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Alcohol never forced itself into my hand. It never pushed its way down my throat. And it never asked to be abused by me. Those choices were all mine.
In grade three a friend told me, "I can't sleep over because my parents say your mom and dad are drunks." That was the moment it hit me: my family isn't normal.
In my imagination, I’ve been diagnosed, incarcerated, fired, divorced, and buried. My mind is a scary place to be sometimes.
There’s been such a huge loss. A large part of their soul was gutted when their family was ripped apart. It took me too long to truly understand the pain they had been through.
Good things come to those who wait. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. But I’ve been waiting a long time. I don’t know when, or even if, I’ll find love. That’s the hardest part of being single.
“You know, mom, blood is thicker than water.” The words were biting, hard to receive. The undertone of my son's comment was clear: "you should have prioritized me above your new husband."
How can a boy expect to fill Dad’s shoes when he leaves?
I learned the language of silence. Keep your head down. Don’t say a word. Try to be invisible. Maybe if they forget you’re here it will stop. It didn’t stop.
Shortly after having my blood tested, a nurse called and said, "You have to come to Emergency right now." I soon learned I only had 3 to 6 months left.
I never know when it will hit me, nor why. Some days, I can do everything I have planned. I can even enjoy biking, hiking, or snowshoeing. But then, it hits me yet again.
I’ve always been ambitious, motivated, and focused on success. Because of multiple head injuries I spent three years in bed.
I felt truly pretty for the first time in my life. Sunshine covered my world. Being with him made me feel great. But then things changed.
I was constantly spending more on things than I needed to. I felt trapped and unable to control my money. It was controlling me.
I get trapped in this dark place where there’s nothing to do but sleep or cry until my head pounds. On those days, just getting out of bed is a triumph that I need to acknowledge.
Life is hard in general, but for those of us who are perceived as different, it can be especially hard.
The American dream was lining up for us. We were living the life. But there was still this unhappiness, like a buzz in the background that never went away.
He used to lock me outside our house with no shoes or coat, rage at me for an hour or more, and make me doubt my sanity. When he hit me, it was the last straw.
I was always counting down the days until I could get my prescription refilled. Eventually it came to the point where pills became the most important thing in my life.
I needed him to listen and show that he cared about how I felt – to look me in the eyes and be present so I’d know he had my back. But this wasn't something he knew how to do.
Whole days can pass by without any heart-felt communication with my kids whatsoever.
Alone with my thoughts in solitary confinement, my worst fear was never seeing my daughter again. I didn’t want to be the father that my father was to me.
There are people all around me, interacting with each other, having fun together: but I’m sitting here alone.
The intimacy porn promised was proving to be an illusion. I was trapped, wanting the fix without the consequences – the pleasure without feeling ashamed.
I lived in fear of myself, and when I looked at my son, I thought it was sad and strange that I had to include myself in the list of people he needed to be protected from.
I was on cloud nine when my pregnancy reports came back positive. But those happy days were suddenly transformed into days of despair when I noticed a small lump below my jawline.
I felt like a failure as a mother. How could I have let my son become so depressed that he wanted to take his own life?
I felt totally alone and completely misunderstood. I thought the only way to numb the pain was to kill myself.
The constant stress and ridicule by a manager, who didn't want me to look better than her, made me physically ill.
The day I saw those two lines indicating a positive result on my pregnancy test, my whole world completely turned upside down.
Three years ago, my husband breathed his last breath. Then began the most difficult journey I’ve ever experienced: life without him.
