Weak

Sunday night, as we drove downtown to see the musical, Chicago, my daughter asked if I was going to check myself into the hospital. I didn't know what to say, so I said yes, I would do so on Tuesday, since I knew she would be staying home from school on Monday. She said she would much rather be without me for a week or two than to be without me forever or to deal with the silent rage that she's felt in the air for the last several months (cue tears).

Kids are too damn observant I tell you. They really can sense when something isn't right, and when they're old enough to understand, they can easily explain what is wrong and what needs to be fixed. Of course, being 17, it's hard to not see that your mother isn't acting the same and that she's drinking alcohol like the next prohibition era is right around the corner.

I promised her that I would take myself to the hospital tomorrow after I drop her off at school. Whether or not I'll have the strength to admit defeat and get out of the car is another story altogether, and one I didn't mention to her. I haven't mentioned anything to my parents or to anyone else yet either.

I've partially packed my bag already, the rest I'll do after I get her to school. Besides the clothes packed in my bag, I've also included the MAOI pills I had left over, the remaining Norco and a small amount of Valium (about 60 mgs worth) and two bottles of water.

I'm at a crossroads in my life and I hope to make the right choice, especially after talking with my daughter most of the night about it. But I'm scared shitless. Afraid that the alcohol coursing through my veins will either kill me before daylight or I'll give in to the temptation to overdose.

If I don't write for awhile, I guess we'll have to wait to see what happens. If you're the betting type, bet that I'll admit myself to the hospital. You'll probably win. I'm that weak.