It happened again last night. I couldn't control myself, couldn't stop the urge to reach for that bottle and drown out the memories that haunt me every waking moment. Six months of sobriety down the drain in a matter of minutes. The familiar sting as I woke up this morning, my body aching with regret and shame.
I can see the worry in Kai's eyes as he glances at me from across the room, his gaze filled with concern and disappointment. I know he means well, but it's hard for him to understand what goes on inside my head. The demons that never seem to leave me alone, no matter how much therapy or medication I try.
So here I am now, sitting alone in our dimly lit bedroom with gloves covering my hands. Not because it's cold outside or because I have some strange fashion sense - but because they hide the evidence of last night's mistakes. The cuts and bruises that serve as a constant reminder of how fragile and broken I truly am.
I hate having to wear them, hate feeling like a child who needs protection from themselves. But it's better than seeing Kai look at me with those sad eyes full of pity and fear for what might happen next if he leaves me alone for even just a moment.
The silence between us is deafening as we sit together yet miles apart emotionally. He tries to talk about his day at work or ask how mine was, but all I can manage are short mumbled responses before retreating back into my own mind where everything feels safe yet suffocating at the same time.
I wish there was an easy fix for all this pain inside me - something simple like taking a pill or talking through my trauma until it magically disappears forever. But life doesn't work like that; healing is messy and complicated, full of setbacks and relapses that make you question if you'll ever truly be okay again.
Maybe one day things will be different; maybe one day these gloves won't feel like such heavy burdens weighing down on my already exhausted soul...