybe there could have been something differently I could have done. In fact, I KNOW there was. I just didn't know it at the time. Too overwhelmed by their desperate needs. Although, it's not all bad. Daughter has seen the light at age 27. Saw a co-worker hurl a vicious verbal attack on her mother, devastating her and leaving her crying and sobbing. She saw herself in the role of the attacker. She didn't like the picture it painted. She apologized for everything. I apologized too. Though, I still tread carefully with her. I'm proud. She moved out of state and got a new job. Trying to make it on her own. It's been very tough and a financial struggle. Finding out the value of family and friends when their not so plentiful. There's growth in that. Maturity. I hope. Now for the bad news. The other kid. I mean adult. He's 22. He's not a typical adult male. At all. He looks 16 and has always struggled with appropriate behavior. Anger, mostly targeted at me. Very immature. Pothead too. Says he helps with his anxiety. I hate the smell. It's legal. He's why I'm writing this..whatever this is. "Son, why did you leave the window open?" Rude, nasty, and angry answer in response. It's always rude, nasty, and angry. I just don't get it. It's my fault he tells me for "messing with him". Be polite? That's "soft". He talks fast, arms waving. Argument ensues.I threaten to throw him out for the umteenth time. He slams the door. Don't see or hear him. I'm good with that. Then, just now, he walks in says, "I'm sorry". I tell him to sit. Let's talk. That went ok. I guess. For us. So hard to have a conversation. After 15 minutes, he leaves. I remained calm mostly. Cried a bit. He didn't like that. I just want peace. And for him to be a well-adjusted, functioning adult. He tells me he's one referral away from being fired from his job due to the inability to keep his angry mouth shut. Sigh.... I only all-to-well acquainted with it. My gut clenches. Worry. Lots of worries. Thanks for reading.