Day Eight: Of Water, Wine and Siren Songs (part 2)

******Note: This entry contains more intense mentions of suicide and mild alcohol abuse. Please read with caution if you are triggered by these things. 
 

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When we arrive home, there is barely a moment to spare as the older girls and I are due at the airport very shortly to pick up my mother-in-law, Balinda, and our niece, E-beth. The older girls have no idea where we are going or that their Nana and cousin are coming to visit. I just tell them that I have a surprise for them and that we have to leave soon to go pick up the surprise. They are delighted with this and after a quick trip to use the bathroom, we head out. Our ride is uneventful and they are over the moon when they catch sight of their Nana and cousin waiting by the baggage claim. 

I drop a kiss on E-beth's head and pull her into a hug before turning to embrace Balinda. It is always wonderful when she comes to visit and I count myself very blessed to have her as my mother-in-law. We have always had a close bond, so it is unsurprising that she sees through my smile and asks, "so how are things?" I know that she isn't just inquiring as to the general state of everything and everyone. I would like to be completely candid, but there are three little sets of ears nearby, so give her a half smile and say, quite honestly, that I am tired. We head to the car and after deciding we'll get some dinner to take home, I tell her in a roundabout way (because of the ears in the backseat) that things have gotten worse, but that I had some good moments at the beach. She is glad to hear this and tells me that we'll have some good moments this week that they are here too. I suddenly feel the urge to cry, but the tears are still absent. Instead, I take several quiet, but deep breaths as we ride along home.

Balinda makes good on her promise for us to have some good moments while she is here. She helps me tackle the behemoth known as Mt. Laundry, gives my kitchen a good cleaning, and rides herd on all four girls so that I can have a chance to sleep in and not have to worry about getting up early to take care of the kids. In the afternoons, we occasionally take the girls out somewhere fun or we talk and fold laundry together while keeping an eye on all four girls, watching the oldest three tromp in and out of the house and the littlest one play with her toys. In the evenings, Balinda makes dinner (sometimes I help) and we chat while she cooks. Gray comes home in the evenings from work to happy children, a cleaner house, dinner that is ready or being prepared, and a wife who is more rested and calmer. After the wild women are in bed, Balinda and I venture out to do things like buy groceries or grab an ice cream at the local Dairy Queen together. Over desserts and glasses of wine each evening we talk more and just enjoy relaxing together while watching Call The Midwife or Masterpiece Classic. We laugh a lot, eat more sweets than we probably need, and over the course of the week, I drink more than my usual one glass of wine each night. The wine tastes good and I so seldom drink more than one glass and this is a special occasion having Balinda here when I see her so seldom, right? This is what I am telling myself as I drain the last of my second large glass of the night for the third or fourth night in a row.

As with almost all good things, the week passes by much faster than I want it to and before I know it, Balinda and E-beth's visit with us is finished and we say goodbye with lots of hugs, kisses, and tears (from the girls, but not me, although I feel them). I take the pair of them to the airport and on the drive home, I ride in silence. The utter quiet in the van only magnifies the feeling of despair that settled over me as I watched Balinda and E-beth disappear down the concourse toward their gate.  

It's over. No more hand holding. No more help. Oh God, help me. I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. 

I am praying and driving and wanting to cry so badly that it physically hurts. As I hurtle along the interstate toward home, grappling with thoughts of death and darkness, I see the steel reinforced concrete pillars up ahead which support a bridge that passes over the interstate. My speedometer reads 75 and with a slight increase, could easily hit 80. 80mph + steel reinforced concrete pillar.....it would probably do the job. Change lanes, deep breath, count to three, and all this madness ends. Except....what is that on either side of it? I take another quick glance at the bridge pillars and realise that there is a low guardrail on either side of each one, providing it some protection from being accidentally slammed into by some out of control car.....or by someone like me. As I pass beneath the bridge, I think to myself that I was never really going to do it, but all the same, I exhale a shaky breath as I continue to drive.

I arrive home exhausted, weak kneed, and in need of something cold to drink. Opening the refrigerator, my eyes alight on the nearly full bottle of red wine standing on the door shelf, the sweeter white wine (also open and mostly full) standing beside it, and a nearly empty third bottle of red wine on the shelf below. How on earth did all these get opened at one time? It's not like we had some huge party. I briefly contemplate polishing off the third bottle, but decide that 11:00am is too early for alcohol, even if some people are already heading to lunch. I grab a soda and shut the door a little more forcefully than is necessary. 

Later that night, after Gray and the girls are in bed, I head to the living room with my laptop and a large glass of wine. When I sit down in the rocking chair, I feel the air shift and the weight of the depression that has been held up by the delights of the beach and the visit of my beloved mom-in-law and niece, comes crushing down on me with lightning speed. I cannot breathe for a moment and I take a large sip of wine. The sweet-sour fermented liquid rolls over my tongue and down my throat, leaving a mild warmth in its wake. As I take a second large sip, I feel my muscles relax a bit and my breathing goes towards a more normal state, although the darkness in my head pulls me deeper. For the first time since this began, I realize that I no longer care if I live or die. I open my laptop, finish off the glass, and pour another to numb the pain.