My husband left for work last week, while I was hiding in bed, and when I finally dragged my hungover ass out and hopped into the shower, all I could think about was not wanting to do this anymore, not wanting to "be" anymore. I managed to get out, and the next thing I know, I'm sobbing on the bathroom floor in my towel, grasping a full bottle of excedren pm. Thank God for my forgetful husband, I guess. He came home 45 minutes after he left, because he forgot our son's inhaler. He came up expecting to find me still hiding safely in our bed, but he walked in on a total mess. Fast forward, I'm in the phych ward at the hospital, swearing that I wasn't really going to do it. They told me that the antidepressant combined with alcohol is making things worse, but for some reason, since I've been on Cymbalta, I've had massive cravings to just drink as much as I can. I'm a small person, but I can drink very large men under the table (I AM NOT PROUD OF THAT FACT!!!!!)
Now, I'm facing my "assessment" on the 2nd, which means they want to do 14 week out patient rehab. That scares the shit out of me, because I already work full time, and only get a couple hours with my boys as it is. Wonder if I can fake my way out of the assessment, and hang out here instead?? I really don't like this...but I'm sure none of you do either, and that is why we are here. I really need some freaking hope that my life doesn't consist of coors light, cigarettes, debt collectors, remorse, shame and hangovers!!!! AHHHHH! Happy New Year, all ( I really pray that 08 will be our best ever!)
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