I woke up 3 days later in a mental ward of a hospital somewhere in Minot, ND. I had a couple of friends come and get me, signed myself out, and went off out for a celebratory drink. Everything was fine, and life was still good. My ex was simply overreacting, and the doctors didn’t know jack or shit. That was my attitude, and no one could sway me otherwise. My “friends” and my boyfriend were alcoholics as well, so to us it was just another day, and nothing other than how I even got into the hospital seemed to be of any bother at all, and I resumed going about the tragedy that was my life. I was the ass of some really funny jokes for a while, but it was humorous. No one seemed to think it was a big deal at all that I’d nearly killed myself. It was an accident after all. Shit happens.
The only person who knew what was happening was my ex husband, and I think the best thing he ever could have done, is exactly what he did. He ultimately let me self destruct. He threw it in my face as the reason our marriage failed, and let it do what it was going to do, just short of killing me. Frankly, I think that the only reason he didn’t let me off myself is because of our children, which is saintly, even if the man does get on my last nerve.
A month or so later when I returned to our marital home for Christmas and New Years, he knew I was still drinking. I was still going out all hours of the night after the children were in bed. I spent New Year’s out with another man getting wasted and having sex that I couldn’t even remember, and not really giving a shit. The divorce was still processing so I had the freedom to do whatever it was that I wanted and so did he. My car got repossessed, and suddenly I was trapped there a little longer until he just couldn’t take it. I was to the point where I was drunk all day, even if I was still functioning sort of normally. I had become my mother, and I addressed my realization of hard truth exactly how she did, I cracked another bottle.
I lulled my demon to sleep another night, another week, another month. Gone. I was convinced that I was still okay, and he was just an asshole. I didn’t have a problem, he just wasn’t able to understand me. There was no way that any of this could be my fault. If he wouldn’t have said this, I’d have never reacted like that, and everything that was ever wrong was the fault of everyone and everything else. I took absolutely zero accountability for anything I was doing. I couldn’t see anything, didn’t want to see anything but the bottom of that bottle, or a fresh shot on the bar in front of me, followed by another beautiful body in my bed come evening.