NATIONAL SUICIDE PREVENTION DAY

I’m horrified. I knew all about Invisible Illness Week and wrote about my chronic pain and Fibromyalgia but just found out today that its National Suicide Prevention Day? Something is so wrong here. Why didn’t I know this day was coming and if I didn’t know, I bet you many people didn’t either. That’s shameful.

#83452194 / gettyimages.com

I feel embarrassed and I also feel ashamed for the people who put this together for not advertising it better. This is NOT something to take lightly, I think we need a RE-DO here, maybe another one next month? Actually, how about one every month? Now, that, is a great idea. We need more prevention and mental health funding!!!

I’m here now and I’m begging anyone who is contemplating suicide to please stop for a second or two and take a deep breath. Thanks. I’m not asking for your whole life but how about a minute? Just read one more sentence.

Think about the people who love you, truly love you, who you will leave behind. People  who WANT you in their lives in any shape, in any mood. They love YOU, the way you are, unconditionally. I’m a mom, I know about unconditional love.

#481812971 / gettyimages.com

Depression is no fun, we know. We’ve all been through it but there is more help now and different medications and I’m positive that you know at least one good friend or one sister or brother, husband, wife, lover or cousin that would stay with you and help you. There better be, because they would have to answer to me if they don’t.

Instead of taking your life, write your thoughts down, put them on Facebook, email a friend. Email ME. I will listen. I will hold your hand, at least through the computer, and I’m no genius or therapist or doctor.

I’m a regular, really nothing special person, that loves dogs more than people, adores jelly doughnuts, hates to exercise, am technically clueless (ask the people at the Invisible Illness Week) but somehow muddle through things, through life. My life hasn’t been easy, you need to trust me on this one. I can’t lie, it shows on my face in a second.

So, do me a favor, take a few deep breaths, walk away from wherever you are and call a friend, or a hotline, listed below, TELL SOMEONE YOU NEED THEM. ASAP.

Communicate and reach out. But, please, don’t harm yourself, it won’t solve anything and will destroy those that love you. I don’t know you but I know you are worth it, you are worth another day, and the day after  and many days after until you can wake up one day and think back and say “Wow, that was close but I’m so happy I didn’t go through with it.” Then, you too, can help people step away and to live their lives as they should. You will be their hero. I can see it now. I just know it.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 1-800-273-TALK

FWF, Kellie Elmore, Pain

Uncle Wally

My name is Wally, though people used to call me Mr. Dawson. I barely remember those days but I was you, Mister Fancy Suit, a long time ago. I had a great family and a job I loved, until my life changed and I became who I am today. My whole body is wracked in pain, every bone and muscle, even the inside of my head hurts all the time.

Pain (Photo credit: Rickydavid)

My liver and kidneys are rotting, orange like rust. I have lots of pain when I am sober enough to look at my life long enough to remember. It lasts only a minute or two, then I pop a handful of pills, drink two or three shots of cheap whiskey

 

and vodka or whatever I can get my hands on just to dull the edges around my sorry life.

I got the needle tracks on my arms, but today I’m hurting with no more crack or heroin to get me through the day. My friend Ben said he’ll come meet me at this here bar. He still isn’t here and I’m going through hell.

English: 2 Gs of Tweak (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

People don’t believe me when I tell them that I was  a white-collar, middle-class family man for more than twenty-five years. I had a little office, a desk and chair. I was a loyal employee and where did that get me? It got me nothing, that’s for sure. I put in all my hours, never took a sick day once and still they let me go.

I dealt with unemployment well the first year, I went on interviews but after a year and a half things slowed down. People weren’t returning my calls, I would interview for jobs and they would never say if I got the job or if I didn’t. I would call up and ask and people never returned the call. First, I thought it was just me but then I talked to some other guys, women too, who had lost their jobs and the same thing was happening to them, to everyone I knew.

I’d spent my whole adult life working here, every single day, being the husband to my wife Adele and the father to Gordon and Jennifer. Why, my office was a mini-vacation for my kids. every year they spent some time with me in “Daddy’s big office.” I loved that, when they came in and Mom made us all sandwiches from home. She’d do something special for herself that day, like get her hair done or her nails and I was so proud that I could give that to her. She was the best wife and mother you could ask for in a person.

Liquid Dinner (Photo credit: Rolling Okie)

What happened to the great country I lived in? No money coming in, now Adele was working part-time. Finally, something inside me died. I couldn’t stand it anymore it hurt so much that I started drinking a lot to dull the pain, I drank around the clock, I stopped shaving and wouldn’t leave the house. My wife used to scream at me, she said I was a “bad influence on the kids.” We fought all the time.

I was a nasty drunk too. Adele, threw me out. The last straw was when I got real angry, so angry that I slapped my wife, well, I pushed her and she turned pale, she was scared of me. She had every right. I was not the man she married. I was not the husband she loved, the father of her children. I was an addict but I didn’t want help, I just wanted out.

I grabbed a few of my things and stuffed them into a bag. The kids were at school and Adele was working. I took our savings money and I left. I walked out the door thinking it would be better for them. I thought I did the right thing, looking at me now, three years later, I am convinced I was right.

 

 

 

 

Smelling Change, Part 2 (2 weeks ago)

Illustration of the Devil in the Codex Gigas, folio 270 recto (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A follow-up to “Smelling Change” where I was highly optimistic….

It was a long week or two that followed that one amazing day of innocence.

 

WHAT THE HELL WAS I  THINKING?

 

At least I thought things were going to change for the better.

I know, nice try. The thought of happiness and joy, like being enveloped in a soft pink cotton shawl didn’t work at all. Maybe it was a lot of bull—-. Maybe I was just in a really good, positive, affirming mood that day. I’ve tried so hard, you know I have, but I went from gratitude and perseverance to sadness, depression and disgust. Now, I’m plain fed up.

The fantasy of hope was delicious for a few days, like savoring a spoonful of a rich, vanilla bean ice cream twirling on your tongue, letting it melt and slowly swallowing. A tantalizing, sensual process. I lick my lips with the tip of my tongue.

 

Now?

I have lost all feelings. I’m in an empty, lonely place and that scares me more than any situational depression. I am a woman with great emotions, always, good or bad, high or low and now I feel like I am pressed in a corner, invisible, except for the dust bunnies that surround me. My husband will most likely vacuüm around me but not see. He prides himself on his vacuuming skills.

Worst of all, now I feel nothing. If you can feel numbness, that’s what I feel. Things haven’t been going well at all. I feel alone, not the “we’re in this together” support that usually holds us closer together. We may watch television together but he holds his cell phone in his hand playing games and not my hand.

Droid Apps Cell Phone (Photo credit: GoodNCrazy)

This is the person who was my support system, my best friend in the world. Whoever is living in the same house now, I do not know. He’s a stranger to me. Yes, I am here, imperfect, with all my flaws and disabilities but I have raised our children and have done a great job of doing that. I need more in my life than emptiness, and sitting on my bed to eat alone. I have my dog who keeps me company, I enjoy that.

I feel sad when I write this, is that a good sign? I know all couples go through good and bad times. It’s not the very first time this has happened in 25 years but of course, it feels that way.

When my husband brought up my disability, Fibromyalgia, in a threatening/demeaning way, “when I get a job, things will be different because you are sick” what the HELL did he mean by that? AM I NOW supposed to apologize for my pain? Get down on my hands and knees, scrub the floors but not be able to get up?

That was insulting to me and to my Fibromyalgia sisters and brothers, something I will not accept.

EVER

 

underwater fibro fogSigh,

We both need to work harder to communicate more clearly. Over and over again. Riding the waves, up and down, in and out; there are never new problems, just old problems recycled again and again.

The work is endless, the peaks and valleys are like that of an EKG. Everyone has problems, we go up, we go down like waves on the beach, we’ve been down together for a long time. Are we ever going to be able to get up? To rejoice? We, have lost all hope in the world, not in us, but in the world.

We are both under a lot of stress and have been for many months, we both realize that. But, we are on the same team and need to rally, once again to support each other. To keep each others hopes and dreams alive.

An Open Letter To Ellen Degeneres

English: Ellen DeGeneres in 2009. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dear Ellen, I hope you don’t mind me addressing this to you, I just need someone to listen, someone who cares about other people. I thought you were the right person even though I’m sure you will NEVER see it. That’s okay. With the exception of a few best friends I’ve learned the hard way that other people are too busy in their own lives to care.

I DON’T WANT ANYTHING FROM YOU.

I guess I’m trying to think and talk out loud here. I’m lost, and have no idea what happened to me, I have no idea who I am either though I used to know so clearly.

Have I just become a mountain of symptoms trying to blend themselves together in a jig saw puzzle where no piece fits? I’ve made changes, I stay away from negative people, I try to be as kind as possible and pay it forward when I can but still trouble follows me like a black cloud.

Believe me, I am NOT asking for pity. I don’t want anyone’s pity, if I want pity I give it to myself, underneath my three layers of blankets, with the door shut tight, my dog lying next to me on my bed. I don’t want pep talks either, encouraging me that it “is just a phase.” This phase is my life and I have accepted it, I just don’t understand it.  When I try to fight against the “down” period, people tell me not to do that and to be positive. Everything is a mixed message.

You have the natural talent to bring joy to others just by being yourself, I love that.

Right now, I am a huge collection of symptoms that I don’t mind sharing, I’m 57, there are people who are 97 that are healthier than I am. From head to toe: narrow angled glaucoma (eyes) many, MANY painful treatments in my eyes to try to correct that, but its a life long condition, hearing loss (had stapedectomy-operation for ears) the dreaded Eppiglottitis, I don’t wish on my worst enemy, I shiver at the thought, (open, gaping wounds below the throat,) horrific TMJ, shooting pains from my jaw/ear to my brain causing me to scream with agony caused by any random thing and some other facial myalgia the doctors threw at me) which I don’t even count. I have IBS, Fibromyalgia, Fatigue, No energy, Chronic muscle and joint pain, Fibro Fog (not remembering something someone said a minute ago.) General Anxiety Disorder, Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis (an auto immune disease of the thyroid) foot pain, wait, the most recent one and most deadly,  Kidney Failure, Stage 3? (No one ever told me about Stage one or two) I think I’ll stop here.

Now for the social things, I can’t work because of the above illnesses, my husband was laid off for the second time and still is not working. We have two fabulous children who are attending two different state universities and a dog (our second) I rescued from a shelter.

I want you to know that we ARE thankful for our blessings, we truly are. Writing this down makes me realize that even more.Thank you for listening, sometimes it is good to write it down and look at it on paper.

But, am I jinxed? Is this what they call “going through a rough patch?” Whenever I feel I’ve reached bottom something else happens. Do you only know where the bottom is when you finally start climbing up slowly? Isn’t it possible to stay down here forever?

I guess I just have to accept what is going on now, breathe slowly in and out and believe that something good will happen. Someday.

Please don’t “like” this post. I don’t.

Energy

Physical and Emotional Energy

Energy, or lack thereof, is one of the main complaints of all the varied yet connected physical illnesses I have. I honestly don’t remember what energy feels like anymore, except for the brief time when I was on Prednisone. I felt half my age and filled with methamphetamines. The world looked bright, I appreciated every second of being in that world, I felt grandiose, I was so happy to have this reprieve to what I perceived as “back to normal.”

When I had to taper down slowly I understood that this was not a drug to take for a long time. But, I distinctly remember when the drug disappeared from my body. Similar to the colorful, glorious leaves in Autumn slipping slowing to the ground until none were left… .. I looked up and saw only dry, miserable lonely branches. I remember specifically the day that the medicine left my body completely, I put my head in my arms and sobbed. There was an old movie called “Cocoon,” where elderly people were given the gift of youth for a short time, their bodies replenished, their illnesses healed, their faces back to their youthful selves. They seemed so happy until the potion wore off.

Of course the potion wore off, doesn’t it always? Aging is inevitable, loss of hearing, sight, lack of energy. I have been without that energy, that youthful quality for over seven years now but not just from aging gracefully, I could handle that. I am lying in bed with my back twisted, the heating pad behind me, feeling quite sorry for myself for actually being disappointed that I had to cancel a dentist appointment because of back pain. If that’s not pathetic, what is? It was a place to go, to get out of bed, leave the house and drive, to talk to new people, nice people, unknown people.Who understands this except other people with these disorders?

I blame my Thyroid (Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis) and Fibromyalgia for my lack of energy yet I blame the nasty, hateful people around me for draining me, for stripping me of happy energy for my soul. They are not to blame, however, I blame myself for allowing them to do that. I control me. This is my responsibility, not their responsibility. Let them rip each other apart if they want to, I don’t have to be involved with it anymore. That is my choice.

I will control whatever energy I have left. Physically and Spiritually.

LAF Photography

FWF Kellie Elmore

“We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall.” — Louise Erdrich, Tracks

I was weary, weak beyond anyone’s mind could see. It wasn’t just my physical pain that had failed me, I was used to pain. It stayed with me like a shadow every day and night of my life. This was different, this was emotional, mind pain that wrapped itself around my neck and pulled tight. I knew I could breathe but I felt like I couldn’t, like some evil demon was choking me, I could practically see inside myself, red, raw lines around my throat from the choke marks. This would be my undoing. I hoped it was.

I knew I couldn’t fight and the hysteria that I felt came bubbling up like a spring on a hot, dry day. I was out of control, lots of pills, lots of pills. Weed too. I could see the water but I couldn’t taste it or feel it. As much as I knew that logically, it didn’t prevent me from continually trying, again, the pain getting deeper, the vice holding my throat deepening every second. I was only thirteen but I had lived a thousand years already, I wanted to die, I was not scared of death. That was not a fear I had.

I knew what I was up against, I already had been living on the streets my whole life. It didn’t matter. No pills I bought from the street, that I dry swallowed, could lessen that inside feeling of feeling out of control. It was a horrible feeling, so I tried more pills, pink, blue, white, lots of colors. Like in a magazine, little pretty children wandering alone, not being able to find their mother in the middle of a busy city, constantly calling out, yet nobody would answer them. They were lost but not found. It did not have a happy ending. All these children could do was cry and be afraid and the story would finish just the way it started. I knew better than that. I kept popping more pills, nothing was happening to me. Yet.

Sometimes that’s the way the world works. Not everything gets tied up perfectly with a pink, lace ribbon, curled on the ends. Not everyone is a tiny ballerina on stage, showered with perfect red roses after a performance on their pointed pink ballet shoes. No, that was for dreamers and I was no dreamer. That was for people, the very tiny amount of people that lived in the rich life I never came in contact with but I heard about or read about it. My mother was a junkie, she lived on the streets, sometimes but not with me, no. I saw my mom who I called “Destiny” shooting up heroin in a corner, on a street. We didn’t say hello to each other. Usually she was so out of it she wouldn’t know me. When I recognized her, I pretended I didn’t. Me, popping pills, her doing heroin.

I was a street child, a crazy one at that. I lived here and there, whatever place I decided was mine for the night. The only name my mother ever called me was “gutter-child.” That’s the only name I knew.

National Invisible Illness Week: September 9 – 15th

Fibromyalgia Eye (Photo credit: Vinally2010)

Who am I?  Can you see me ? Over here. The woman with the curly brown hair, green eyes, the one sitting down on the bench inside Target or the supermarket. No, I’m not lazy, I’m tired. Did I sleep well? No, but I don’t usually sleep well even though I have medication for that. Do I feel rested when I wake up, eager to take on the world. Well, no but I am older. How old? I’ll be 57 in two weeks. Well, it might not sound old to you, to me it’s ancient.

I have a childhood friend who claims she has Fibromyalglia  but refuses to see a rheumatologist. What? Yes, she sees a general doctor, one who knows about endocrinology for her thyroid.Do YOU see the point? Right, me either.  I have tried so hard to help her feel better but I’ve stopped, she obviously doesn’t want to feel better, she wants to complain.I grew up with her, no other bond, my mother remembers she’s been complaining since she was five, I remember it too.

I had to go to neurologist after I suddenly fell, on my back and test after test came out perfectly normal except for one: I had no balance. He had me walk a straight line in his office as if he was a police officer and I was a drunken driver. I zig -zagged on that line as if I had an overdose of margaritas and tequila sunrises and amaretto sours, mixed together in a huge bathtub big enough to fill a college party.

“Hmm” he said, “you have no balance” I nodded my head, up and down, ‘yes, I said, I know’ but he shrugged his shoulders and sent me away and said “I was fine.” If I was fine, why didn’t I have any balance? “Oh, it’s probably your Fibromyalgia…”he said. I’ve found now that when doctors don’t know what you have and they know you have Fibromyalgia that’s the answer they give. Nobody wants to take the time to figure it out, they don’t care, half of them don’t believe in the diagnosis anyway; since we don’t have many answers let’s all lump the various symptoms together toss them into a bag and label them Fibromyalgia. That’s easy.

What’s not easy is not having a cure and there really no potential in site. I happen to have a wonderful rheumatologist in the city and he is not only incredibly knowledgeable, he also really cares and that is an amazing combination and very hard to find. I don’t have as much pain as others but I have no energy. I can do one or two errands depending on the day and I never know in advance. It’s hard to make plans. Close friends understand, others don’t, want to know who your true friends are? Oh, it’s not hard at all.

I have a handicapped parking sticker for my county, you should see the dirty looks I get sometimes when I try to get out of the car. People judge on no information, they don’t ask, they immediately judge. They don’t notice the pain in my eyes from sitting in my car trying to stand up? No. So they notice the pain in the back of my eyes so I don’t cry out?  I don’t look “sick” is that it? That’s what I thought.Do not judge me or my handicapped sticker, I don’t judge you.

There it is, I don’t look sick therefore I must not be sick? Wrong. If my legs were in casts or my arms and shoulders too perhaps you would understand, but just because my pain is in the inside doesn’t mean I’m not sick. Sometimes, I wish I could show you my pain, physically. because emotionally, you’ve already done your very best to make me feel like worse than I already do. Maybe you could stick my whole body in plaster, maybe then you would understand.

The Moment A Tear Falls

DISTRESS (Photo credit: Davi Ozolin)

Blue. Medium Blue, not Light Blue. Medium to Dark Blue. Not Black, Definitely Not Black. That’s what I was, for some time, I wasn’t happy. I started looking for answers to why I was so blue, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t think; I was trapped within myself. There had been anger and tension in my extended family and I looked everywhere to find answers; I was depressed, you don’t need a reason for depression. It is, it just happens, you feel sad, alone and it is also contagious. My husband has been depressed for several months, my rock, my person to lean on, it shook me up, not that I knew it when it was happening. I was searching for something, anything, anywhere but in essence, I had forgotten an important thing. I had forgotten about me.

I wanted to run, hide, have people help me through these feelings that I didn’t like, depression, feeling blue, blah and everything that comes with it. Little things just added to my depression. “I was quite surprised when I dragged myself in to see my therapist and she asked if there was anything I was looking forward to?” I literally looked at her as if SHE was crazy. I had nothing to look forward to, but she could tell that by just glancing at my face.

Now, since the fog has lifted a bit, I can try to look forward to another day on this earth though when you are severely depressed that is not an option. You can’t. Aside from Fibromyalgia, an Auto-Immune disorder and some physical pain I don’t have a disease that is life threatening (well, not yet.) I  should have been thankful for that but you can’t see it that way; It just doesn’t fit into the pattern. You just want to lie still in bed, under the  blankets.

I stopped searching for all things outside my life and one day I felt a cloud gently lift, literally by inches, I pictured as a venetian blind being pulled up slowly and just a bit. I didn’t want to get excited but I noticed it and that itself felt good. Cautiously, I waited until the next day and the next and I was feeling a little better. I had stopped reaching outside and started looking within, when I started to cry, really cry and get angry I thought that it was a good sign. Who said “Depression is anger towards inward?” A bunch of psychiatrists including Freud and in my case, I have to admit, I agree.

If you haven’t been through (even a mini) depression you really can’t relate, I was let in, however, to a world I had never seen and it scared me half to death. My empathy for people with depression is stronger, I had never been depressed before. I saw a part of your pain, a glimpse really and I don’t want to go back.

Venetian blind, detail (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

all photos used are property of the owners.

Escape To The Bedroom

8773 – St Petersburg – Hermitage – Aphrodite (Photo credit: thisisbossi)

I’m so tired, my eyes are threatening to close and go on strike forever. I see puffs of clouds through jagged corners of my weary green eyes.  Believe me, I don’t want to fight you, I just want to go under my covers and sleep. It is the fourth day of gray, cold, damp weather and I try to pretend I am not even here. My Fibromyalgia tender points are raw, if I even touch one gently with my soft finger I scream with pain. It’s as if a rainbow of sharply pointed colored pencils plunge deeply into my tender points with the power of a strong hammer, the tip of bold silver needles aiming for precision. There is no cure and no release, not on these cold, damp days. Welcome to my chronic world.

I am taking a trip now, escaping under my blankets, where I belong. It is warm and sunny, I regret not having stronger sun glasses.  I am wearing a short, dark blue denim skirt that I haven’t been able to fit into for 20 years, I have a white V neck short-sleeved top with stunning embroidery around the lace yoke, a colorful beaded necklace around my neck, blue, yellow, pink, purple beads held together with silver strands. I am wearing silver sandals and freshly painted pink toes and I am smiling, happily. I move my head to catch the breeze and my hair feels like it is joyously dancing. I am not alone.

My lips have just been brushed, my breath stalled, the lightness of butterfly wings with unfamiliar lips brushing mine and lingering for a second too long to think it was an accident. It is just a touch, which makes my heart start to beat rapidly, and I have  t rouble regulating my breath. Both of us linger, for a second, in the air as we try to understand what just happened. That first question of possible romance and sexual curiosity being stirred up after such a long time. Who knew that they still existed? I thought they were gone forever, I fooled myself into thinking that because it made my dreary life easier.

‘I feel awkward and shy, my cheeks blushing pink, childishly and I try to hide my face from my new love but he misses nothing. He curls his hand and gently strokes my cheek, lovingly as if I was a precious gift. He looks at me as if I am his treasure, I don’t remember feeling like anyone’s object of worship ever before. This is separate, a later in life gift, a precious offering that I am trying to fight but know I will attempt to struggle hard and eventually may give in. Who doesn’t want to feel loved and sensual and appreciated? Who doesn’t want their body to be stroked so slowly and lightly that all your senses awaken like budding flowers from the long, dark, icy winter. I have never heard compliments murmured in my ears, whispering loving phrases as if my body and soul were a beautiful sculpture, more beautiful than Aphrodite.

I am yours, under these covers, in our world, in my head. You keep me alive, you make me vibrate and tingle until I can imagine I will see you the next time. We both long for that, sometimes not having the access immediately intensifies the passion, the lust. I want our eyes to meet again, the first second of shyness, the second of hunger, of greed and then…..’

Someone is pulling on the covers, intruding on my safe world, someone is screaming for me to” wake up.” No, I don’t want to leave but leave I must. I don’t want to return to that world with its gray dullness seeping into every molecule of my ordinary self. My brain is dead, my emotions flattened; I am jealous of my own fantasies.

After All Tomorrow Is Another Day (Carry On Tuesday)

glass_1 (Photo credit: nebarnix)

Cara? it’s me, Janie.

Car, I fucked up. I fucked up bad and now I’m sitting on the floor in the living room and I look like one of those bunched up rubber band balls we used to make in junior high. Why do you have to ask me that every time? Fine, I had some wine and a few beers. A  lot of wine. I don’t remember it all, damn it!

Little Keith, he isn’t here now, he went to Grandma’s. No, I didn’t send him, he left. I can’t stop crying because there’s more. Car, I’m so cold I’m shaking and I’m covered by all my blankets and the red shawl you crocheted for me for my birthday.

I know we made a promise to love each as best friends always but I did something really, really bad. I made a mistake, but this was the worst one because little Keith saw it and I didn’t know he was in the room.

I’m TRYING TO CALM DOWN, I don’t need a lecture, Cara, I can just hang up. Fine, yes, I am taking a deep breath. Everything just got to me all at once: Johnny’s unemployment, my shift got canceled, all our overdue bills, taking care of my parents, not enough money for food… I swear I never thought we would end up this way and I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t buy the wine or beer, it had been in the house from a long time ago when we had a party and I stashed it there, yes I hid it.

I drank too much and my head hurts bad, real bad, yes I am drinking coffee. I knew I shouldn’t have been drinking again but I FELT so furious and hopeless that I threw the empty wine bottle across the room, hard, and it hit the wall and it sounded like a bomb had gone off. There are shards of glass everywhere.

The worst part was little Keith had come into the room and saw it all. I could tell he had been there a while, yes, with me drinking. I said I was sorry but I knew I had scared him and he backed away from me. I saw it in his eyes and he ran to his room and slammed his door. He wouldn’t let me in, I couldn’t even apologize. A few minutes later he went next door to Grandma’s, without even looking at me. The worst part was I knew I was the one who caused his pain and I couldn’t take it back.

Cara, you’re right. I need help. I need to do this for me and I mean it. I can’t go on like this, hurting everyone. I lied when I told you that I hadn’t read the brochure about the in-patient program in Ellis but I know I need to go. Yes, I mean it. I promised you and now I have to do it for me, me and Keith. Yes, whatever you say, soon is okay. What details? I can’t think with a pounding head. Do whatever you need to do, just let my head get better. I will take aspirin and drink water I am sitting in the black chair, I won’t move. I want it to be like the old days when the boys would play and we would drink lemonade and make oatmeal raisin cookies together and sit on the porch laughing. Do you think that could happen again? Why aren’t you answering me?!

Cara? I am still on the phone, I need to clean up the glass. What do you mean no, it’s dangerous. Oh fine, I’ll leave it till the morning. What do you mean you are here? Is that you knocking on the door? Oh, honey, thank you so much for coming. WHAT? NO, Cara, NOW? I thought we were going tomorrow, not now. Please, just one more night? Can’t I just start tomorrow, after all it’s just another day. Please? No? But I’m scared, Cara. My head is aching so badly. You took care of everything, I don’t know what that means. One more day, Cara, I beg of you.  You won’t change your mind? Don’t you dare call the police, you don’t mean you will leave me alone forever if I don’t come with you. Cara, I can’t take that. I have no one. Yes, I promised.  God, please forgive me and give me strength.

Alcoholics Anonymous :

www.aa.org/