What a whirlwind, running in circles, tear stained pillow cases, quiet lonely nights calling to God to please take me home before the sun rises, fighting for my life, sifting through the rubble that I created. All the while knowing I was the impact, but I also had to be the glue.
In 365 days I packed up all my belongings, all the items packed away in each box dampened from tears. I said goodbye to the 4 walls that echoed with my babies laughter, and smelled like muffins I baked afterschool. Their heights all measured on the back of the door. I sat outside that last summer night and looked at the swing set and garden and trampoline, and I wept for every memory. This was my home and in one day it was no longer mine.
I fell apart.
In these 365 days I wondered each day how did I let this happen. It was my damn job to protect these innocent beings from pain and I failed them.
The first night daddy was gone I held my daughter as her small body shook and sobbed sorrowful tears begging for daddy to come back. I listened as she sat in the tub and wondered aloud if this was all her fault cause, she questioned if maybe I hadn't spent so much time loving her i would have made more time to love daddy just as much. My baby boy only 5 years old slept after a day at school and his teacher reported he just kept saying hes "sad" He didn't even have the words but it was clear as this active silly boy had lost something too.
Within these 365 I kept going to work, and white knuckled my days to just fucking keep it together. Until I couldn't anymore. I took my last phone call and sat in front of my computer and wept big tears, the call centre floor started to spin. I logged off my phone I spent 90 days busting my ass to train for, to try and give my kids a good start and I walked out. I fell apart a little more.
A broken mess.
In 365 days I moved all my belongings into a cute little apartment. Dressed the walls and fluffed the nest but it didn't feel like home. Back and forth I went between "Wow...i did this..i am so brave...."...and "Wow...i did this...What The FUCK did I do?!?."
No one seemed to have an answer to that to soothe me except this one friend. She leaned over and said "Its ok I got you...we can solve this together."
At first sip she was comfort, she made every fucked up feeling go away, every bit of guilt disappear, all the confusion make sense somehow. She made those first lonely nights here without my kids feel not so lonely. So I wanted her here every night. Sips became glasses, glasses became bottles. Soon my "friend" actually started to make the darkness darker and the lonely summer nights on my balcony more lonely. Till she had me questioning if I jumped from the 3rd floor if I could actually kill myself or would I just be badly injured.
I couldn't get out of bed most days. I was filled with shame at who I had become.
I wanted to take my life. I decided my friend had to go.
She's not leaving without a fight. She keeps banging on the door and sometimes on those empty cold nights I want to let her in. There's a silent voice here now that says "Don't let her in...She's not really your friend"
I mean what kind of a friend shouts aloud to take your own life?
365 days of literally fighting to survive. I'm proud to say I did in fact survive. So tonight as I ring in 2018 I celebrate that I'm still here to celebrate it. There's a new feeling of hope that maybe this year will be the year I transform, and I'm finally able to see all the collateral beauty.