Rock Bottom Or Bottomless Pit?

I really wish there was a pause button on everything that reminds me of her. Just not this week. I threw my back out yesterday and am pmsing and I cannot get a hold of my emotions. They are impossible right now. I’m looking at the giant bruises on my legs from where I dropped the hammer on them the other day. They remind me of Sammi’s bruises that she had all over her body. Not because anyone was beating her-at least not physically. Not yet anyways. I think if she would have stayed married he would have started hitting her. It was one of the reasons I had such trepidation about moving out of their home and coming to Florida. I thought if I wasn’t there then he’d start physically abusing her. She just had bruises probably from being incredibly vitamin deficient. I assume she was anemic. She was so thin the last time I saw her in person. Her eyes were sunken in and puffy at the same time. Her hair was brittle and she had spots of hair  missing from her head. Her legs were so bruised. Probably from running into things when she was drunk. Every time she left the hospital she had bruises where they stuck her IV. I remember when she brought a banana bag home from her vet job-that was one of the times I was questioning how big of a fucking problem did she really have. Although I know there was nothing I could have done differently that would change her outcome-you can’t help but wonder. I think back to all of the times I drank with her, didn’t drink with her, tried to get her to smoke weed, tried to do sober activities, got angry with her, told her how much she was hurting me or my sisters or brother or parents, stopped talking to her, tried to get her to do therapy, cook for her thinking it would make her eat-all of it. I wonder what would have happened if my behavior had been different. The truth is her story would have ended up exactly where it is today, but I think every person who has a loved one who’s an alcoholic has to have this battle in their mind over and over again until it gets too exhausting to have that same fight in your mind and then you give up that demon. Or maybe just minimize it. Or put it in a box and only get it out when you absolutely have to. I used to put Sammi in a box and I almost hated her which made it tolerable. But since last month, I can’t. So many things are reminding me of her and my thoughts are bouncing between her shitty past, shitty present, and most likely shitty future. It’s depressing to say the least. Every time I go to a doctor’s office, I tell them I’m allergic to all opioids because god forbid I ever get prescribed something and go down a dark rabbit hole like she did. I miss her all of the time. Not even miss who she was, but I miss the hope I had for who she could eventually become. That hope is so diminished I don’t think it exists anymore. I think she is just a part of me that hurts now. I can’t think of any other way to describe it, but when I think of her it just hurts. And I wonder what the hell other people do, how they feel, how they end up compartmentalizing this kind of pain? And I wonder how long it takes to heal from this shit. And then it makes me sad thinking about how I’m in so much pain that I can’t even imagine how much you have to be hurting or hiding to drink on a daily basis. Despite hospitalization after hospitalization. Despite the pain of pancreatitis. Despite the nausea, vomiting, and the fact that it feeds into your eating disorder. Despite the fact that it has cut each one of your family member’s so deep-including your teenage sister. Despite the seizures. Despite the doctor’s warnings about dying if you keep drinking. Despite the loss of your marriage, car, home, and all of your belongings. 

Where the hell is her rock bottom?

I always said it was a bottomless pit for her. I would love to be proven wrong.