There was a time when I considered rock bottom where I would spend the rest of me life. I had run, full force, off the edge of a cliff, and hit the bottom of the canyon, shattered. There I sat, in agony, and I pulled out the closest digging utensil, sometimes using my bare hands, and began to try to dig myself lower still. I called rock bottom home.
If not for the people who crawled down into that deep hole with me, mending my broken bones and healing my internal injuries, I wouldn’t be here today. My kids wouldn’t have Mama Lauren, my husband would still be lonely and beardless. I know, without a doubt, that if it weren’t for you guys, I would have made my grave in that abyss.
And I just want to say thank you to the people who met me at my rock bottom and helped lift me out.
Thank you for the long nights I put you through, when I couldn’t sleep and the nightmares were taking over. For the car rides and talks, for the phone calls and texts. I appreciate them more than you may ever know.
Thank you for holding my hand, for overcoming the incredible feat to give me a hug. There was a time when human touch would send me shuddering, shrinking away, and yet you managed to envelope me in love; both physically and emotionally.
Thank you for hearing the truth before anyone else and never changing the way you looked at me. For knowing, but never telling. For hearing horrors I wanted to spare those around me from and never once being too scared to come back for more.
Thank you for holding me accountable, for loving me enough to tell me it wasn’t okay. I’m sorry for all the times I began to push you away because I mistook your attempts to life flight me out as selfishness for making me try and leave my home. I wish I could take back every mean word and manic argument I forced against you during that time period; please know I was never trying to hurt you. I was simply trying to protect my sick.
Thank you for coming back every time anyway. For putting up with my worst depression and my most intense manic episodes. For eating the cookies I made at 2am, knowing full well my eyes were glassed over from not sleeping again, but not wanting to call me out because cookie making was the least of the evils I could have partook in. Thank you for forgiving me as the exhaustion took over and I fell asleep on couches, for allowing me to nap in the rare chances my body would allow it.
Thank you for listening to my anxieties, for sitting there breathing with me as the panic attacks took over again. I’m so sorry for all the fun times I ruined or I put a damper on because my mind wouldn’t listen and let me have the fun I wanted.
Thank you for dragging me out of bed on the days I didn’t think I would make it. For forgiving all the cancelled plans and nights I withdrew into my personal space. For still inviting me out after each and every one.
Thank you for loving me through it all.
And thank you for forgiving me. I’m not ignorant to how badly I hurt you, whether intentionally or on accident as I was banging my head off the hard bottom of that hole. I am so sorry; and I am so grateful you stayed around and continued to love me.
I will always appreciate you, no matter how long goes between our conversations or the distance between our homes. You will always be a person who helped save me, who lifted me from my ruins, and who loved even the worst of me.