The sound of the nurses words as she told me I could leave echoed thru my ears over and over as I decided I wanted to walk all the way home.

“Mam, no one has called, none of your family has checked on you.”

Just 12 hours earlier they were all just oh so concerned that they needed to send a mountain of an army to my house to “force” me to go to a hospital that I did not need to go to. 
They believed that having at least twenty different people bang on my door was both okay, and the right way to handle their “concern” in front of both of my small children.

There plea to the police was not concern, it was and always will be judgement.

It was to them, “The lesson they were teaching me”
It was to them, “The cop out, literally by a cop.”

It was easier for them to allow the police, fire dept, and EMT’s to beat down my door, belittle me, and threaten me, then it was for them to pick up the phone and call me.

Addiction is hard, recovery is harder, but relapse is the hardest.

I sat in a room begging to be able to check on my children.

I sat in a room where being threatened with shots, restraints, and being held down if I did not “allow” them to perform tests, that they had absolutely no medical necessity to even perform.

I sat in a room, and cried for hours because the thought of my children seeing an EMT worker scream at me in front of them was the worst thing imaginable for me.

I sat in a room, where a doctor violated every single human right I had.

I sat in a room, where both a nurse and nurse supervisor violated every single human right I had.

I sat in a room and waited over 12 hours, for a psychiatrist to lift a 72 hour hold that an uncaring ER doctor placed on me, for the sole reason of I had questioned his superiority, because I knew I had rights, and I knew that he and his entire staff were in fact violating them.

After a 2 minute conversation with a psychiatrist I had never met, I was let go.

As the nurse handed me my discharge papers she said, “Do you want me to call someone to come get you?”

I asked, “Did any of my family even call to see if I was okay?”

“No sweety, none of your family called, no one has called to check on you” was her response as she looked down.

“I’ll walk, but thank you”

So I walked.
I walked fast.
I walked slow.
I walked because I was allowed too.
I walked because I had my human rights back.
I walked because I needed to know that I was allowed to walk down the street.
I walked because I needed to know that I was more than the judgement my family had placed on me.
I walked because I needed to let go of the threats of that night.

As I walked thru the front door, my children’s father shocked, the EMT assured him I would be placed on a 72 hour hold, so not to expect me back.

What I walked into, was food all over the floor, plates thrown on the floor, toys scattered everywhere, clothes scattered everywhere.

What had been clean when I left was now the nasty pig sty that it becomes every time my children’s father is home.

What I walked into, was my son missing his speech therapy appointment, without his father even calling to let them know.

What I walked into was chips scattered all over the table, the floor, and the wrappers scattered all over the place.

What I walked into, was his silent whispers in the other room to my family trying to silently let them know that I had escaped their lesson, that I was no longer trapped and was now back home.

As they told him to “take the kids” 
As they told him “We will help you”

“Just take them and leave, she is crazy, she is Just. Like. Her. Mother”

I suppose he forgot to tell them that, he. bought. the alcohol.

He. Bought. The. Alcohol.

Because he knew. He knew that I would get so drunk, that he could then get laid.

It happened every time, as I woke up sober the next morning, with the gut wrenching nausea, the mountain of soreness, with no memory of what actually happened, but knowing from the soreness between my legs that he in fact got exactly what he wanted.

But after all he is my husband, so complain, nope. You need to shut up and be the good wife you need to be, my “family” would state so nonchalantly as I found the pair of panties that we all knew were not mine in the drawer next to where he slept every night.

Addiction is hard, recovery is harder, but relapse is the hardest.

If your concern was as loud as your judgement maybe people would not be over dosing everyday for fear of being treated the way I was by both EMT’s, doctors, nurses, and my own family.

Maybe, suicide wouldn’t be the second leading cause of death in every single age bracket.

If your concern was as loud as your judgement, maybe I would have reached out before I found relief in the bottom of a bottle.

— Stephanie

“I’d rather be judged for having the courage to talk about the hard shit that comes with motherhood; then to be known as just another pinterest mom whose life is nothing but rainbows, butterflies, & hidden tears.”

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