I’ve been cleaning my house. Dropping bags to donate. Filling garbage cans.
I don’t want someone else to have to do it.
But it’s silly a bit. I’m making choices about what might be important to my children. I feel nothing about any of it.
I felt a bit better once I decided and started planning and preparing.
Now I can’t get out of bed again. They know I’m not ok. But there’s been so many secrets. I think they’re afraid too.
I got sober. I did what they told me to. And it was supposed to get better. I was going to be ENOUGH. But I’m not. And I won’t be.