Here it is. 2018. And how are we welcoming it in? With the worst hangover we have ever had in our lives. I don’t even need to say tequila out loud—the thought of it is enough to trigger those waves of nausea.
The phone rings. It’s Susan, the receptionist. There is a man on the other line. She tells me his name and who he wants me to be. He’s asked for Alice.
You say “I’m fine” and tell them you’re just tired; secretly though you hope they will call you out on your lies. You want them to pry, to push further and ask what’s really going on.
We thought we had done everything right. We bought the big house, we exchanged our promises of forever and then... nothing. That baby we had been waiting for never came.
Last February, I was in the worst place I had ever been.
Drowning under a career I couldn’t handle, struggling to pay those ever-mounting bills, dealing with my overbearing parents, and in the back ground, I was facing depression and anxiety.