Cocaine Widow

Any other time I might be amused. But I am just pissed. I have the flu and minor sinus problems (nothing like what I have caused myself in the past, though)… I am having a hard time shaking it. But I just started my third week of antidepressants and feeling pretty good about that.  

Then I found the note. I had just woken up, and went to turn on the coffee maker. I noticed a little yellow post-it, with my husband’s handwriting on it.

Please stop. You’re killing yourself.

Five words. Five little words that at SO MANY times in the past could have been accurate, times when it when it might have helped me, times when he would have been right. But he was so wrong. Such an insult. To accuse me – when I am actually trying. My first thought was of course, well then I’ll get some, fuck this. My second thought was, you’ve lost your mind. My third thought was, how dare he think that?

Not that I haven’t  wrongly accused him. I have. And I really can’t look at my own behavior objectively I guess, but I doubt I have been acting like someone who is high. Because I’m not. Though sometimes I want to be. I have been lucky so far at letting that feeling pass. I guess I could credit the Lexapro, but I don’t. I credit myself for doing what I have to. Quitting a bad drug for one that is less worse. For not going back. For trying to be whoever it is that I am supposed to be.

Maybe that just isn’t enough.