How I Stopped Hating Myself
It was the lowest point of my life.
I was alone and living in the back bedroom of my coworker’s trailer. Everything I owned was long gone, including my car which the police confiscated for an expired tag and suspended license. This is my penance, I decided, for all the terrible things I’ve done.
Even more than the things I’d lost, the people who were missing hurt me the most. My children lived away from me, and it was all my fault. I’d screwed up every offer of help from my friends, instead choosing toxic relationships and substance abuse. It was the only way I could live with myself, numbing out so I didn’t have to think about the pain I caused.
This was how I spent every day. It was like being trapped forever with the person I hated most. Except in this case the person was me.
One day, my boys’ father Derek called me and asked if I wanted to see them. He said he would pick me up from the trailer and take me to his house. He told me Brendan and Shayne were really excited about it. I gratefully accepted even though Derek was the last person I wanted to see. He knew better than anyone what a piece of crap I was. Derek tried to help me leave my abusive relationship several times, and I betrayed him by always giving up and going back for more. His hatred for me was understandable.
