February 9th, 2015
I can feel my head hurting before I even open my eyes. My mouth is dry and I’m sore all over. I look over to my right and the bed is empty. It feels cold and lonely. I look to my left and I see a shot glass, some water, and my cell phone. It slowly started coming into my mind. Snipits. Teeny flashes of embarrassment. How could I have done this? How could I have allowed myself to get so bad that one night almost ended me. It all came down to that. That one dreadful February evening. I don’t know if I was relieved or disappointed that I woke up. At the time probably the latter.
I don’t remember much of this day. It was all a blur. I looked up mental hospitals. I had just recently started taking my bipolar meds before this evening. I was convincing myself they were making me drink. I thought if I could get away for a little while. But what about my kids? I can’t run, I need to face what I’ve done. I had my mom come over and I went to an aa meeting. I walked in feeling broken, bruised, and just dead inside. I didn’t think I had any tears left but sure enough as I’m spilling my guts to a group of strangers they just keep falling. They were kind. They listened. They were welcoming. I still go back to that meeting. I anxiously head home. By now James will have been home from work. I haven’t seen him. I come in and I see it in his eyes. He’s broken. I’ve done this to him. I’ve done this to us. He holds me and we both cry this time.
The 364 days after
My story does have a happy ending. I’ve made amends. I’ve fixed broken bridges. I’ve got my marriage back. Happy children. My self esteem. My appreciation for life. For the people who never left my side. This year wasn’t always easy. Nothing worth it will be. I fought. I carried on. Pretty soon the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. I made it a priority to always celebrate my small victories. A choice to tell my story to others. It’s painful to write but it holds me accountable. If my story can help one person who is struggling then I’ve done my job.
February 9th, 2016
I wake up this morning. No headache. No feeling of absolute dread. I look to my right and my husband and is happily sleeping next to me. I reach over and rub his back to remind me he is there today. I’m so lucky he’s here with me. At the foot of my bed I feel a little body. My son must have had a bad dream. I loved waking up to him in my bed. This morning I woke up to a bed filled with love. Filled with hope. I went into my boys room and kissed my youngest. Their innocence makes me cry. I hope they don’t remember when I dragged them into my mess. I survived this year. I fought the hardest fight of my life and I won. I’ve cried so many tears this morning. As I go about my day I’ll hold my head a little higher and my smile a little brighter. Miracles happen everyday. I’m convinced of that. It’s because of a miracle I’m here today. Sober. Happy. Content.