I have been out of jail 2 years now. Two years, 3 months and 21 days actually. I was sitting in jail, (again) and I was 45 years old. There comes a point when you realize you’re too old, and too smart to still be doing this stupid shit. That was the day I decided I was going to do better.
It has been 842 days of doing better.
It has been 1 year, 11 months, and 27 days since I woke up on my living room floor after swallowing entirely too many pills two days before. It the middle of that hell, between the seizures and the vomiting I realized I was going to fail at yet another suicide attempt. When my head finally cleared, I realized I only had one choice. I had tried to run from my problems and had failed, so I had to fix them.
It has been 726 days of getting better.
There are people around my life who need me to continue to be broken and sick and crazy. They have sat by, watching the past 726 days waiting for me to stumble, waiting for a hint that I’m unstable, that I’m falling apart. They have wasted 726 days of their lives waiting for something they could use against me.
In those 726 days I went to all of my court dates, I reported for probation, I even completed 90 days of house arrest. I like to say I got my shit together but that is such a generic phrase. I grew up, I took responsibility for my actions, I faced the consequences.
I fell in love with a man who knows all my flaws, all my faults, all my shortcomings, and he loves me in spite of all of that. I defined boundaries and I maintained them. I took responsibility for my mental health and started taking care of me. And along with being out of jail for 842 days I have been stable for 726. In the past 726 days I have not swallowed handfuls of pills. I have not drunk myself into oblivion. I have not put a knife to my arm. I have made a happy life for myself.
Last July I wrote
You would think everyone would be happy for me. You would think. Not so much. Strange as it is to write, there are those who don’t want me whole, who
wantneed me to stay broken. Their life is easier if I am a broken hot mess. I can be ignored, and blown off, and walked on if I’m a broken mess. It’s much harder when I am healthy, and stable and strong enough to stand up for myself.
Some things never change. They are still waiting for me to fall, to break, to sink so low into a depression I virtually disappear. That’s what they need me to do. They can then justify their actions by just pointing their judgmental fingers at me.
I won’t give them that satisfaction. I won’t stay broken for them. I am happy, I am healthy, I am whole and I intend to continue to do better, to be better.