My Valentine Story: Self Destruction
If you haven’t read it yet, read Part 1: The Heartbreak
The three months following the breakup were a blur. Depression took over me. I felt like the worst person in the world. My heart ached so much that I tried to drown it out with alcohol every weekend when my daughter was with him. The nights when I wasn’t drunk, I cried myself to sleep with my little one in my arms. I suddenly found myself a single working mother struggling to buy formula and diapers. He wouldn’t help me. I felt like I deserved it. I caused all this.
Suddenly it was February 2003. When the swiftly approaching Valentines Day came, I was a wreck. Thoughts of suicide unwillingly filled my mind. A terrible plan formed in my mind almost as soon as I woke. It was Friday so he would arrive to pick up our daughter for the weekend. Before he got there, I held her tight and promised her she would be well taken care of. She deserved better than the horrid person that I was. I burst into tears and couldn’t stop them.
She’d never really know how much I loved her.
When he got there, he picked up her car seat and whisked her away. He didn’t give me a second glance as he left. I believed that it would be the last time I’d see either of them ever again.
I got ready and went to work that day, prepared to act like everything was fine. I didn’t want to leave any reason for anyone to look for me too soon. I told others I was just going to spend the night at home alone and that I didn’t want to be bothered. The day dragged on and my heart couldn’t handle seeing all the flowers, candies, and teddy bears. I wanted to ask my boss if I could go home because I wasn’t feeling good. I wanted to get it over with. I waited for my boss to get back.
Then something unexpected happened.
To be continued…