Not the longest I've gone, but the best - liberated at last, it seems, from the obsession.
I think my last rock bottom, brief as it was, was an existential wake-up call. Sounds corny, but hell...
I truly wondered if I had any purpose here. If there was any meaning in my life. If I mattered in the greater scheme of things (small dose of self-pity, there). If there was any reason I should stick around. I cried buckets, and gnashed my teeth (figuratively) and counted the trazodones in my little bottle. There were enough to put me down. Just go to sleep. I tidied up the apartment first. Wanted to leave everything looking orderly.
I was tired of being me, tired of my thoughts and memories.
But I got dressed and trudged my way angrily through the routine for a couple of more days until one morning everything was OK again.
And since then it's been better than OK, it gets a little better every day.
And for that, I am grateful.
(And it's not even Thanksgiving.)
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