I stopped talking to my friends about anything of real importance.
I refused to let anyone come over to my house, for fear that they would see the truth there.
I distanced myself from my family, not allowing them to know any details of my life.
I would only go to family functions alone, because I was afraid that my husband would get drunk and cause a scene.
I felt that work was my only reprieve.
But the bitterness of suffering had already infiltrated that haven, and soon my career started crumbling around me as well.
Every aspect of my life was in ruins.
And I was trapped, somewhere underneath it all, suffocating in a silent anger that began to bubble into hatred.
I hated my life...
...My husband.
And all of the pain that he had subjected me to.
When he was fired from a high paying job because he had shown up to work drunk, my heart grew bitter and resentful.
Instead of trying to find another way to bring home income that we desperately needed, he wasted his days and nights drinking at every hour.
I did everything that I could to get him to sober up.
I threw out all of the alcohol in the house.
I threatened to send him to rehab.
But, while I was at work, he would pawn our things and buy more liquor.
This cycle went on week after week.
And then one cold, winter’s afternoon, something happened
that allowed me a close up look
at just how damaged my heart had become.