Everyone seems to remember their rock bottom. I think I may have mistaken mine in the past. But today there was no mistaking this was my rock bottom.
Sitting on the dirty concrete floor of a police cell looking at the inscriptions on the walls I realised that I couldn’t possibly fall any further then I had at this stage.
I cried for an hour. I was treated like a criminal, and I realised that there was going to be no one there to help me, to hold me, to tell me everything was going to be okay. I realised then I am by myself, and for that hour, I was incredibly vulnerable and had the same depth of sadness as an innocent child. The same loss and grief of a widow, the same confusion as a student, and the same regret as my biggest mistake.
I awoke this morning after a bad night. My whole body aches and my head ached. But I have promised my daughter I would collect her broken iPad today, my medication had also run out so it was important I collected some more. There was A tiny ring of instinct warning me not to go out today, but I prioritised the things I had to do. I don’t know when it happened, but at some stage over the mountain somebody reported my driving to the police. They were waiting at the other side.
In a usual case, they listen, you listen A compromise is made and more often than not a driver would drive away with no ticket. In my case I was furious. Not just with being reported (although I have no idea why they did) but just at being oppressed, dictated to, forced to explain myself, wrapped in a bind, frustrated, forced to fight for myself again alone. It became an epiphany for everything I’m experiencing at the moment. I gave my license but then decided I had enough waiting and got in my car and started to drive off. The police flew into the car and chased me down the road. For about two seconds I felt free, I felt like I was in control, I felt like I had run away from something, I felt like I could control my destiny.
Of course in cop movies, generally they tend to drag the bad guy out of the car and throw him or her to the ground and handcuff them. I was terrified this would happen, so I pulled over down the road. I still ended up getting arrested, the car impounded for 28 days, and taken to the police station in the back of a police car. I waited an hour for paperwork then I had to give fingerprints and a DNA sample. I could have been more polite to the police, I could’ve explained why I was so anxious, I could’ve shouted at them I could’ve cried at them. But suddenly everything I’m carrying felt like my own burden to bear, and I simply didn’t want to let anyone into the pain I’m feeling right now.
I did call S about the car, naturally he was non-too pleased. In fact overall he’s non-too pleased because I’m not his problem any more and yet I keep becoming a problem. I understand his predicament and this makes me I hate myself more. But I can’t help needing him. He has always been there for me so it’s very different for me to be so alone on this journey.
In the prison cell I made the decision that I would end this for sure this time. I would go home I would run a bath and I will cut my wrists very deeply and I will drift into a nice sleep, no more burden to anyone. I felt at peace for a while with this. Then it sunk in, S would arrive home with the children, where I would be found, and even I’m not selfish enough to expose my children to that kind of horror.
I realised that instead I wasn’t looking at the problem properly. Instead of struggling to find a way forward, I need to make a literal step backwards.
I have decided to return to the UK for a couple of weeks at least. I need to be around my people, I need to be a daughter, and I need to be wanted. I need to rest, and I need to get myself sorted out so I can return to my children be the best possible mother I can be. The idea of leaving my children cuts right to the very bone, I can’t believe I’d even entertain this idea. But I’m desperate, and I feel like all other avenues have been exhausted.
I don’t know who I am anymore, I don’t like who I am anymore, I don’t know if I can be anybody else any more, I can’t imagine ever even liking myself any more.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be happy again, I don’t know if I’ll Spend the rest of my life feeling empty. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel content again. I know my children give me everything, Pride, love, warmth, comfort, unconditional love, purpose, to name a few. I would like to offer something back, I’d like to make them proud, I’d like to be so full of love for myself that what I give them is healthy.
I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. But there are no other options. And I’m done fighting.