When I think of the term “Rock Bottom” I’ve always thought of drug addicts and alcoholics. I am neither of those things. But as I lay on the bathroom floor crying this morning, staring at the dribbled urine on the toilet base from my two boys who will apparently never be able to aim those things, that is the term that kept floating up into my mind. Rock Bottom. Actually, the phrase “burn this whole thing down” also floated around in there, but I was able to push that one back.
See, I used to be pretty happy. I mean, I’m an introvert by nature- but I used to have a life. I had friends, I had crushes, I went out and participated in this thing we call life. And then one day I realized that I didn’t anymore. I didn’t do any of it. I never called my friends or accepted their invitations to go out until eventually, they just stopped asking me. I couldn’t even fathom having a crush. It isn’t something that I even realized was happening. It just sort of crept up on me.
And then I started getting sick. At first it was migraines and fatigue that no one could find a reason for. I saw so many doctors, and they all said the same thing- I shouldn’t be sick. There was no real reason for it. But that didn’t make me not sick. Eventually they diagnosed me with Fibromyalgia and put me on a regiment of meds. And they helped with the symptoms, but as soon as my stress level went up- the pain would come back.
The problem with that is that I am real person. In the real world, which means I have stress. Lots of it. I am a single mother to two boys that I adopted out of a crappy situation. My older son has some emotional issues from his childhood, and my youngest is neuro-atypical. We love each other, but we aren’t the Brady’s. So yes, I have stress and there is very little chance that will stop anytime in the next decade.
But still, I was managing.
Yeah, no. No, I wasn’t. Turns out I was one freaky medical trauma away from just collapsing on the bathroom floor and crying hysterically for an hour, plotting how I could escape without anyone finding me. It was very complicated, it involved a faked death while on a cruise to Ibiza. Rock Bottom. At least for me.
But then reality set in, and I got up off the floor. I went to my safe place, researching random things on the internet, and began working on a plan. If my life isn’t working, then I need to change it until it does. It’s going to be a process. And I’m going to stumble, and screw up, and sometimes outright fail. But as long as I never end up on that bathroom floor again, I’ll be okay.
*Art by Gemma Correll- check her out at http://www.gemmacorrell.com/