Rock Bottom

Warning: This story has themes of substance abuse and mental health.

My mother has always told me that I was “too much” and I never really knew what that meant until people in my life and around me started to utter the same two words. Too much. What does that even mean? In what context does that make sense? It’s strange what will come to mind when you are tumbling towards rock bottom. 

“Do you really need to leave?” My throat was burning as I fought back tears.

“We have already talked through everything and can’t come to a conclusion, so yes, Sage, I have to leave.” He threw his clothes into the duffle bag on the bed. I noticed a shirt that I used to wear often.

“We can work through this. Since when did you stop being happy?” 

“A while ago. I just didn’t have the heart to tell you. You know how you get when you’re upset…” I looked away as he trailed off. I knew exactly what he meant.

“Look, I still care about you. I just can’t do this anymore,” he walked towards the door, hand on the doorknob, “I’ll get the rest of my things later.”

The door closed, then…silence. Alone again, I sunk into the couch and played all the scenarios in my head as to how this could’ve happened. There was no way that this could be the end. He would come back, we would talk and laugh about how ridiculous we were being, and make-up. 

The first day I woke up by myself, I felt empty. I called in sick to work and spent the entire day in bed watching romance movies, reminding myself of what it was like to be loved. I fell asleep and dreamt that I was like Rapunzel, trapped in a tower away from society because if let out, my emotions would become deep waters, drowning everyone around me. Benjamin would ask me to let down my hair, tell me that I was everything he’s ever asked for, and save me from myself. 

On the third day, I was able to get out of bed. I took a walk outside and felt the sun on my skin. It was the first time that I felt maybe I could be alright, so I decided to walk down to my favorite coffee shop to treat myself. I was doing well, I could actually be normal, until I saw someone that looked like Benjamin from his side profile and had a panic attack. Running out of the café, I tried to catch my breath but it was too late. The tears had already come.

By the fifth day, I woke up early and  cleaned my entire apartment. I placed all his shit into moving boxes and left them at the door, the way he had left me. I actually went to work and decided to go out to this new bar down the street with one of my co-workers. This was the first time I had actually smiled. I told her what had happened, how I was going through another break up and she told me it was the perfect time to put myself out there and figure out who I am.

After a full week of going through all of my emotions, I decided right then and there that I would become a better person. I would stop being too much; I would be just enough. 

My phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. I could see it was Angelina, my best friend, calling. I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks but it would be nice to hear a friendly voice. 

“Hey, girl!” my ears were ringing. I struggled to turn down the volume.

“Hey, how are you? Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, I’ve just been really busy. I’m doing well though, focusing on getting my business together and planning the wedding. There’s just been a lot going on, so I thought I would check in on you.” 

“Oh… that’s great. I’m so happy for you,” I tried not to grimace, “I’m doing well, just trying to put myself out there–”

“Oh, right! You and Benjamin broke up! I’m sorry, girl. How do you feel?” I was hoping it wouldn’t come up. I wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“Good, just trying to figure me out.”

“As you should. You should download a dating app... you knoooow… they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” She giggled and I admired how she always took things so lightly. Every heartbreak she had experienced, she allowed herself a day to cry and then, was back out there. It had taken me a week and I still felt so much pain.

My conversation with Angelina opened my eyes. I decided to take her advice and a week later, I was on my way to my first date after my break up. She told me to not go into it with too many expectations, let the night flow, and see what happens.

As I sat across from Cody, a 6ft, dog lover who calls himself a self-made entrepreneur in his bio, I listened to him talk about how he’s been to the restaurant before and how he actually knows the owner. We had a conversation about what we do for a living, hobbies that we have, and why we decided to be on a dating app to begin with. 

“I’m looking for something casual, with my busy schedule, I don’t really have the time to settle down right now.” He was honest and I appreciated it, “How about you?”

“I just got out of a long-term relationship, so casual is great for me.” 

“I’m sorry for his loss, you seem like a really great girl. Who wouldn’t want you?” I could feel myself blush, although I was unsure as to what his intentions were. It felt nice to be appreciated. It felt nice to feel that warm, fuzzy feeling in my gut.

As our dinner arrived, I noticed his phone light up. I noticed a woman’s name: Stacy. He noticed my glance at his phone and turned it over. Maybe it wasn’t important. I began to unravel my napkin to get to my utensils. His phone vibrated again… then, again. He apologized and we began to eat.

“So, did you want to do anything after this?” He asked, but then his phone began to vibrate, except this time he was getting a call, “I’m sorry, I need to get this.” 

He excused himself and walked off down the hallway towards the bathroom. I checked my phone. We had only been here for 45 minutes. I had a text from Angelina asking how the date was going. As I was responding, he came over to the table in a panic.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you, but my wife just called and my kid is in the hospital–”

“Wait, wife?” He has a kid? 

“Well, yes. Technically she’s still my wife, but we’re in the middle of a divorce.” So, this was what he meant about his “busy schedule”. He told me he would pay for dinner, put cash down on the table, kissed my cheek, and headed out the door. 

Did he really have a wife and kid? Was he really going through a divorce, or was it an excuse to get away from me? Maybe he had another date planned for tonight and couldn’t miss out on the opportunity. Stacy. That sounded like a woman with luscious blonde hair and bright blue eyes, who was willing to do whatever to get his attention. I mean she was willing to call him and take him away from this date with someone who desperately needed the pick-me-up, so what else could she be capable of?

I finished my dinner in silence and tried to ignore the glances from the people sitting around me. I might as well enjoy the food he already paid for. They must think I’m shameless. As I walked home, I finally replied to Angelina with a thumbs down. I tried to call her twice, but no answer. I could feel myself bubbling on the inside. I would never be the first choice to anyone and this was the universe finding a way to show me this over and over again. When I got home, I changed out of my dress into comfier clothes right away,  headed to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. I took a sip and then, a deep breath.

I noticed Benjamin’s boxes still in the corner by the door. Something came over me and all of a sudden, I was tearing through the boxes, throwing his shit everywhere. I broke his favorite vinyls in half, ripped pages out of his favorite books, and poured wine all over the clothes he left here. He didn’t need them, just like he didn’t need me.

When I came down from the rage, I looked around in disgust. This is what everyone was always saying about me. I am too much. They were right. No one would ever be able to handle my range of emotions because I couldn’t even handle them. I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or cry, so I did both. I poured more wine down my throat, dropped down to my knees, then just laid on the floor in the middle of my destruction.

If only I could be better, if only I could be lovable. If only I could not feel this pain anymore, drift into a coma for the rest of my life because that was more peaceful. Instead, I drifted asleep in the mess I had made.

“Sage, wake up! You’re going to be late for school!” My mother’s voice had shot me awake. I noticed the posters on the walls, the stuffed animals on my bed, and my tongue ran over the braces on my teeth.

“I know you heard me!” This time her voice had shaken me out of the bed and I hurried to get myself together. She would always get mad if she had to call me for a third time. 

Brushing my teeth, putting my hair into a ponytail, and running down my stairs, I arrived at the kitchen. Her back was to me as she bent over toward the corner. I could hear the sniffles and could see the white substance on the counter.

“Sage!”

“I’m right here, Mom.”

“There you are. What took you so fucking long? I’ve been calling your name for an hour! Mr. Hinkle is going to take you to school today. I’m too tired.”

“But Mom, today is my field trip. You promised you’d come this time–”

“What do you not get? You’re so fucking needy all the fucking time. I have other shit to do then go to a boring ass museum with a bunch of snot-nosed kids.” 

“I–”

“Please, honey,” her voice softer this time, “I have a headache. Mr. Hinkle is outside. Here’s your breakfast,” she threw over a McDonald’s bag from the counter. Inside there were mostly wrappers, except for one sandwich still neatly wrapped. I turned to walk away.

“Sage,”

“Yeah, mom,” I turned around, hopefully, waiting to hear the words.

“Tell Mr. Hinkle I said thank you and that I’ll be over later.” I felt the disappointment flood through my body. I sulked to the door and–

I woke up in a sweat, looking around, I remembered the events of last night. I threw his stuff back into the boxes and went to the bathroom. I washed my face and couldn’t shake my dream from my head. No, not a dream. It had been a memory. One I decided to erase. I had to or else it would ruin me. 

My phone vibrating dragged me from my thoughts. It was like my mother knew when I was thinking about her. I noticed I had five missed calls from her from the night before. Why was she trying to contact me? I noticed she left me a voicemail. 

“Call me back. Hoping you can come over for dinner tonight so we can catch up. Bye.” I can’t remember the last time my mother had told me she loved me. She hadn’t told me that day before I left for my field trip and she didn’t tell me through voicemail. 

I don’t know what convinced me, but my mother reaching out felt like a sign since she had been in my dream the night before. I made sure to bring the wine because getting through this dinner sober was not a choice. 

I only lived 30 minutes from my childhood home, but it was always weird to me that she never moved out, especially after all the negative memories that happened there. It was triggering to walk into this house. I felt so removed from it and oftentimes, forced myself to forget it. 

Everything was still the exact same. Why am I not surprised? I could smell that my mother was making pasta. It was the only thing I really ate growing up besides microwavable, frozen meals. Maybe she was trying? Maybe she was inviting me here to make amends. 

I reminded myself what Angelina had said: to go into things without expectations, let things flow, and see what happens. It was awkward to sit across from her at the dining table. I watched as she poured her third glass of wine, while I was only on my second, surprisingly. 

“So, I heard that you and Benjamin broke up.”

“Yep, what about it?”

“I’m just asking, you don’t have to be rude.”

“You’re not asking, you already know it happened, so what do you want to know?”

“Well, what happened?”

“We got into an argument because I told him I felt like he wasn’t doing enough, he told me he was tired of hearing it, and he left.”

“Well, I told you not to ask for too much. You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.” I couldn’t help myself from scoffing, “What’s so funny?”

“You are. You always say cliché quotes and think that it’s parenting.”

“Listen, I’m just trying to have a peaceful dinner with you,”

“No, you’re not. Nothing about you is peaceful. Nothing about our relationship has ever been.” Another sip.

“How is Angelina?”

“She’s good, busy.”

“I see her wedding is coming up soon, you gonna go?” I nodded my head, “Good, maybe you can catch the bouquet, meet a man with that luck, and finally, give me some grandchildren before I heal over and die.” I had nothing to say. Think happy thoughts, I told myself. 

“You know, we’ve had our good times, don’t you forget that…”

“What good memories?”

“Oh come on—”

“No! No…” I threw down my fork, “Please tell me which you are referring to. Is it the time I came home from my field trip–mind you, that you were supposed to chaperone–and found you passed out in my room? The time you broke my piggy bank for some extra cash to get your fix?” I’m now on my feet.

“Oh! I remember!! What about the time you OD’d? I had remembered from the last time to check your pulse, push you onto your side, and call 911. Which one is your favorite?” I took another sip from my glass.

“Here we go again, you sound just like your father!” She threw her napkin down, her eyebrows furrowed, her lips pierced. 

“I wouldn’t know. I used to dream about what my life would have been like if he took me with when he left–”

“For crying out loud, don’t be dramatic! I was a good mother to you, I did what I had to do.”

“No, you did what you had to do for yourself, not for me, and you know what? I’m done.” I downed the rest of my wine and put my jacket back on.

“Where are you going? We’re not finished here.”

“You’re right, we’re not,” I grabbed the bottle of wine off the table, “Now we are.”

“Don’t you walk away from me?” I could hear her footsteps coming after me. “This is what I mean, you're always doing the most and throwing things out of proportion.”

“You know you’ve always told me that,” I turn to look at her, stopping her dead in her tracks. This time I am looking directly in her eyes. They looked as empty as they always have.

“What? What have I always told you?”

“That I’m too much,” I took a breath, “but maybe you and everyone else are simply just not enough.” I opened the door, walking down the stairs. Her voice was calling for me down the street, fading, and slowly the inner voice of mine started to sound nonexistent too.