So much has happened this past year that I don't really know exactly where to begin...So, maybe it would be best to begin where I left off...Good place to start, right?
When a bomb is dropped, there is the initial huge explosion that occurs that causes mass destruction...but the destruction doesn't end there. There is "fallout" that happens months after the bomb is dropped. The same is true in recovery. Once we finally come to the conclusion that we are powerless, usually after we "drop a bomb," the wreckage of our past and the "fallout" for the poor choices we made continues on for months...sometimes, surprising us when we least expect it. My story is no different.
In the fall of last year, I began my road to recovery. At times I wish I could say it was an easy road, newly paved, so no bumps or potholes to speak of. However, the road to recovery that I have been traveling is not smooth nor straight. Its a very narrow road that is windy, with many twists and turns, ups and downs...very rocky and has its share of potholes and loose man-covers. I did well to stay on the straight and narrow, however as time crept on, the ashes and fallout from the destruction and wreckage of bomb continued to fill the sky and in January 2011, I hit a huge brick wall, that came out of no where, cutting off my road, causing a major detour.
In October when I had to resign from the job that I loved the most and pretty much lived for day-to-day, I had thought that was my "bottom" but I was wrong. In January, I was still in a very toxic relationship, my kids pretty much lived with my parents, I had no job, no income and was losing my house. My parents were not talking to me and had pretty much disowned me at this point. The truck I had worked so hard to purchase was inoperable due to catching fire after a road trip and I had no way of fixing it, let alone making the payments on it. This was a whole new low for me, another "bottom" I thought.
No longer wanting to be a burden in anyone's life, especially my parents as well as my children's, I decided there was only one thing left to do...to end it all. I was done, I was nowhere near the finish line, but was ready to conceit to this marathon and get off the road for good.
I woke up in a hospital room with tubes coming out of what seemed to be everywhere, and as I looked to my side, the first thing I saw as I came completely alert, was my dad, crying holding my hand. He moved the hair from my face, kissed me on the forehead, and told me he loved me. He gained his composure, then was gone. He returned two days later informing me that I could no longer go on like this, and he could no longer watch me self destruct. I was to let everything go and move into his house with my mother and my children and they would help me to get well, and rebuild my life.
Things were going well for me, for almost four months I stayed clean and sober. I was attending CA meetings once or twice a week. My friends were keeping me busy and taking me on many road trips and my family was relieved that I was not around so much. I was eating again, doing well with my Wellbutrin, no panic attacks or anxiety. I was feeling healthy and having much energy and had found love again. Did I finally find the cure? Was I finally on the right path?
