Today is the day the rubber hits the road. The pedal hits the metal. My alcoholism, depression, bipolar hit the proverbial fan. And a bunch of other stupid idioms that somehow seem appropriate right now.
My five-year relationship with a childhood sweetheart ended after he casually mentioned, while describing his “epic” vacation, that his ex-wife tagged along. He couldn’t believe I wasn’t more understanding because, really, it was in the kids’ best interest. Really?
The last time something like this happened I ended up in a major, major, major depression – a frog’s hair from a bottle or three of chardonnay – and on disability for two months. Depression is a bitch and relationship angst is my biggest trigger.
So, today I get to blow the dust off of all those tools I have acquired in countless therapy sessions, 12-step meetings, self-help books, feeble attempts at meditation and a stint in co-dependency treatment center. I am hoping they work. I am praying they work. I am counting on them working, along with my medications.