A mother, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, an ex-wife...... rehabs, mental hospitals, psychologists, AA and a few beautiful years into my sobriety. This is my life, my daily life.....

Monday, January 15, 2018

#18-The world kept moving...





I remember sitting in the mandatory parenting class at the hospital feeling like I was about to have a panic attack. I had so many mixed emotions I felt my brian would spontaneously combust. I now had the responsibility of this baby’s life in my hands. For an average person this would be scary, for an untreated “dry” addict, it was terrifying.

We signed the discharge papers, strapped Cameron into his car seat and drove home.

The whole world outside that hospital felt unfamiliar to me. As we drove down Route 29 everything seemed to be going so fast and we were in slow motion. The sun seemed brighter, the wind blew stronger and cars flew past us. For those three days I was in the hospital the world had not stopped, only my life stopped. The world kept going, kept producing, kept running while my life had monumentally changed. I barely held a child before I had Cameron and surely had never changed a diaper. I was not the warmest person in the room and children always seemed a nuisance. So all-in-all this would be quite interesting.

The trip home felt like an eternity, I walked into the house put Cameron down in the car seat and stared at him. Now what, do I take him out, is he hungry, do I change his diaper? He was sleeping so maybe I should just let him sleep. Can I leave the room, or do I have to bring him with me. What exactly am I supposed to do with this little guy. I might as well had grabbed a stick and poked him like as if he were a strange animal sleeping on the floor. I was completely clueless and completely unqualified.

A few sleepless nights later family and friends came over to meet Cameron. They had not even arrived and I wanted desperately for them to leave. I was tired, I was in pain and my anxiety was sitting like a lump in my throat. I knew everyone would be curious as to how I would be as a mother. I was bracing myself for the unspoken judgments of how I held him, how I comforted him, how I fed him. Everyone was waiting in line for the freak show.

The whole room was alive with laughter and joy and I felt frozen, stuck to my chair, completely detached. I left the room to change Cameron’s diaper and my mom instinctually knew there was something wrong. She followed me into my bedroom and I broke down. Tears ran down my face and onto my son as I struggled to change his diaper and swaddle him the way I was taught at the hospital. The instructions I could not recall and my growing frustrations were apparent. This was too much for me, too soon. I needed everyone to leave.

Just before my mom left she came to me and told me that things would get easier, that I needed to find my routine and that my emotions were all over the place thanks to hormones. I had just given birth and to give myself a break, take it easy, relax, and I would be back to normal soon. Part of that I believed, maybe because I wanted to believe it, maybe she did too. But I knew what it was. Deep down inside of me the ground was shaking and cracking, something was trying to make its way to the surface. I no longer had the cement blocks covering the grave. I was no longer bearing a child which meant the only thing standing between me and my addiction was me.

With an empty house I looked over at my boyfriend and told him how I felt. I was overwhelmed, I was uncomfortable and I felt defeated. It had only been days since I had my body back to myself, that I was freed to making my own choices and the score cards were up and I was already losing. That safety net of pregnancy was gone in a matter of minutes and I had not planned ahead. My old friend had returned with a small knock at my door and I was again face to face with my nemesis. A power so much greater than myself. A voice in my head telling me it would be alright, I have the answers and relief that you seek. With no defenses in place and no plan of action, I was a prisoner once again. After all it was right, for the last fifteen years my addiction was my answer. I felt sadness, I drank. I felt scared, I drank. I felt happiness, I drank. I felt overwhelmed, I drank. It had never disappointed me before so why would it now.

Within thirty minutes I had a bottle of wine in my hands. I poured myself a small glass.

I drank it.




1 comment:

  1. Thank you for sharing your story here, Kim.
    I hope other people re reading this!
    If not, you could visit other blogs and leave comments for them to find you here!
    xo
    Wendy

    ReplyDelete