She told me not to write, so I’m not going to.

Therapy was fine. It was good. I almost felt things. The issue came when a half hour before it was over, my husband texted me.

He had a headache before I left, but it was small. 2 hours later, it had developed into “severe”.

We all know what that means.

My worst nights are the ones left alone. The ones where he has a migraine or (less frequently) the ones where we’re fighting.

These nights all end the same. He feels bad. I feel bad. Anxiety kicks in, turns to false anger over an uncontrollable situation. I’m terrified of the night, of being alone with my thoughts. Alone with my nightmares.

They end the same. Me and way too much alcohol alone in the bathroom (so my husband can have the bedroom to himself with me not disturbing him….really the bathroom has become a thing now).

My thoughts overtake everything. Really, I guess alcohol does. Who knows where my brain will go, who knows what dark thoughts will arise. A lot of incredibly dark writing comes from these nights. Very honest and vulnerable….but dark.

Tonight we made a plan. Do something different. Don’t do the thing that nearly kills me every time.

Read a (non triggering) book. Eat hummus. Drink….water? Ok. She’s a little off base with that one. But the rest is on point.

Oh, and do NOT write.

I’m not writing right now. I promise. This isn’t writing. I’m recapping. Laying out a plan. Procrastinating from my own mind. This is CLEARLY not writing.

I need people tonight, I need love and support. I know that doesn’t exist, and I know I’d never ask for it. I don’t know how to. But I desperately wish it was a possibility.

I’m afraid of these nights. I’m afraid of every night and the nightmares that they bring, but the ones left alone in the darkness for hours make them feel so extreme.

She told me not to write….so I’m not going to.

But being here makes me feel just the slightest bit less alone. Less afraid.

Even if only for a second….

I’m painfully familiar with nights like tonight. They’re the ones that end in disaster and chaos…in a relief that the morning actually came.

I’m not okay, and tonight won’t be okay.

But, shit. I think this is getting close to writing.

And she’s right.

I should definitely not do that.

I just don’t want to fucking do this anymore. I don’t. All I want is to be done. I feel trapped.

This is how I feel nearly all of the time. I want out, I want to be done. The only difference is I can fucking be honest about it at night.

Alcohol is there for me when no one else is. It fucking screams in my face that IT IS HERE!!!

It’s not wrong. I don’t know how to ignore that. Trust me…I’d much rather have a person. I’d rather have a hug. I would so much rather feel loved and safe right now!

But I don’t.

All I have is fear.

I just wish I wasn’t so fucking alone…..shit. Yeah. I’m in for it. And I am genuinely afraid.