Own Battles

Often, you will hear stories about strangers becoming friends. My story, is how my best friend became a stranger.

I don't remember much about the night John died. He was my husband of five years, but we had been lovers long before that. All I remember was the panic, and then pain.

I don't think people realize the pain of being in the waiting room. Being in the waiting room, is like sitting in the palm of despair. The sadness is thick in the air. The silence is stifling. No one says a thing in the waiting room. No one talks. Every sound, sends a wrench of fear through your heart. Because you know that any moment, a doctor could come out and tell you that the people you love are dead.

And the worst part was, that no one was there with me. I didn't expect my alcoholic mother to be there. She didn't even come to my wedding.

But I called Rachel. Rachel was my best friend since we were in the 6th grade. Rachel and I had a falling out a few days ago, but never had I imagined that she would carry that petty grudge into my mental wellbeing. I needed Rachel that night more than anything. But she never came.

To go through the agony of sadness is bad enough, but to do it alone is even worse. I had never felt more alone than the night John had died.

I spent the rest of the night in the bed John and I shared. I cried and cried and cried until my pillow was soaked with my tears.

The next few days were the hardest for me. I went into the vicious cycle of depression. Life without John was in my opinion; pointless.

And John was the main source of income for our family. I worked part time at a beauty store nearby, but of course that wasn't enough. I fell behind on rent, and reached a point in which I was so close to eviction.

I had to cut down a lot on groceries, and often went to bed hungry, tired, depressed, and alone. I was even contemplating suicide.

I called Rachel so many times, but she never answered.

The one time she did answer, I erupted into tears about all my problems. I told her about how hard it was for me ever since John died, and how I desperately needed help since I was going to be evicted.

What Rachel told me, broke my already shattered heart. "Mia, a lot of other people are widows, but they manage!" She told me. "You're just being lazy." And with that she hung up.

I was in complete shock. But for some reason, I believed her. I told myself that I was useless. I was a burden to this world. I didn't deserve to live.

That's when I began taking my feelings out on alcohol. I'd go to my mother's house, and I'd grab a few cans of beer.

I had always carefully monitored my drinking, but not anymore.

Then, I'd go straight to my apartment, and drink. I'd drink, and drink, and drink.

I kept drinking, until I couldn't feel anymore. I liked it this way. I loved it. I couldn't think straight, which stopped my brain from lashing out vicious insults at me.

It became so that I was downing about eight cans per day. I was always drunk more than I was not.

I would wake up in puddles of my own vomit. I couldn't stop. I was an alcoholic.

I don't know what saved me. Maybe it was god.

But one day, as I was about to crack open another can, a little voice in my head spoke to me.

"Is this really the life you want?" No, it was not the life I wanted. But I had no other choice. "There's always a choice."

I then realized one thing, for the first time in months. I was becoming like my mother. Drinking my life away.

I grabbed the can, and with the most strength it had ever taken me, I poured the beer onto my floor. It may seem silly, but this moment was a breakthrough for me. I knew that I had to stop.

Stopping alcohol as an addict was like trying to climb out of a deep hole. A hole I had dug for myself.

I started, by replacing alcohol with a cup of water, every time I craved alcohol. And that was very often. I supposed it was good though, because the water was in a way, flushing the alcohol out of my system.

But I craved it so bad, and I would have to add ginger infusions to my water.

Losing alcohol for me, felt like a bigger blow than losing John, because my craving physically hurt me. It ripped and tore at my system, and I was once again, overwhelmed with emotions of anguish.

I tried to distract myself. The first thing i started with, was catching up on rent.

I decided to finally find a proper job, something I had been avoiding ever since John passed.

I found a pretty good job, which payed decently as an assistant for a media company.

But I had to get money fast, so with much internal struggle, decided to finally sell my engagement ring.

Selling the ring was like selling a piece of my heart, but it was worth it.

With my bills all payed, I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my chest. I still craved alcohol, but I controlled myself.

Because I had a purpose now. This doesn't mean that I got over John, because I never would.

But I started to open up. I began going out, and cleaning my apartment regularly, something I had stopped doing when I was in depression.

Pretty soon, I had my life back on track. I was no longer an addict, my bills were paid, I was working full time and was even getting promoted, and yet something was missing.

I was lonely. I needed someone. But aside from Rachel, I had practically no friends. And I hadn't forgiven how Rachel failed to be there for me, during what was probably the toughest time of my life.

I had my mother, but no one else. I needed someone in my life. Not necessarily a significant other, but someone who cared about me.

I had lived through a whole year without the love of another person. But that would come naturally. I couldn't force friendship or love, it would have to happen by itself.

On one peaceful Saturday, I was sewing and watching TV on my favorite rocking chair, feeling at peace for the first time in a year and a half.

Of course, the gods decided that I, Mia Davis could not stay happy for more than two minutes, because at that moment, I heard a knock on the door.

I groaned, but heaved myself off the chair. I opened the door, and my jaw dropped almost comically.

It was Rachel. Her blonde curly hair had been cut short, and she was wearing a lot of make-up, which was unusual for the Rachel I remembered, but I would recognize her any day.

She looked fidgety, and kept playing with her purse. I stood there like a complete idiot, my mouth open, not knowing what to say.

A part of me wanted to cry with relief that my best friend had actually came, and another part of me wanted to scream at her for abandoning me at my time of need.

The latter won. I found myself screaming at her.

"How could you!" I yelled. "I told you that Jo- my husband had died and you don't show up to support me because of some silly fight we had the days before?"!"

Rachel looked ashamed. "Mia i-"

I interrupted her. "I called you so many times, either you ignored my calls, or you berated me for how lazy I was." "Didn't you know that I'd been working my ass off, trying to make ends meet?!" I blasted.

"Mia, please," She pleaded.

I would not let her finish. "I couldn't pay my bills, was so close to eviction, went into depression, got addicted to alcohol, and you weren't there for me a single step of the way!" I screamed.

I didn't care how uncoordinated I looked. I didn't care that I was a twenty-eight year old woman screaming and throwing a tantrum like a child. I wanted my words to dig into Rachel's skull, and stay there to haunt her as long as she lived.

"Well, not everything is about you!" Rachel yelled, taking me by surprise. I was about to slam the door, but Rachel inhaled, and blocked it with her foot.

"We need to talk." She said.

"There's nothing to talk about," I said coldly.

She ignored me, and barged into the apartment.

"Get the hell out!" I said loudly.

Rachel sat down on my couch. "No, I won't"

I groaned. Rachel was always stubborn.

"Fine." I said, sitting on the chair opposite her.

We sat in silence until I decided to break it. "Why weren't you there for me!" I burst out.

Rachel closed her eyes and leaned back. "Because my mother died, two days before John."

The name sent a tiny pin needling through my heart, but the words shocked me even more. "Why didn't you call?" I asked, not so angry anymore. "Why didn't you tell me!"

She blinked, and I could see tears start to form in her eyes.

"There was no time, I had to rush to Idaho, but by that time she was already dead." "I had to stay there because my mother had rented rooms in her house to a few people, and I had to help them relocate."

"But why did you say I was lazy, and why were you so cold to me?" I asked, my brain fumbling with the new information, trying to make something of it. Rachel sighed.

"I blamed you for the fact that I wasn't able to make it to Idaho to see my mother one last time before she died." I could hear Rachel's voice start to choke up.

"Why?" I asked, completely and utterly confused.

"You know how we fought two days before my mother died?" She said tearfully.

I nodded.

"Well, I was supposed to go to Idaho the next day, but since we fought in the night, I was so mentally exhausted that I missed my flight."

I could feel a lump of guilt start to form in the back of my heart.

"At the time I thought it was fine, but when she died, I realized that I had just missed my only chance to meet my mother before her death, and I missed it because of you."

The ending you, was coated in ice, as if the word was a dagger. I flinched, and Rachel must have noticed, because her tone warmed.

"I vowed to never talk to you or help you, ever again, but I get it was wrong." She hung her head. "I blamed you for something which was not your fault, in turn, I left you to suffer." "Just at the time, I was grieving and I thought it was the right thing to do." "I know that I was a terrible friend, but I'm hoping we can start over."

I stared at the girl in front of me. My best friend of 17 years, the girl I had known for literally all of my life, had become a complete stranger.

She had no idea what battles I had been fighting but again, neither did I.

So maybe it was time. Time to start over.