I mean, we’ve all had bad days. But dang, this one wanted to do me in. It was about a month and a half after my suicide attempt. I was drinking again but trying so hard not to. I just couldn’t walk out the door. I kept trying. I had to get to work. I kept circling the family room. The really sad part of this, we had moved, and I hated this house. It felt alive and like it was always squeezing me. Yet, I couldn’t get out. I finally took a deep breath, walked down the stairs to the front door with purpose and ….fell in a pile of dog crap at the bottom of the steps. I kid you not. Down I went. Landed in it. Purse on my shoulder, phone in my hand and I just sat there. Crying. I didn’t move. I didn’t get up. I just sat there. For about an hour or so.
My husband called. Work called him because I didn’t come in and they couldn’t get in touch with me. I answered the phone sobbing. I just couldn’t get up. I didn’t have any alcohol and that was usually how I managed to get out of the house. But I was trying so hard not to drink. I felt shattered. Like a mirror that fell off the wall and every part of me was in slivers that couldn’t be pieced back together. My husband was at a loss. He tried being gentle. I think he got in touch with my cousin and my sister. They started texting me. I got myself back to my kitchen. I cleaned up and stayed in. I took a lot of deep breaths and I made it through the day.
People loved me a lot. That’s how I made it through the depression and the bad days. I feel like I was loved back to health. Speak the truth in love. You get heard that way.
