Tonight, like so many nights from the past, has me sitting on my bathroom floor, alone, drinking, while my husband is asleep in bed.
It’s not that late. It’s only 10ish pm at the start of this writing. (Which speaks nothing of the potential end of this writing. Because as I get ready to post it, it’s well after midnight.)
This is such a familiar space. Sitting here, feeling feelings, drinking, existing on my own, emotions and thoughts running wild…all of it.
Yet, it’s quite unfamiliar at the same time.
Nights like this in the past have been quite…tragic. Where I’ve felt shunned, ashamed, unwelcome, unwanted and unlovable. Like I wasn’t allowed to exist in my own room, my own bed.
Nights like this, when things were as bad as they possibly could be, had me threatening to sleep in here. On the shitty, cold, hard tile floor that is my bathroom. He didn’t want me. He didn’t love me. I didn’t love myself. And there were bottles of vodka hidden in my closet that were there for me at any given moment.
And believe me, I used them. My bathroom was my dark and fucked up space. Home of secret bottles of alcohol. Home of self harm. Of suicide plans either met and attempted or just planned for.
Somewhere along the way, this became the view when I sat in my spot and looked out. Somewhere along the way, the serenity prayer ended up as my focal point.
Now, I’m not a prayer, or a God type of person. Listen, my life has been one fucked up mess after another. I’m more than willing to listen and change perspectives, but for now, please don’t judge me.
But that sign has been my perspective, my image, for many fucked up nights. And it’s meant something to me. Not quite sure what, but something.
Tonight, I sat again. In the same bathroom, the same floor, the same fucked up place that I’ve sat many nights before.
But it wasn’t as tragic.
My husband and I didn’t fight. He simply wanted to go to sleep earlier than I did…which is fine, except that it left me feeling a certain level of triggered.
So I found myself alone, in a familiar place….with a just ever so slightly different mindset.
Tonight, I’m appreciating the different mindset, even if it’s subtle, even if it’s still hard.
Yes, I’m sitting in my bathroom alone. While he sleeps. Wishing I felt wanted or loved or fought for.
But…fortunately (or unfortunately) I don’t have a bottle of alcohol hidden in my closet. I have my drink that I came in here with, and I’m choosing not to have more than that. It’s a hard choice. A very hard choice.
But I’m talking to my friend. I’m not going out into my bedroom and pouring another drink.
I’m not drinking straight out of the bottle, mixing it with pills and straight up choosing my death.
It’s a hard night.
But I’ve had harder.
And isn’t that a win? To recognize the difficult, but also to acknowledge that things have, and could be so much worse?
I don’t want to keep rambling. But I’ll leave it here, reminded of my favorite quote.
Forward is forward, no matter the pace.
It might not feel like much, but maybe it is. Maybe it’s something.
Maybe it matters…..and maybe it’s progress.