12 Steps Before

I met her on her first week at the job. I walked into the office instantly noticing her absorbing the illumination that poured from the monitor on an old desk, passed down from what looked like decades of workers. Yet she made it her home, a comfortable couch as she effortlessly laid both arms on this desk, total dominance as her fingers glided across the keyboard. A willful head on her shoulders as she sported her best smile to greet me, one that confirmed we would soon be the closest of friends.

We spent our lunch days in her car, eating Wendy's, gossiping, craving Cold Stone Ice cream and occasional boys and when that was not enough, we spoke about childhood. Most importantly being born "different".

She had been emotionally tough throughout her life and you can tell. Wearing her bipolar-ness like a combat action badge since the age of 18. A badge of survival letting everyone know just how sharp she was, some may even say bold. The personality she created to be understood out of fear of being voiceless. Her legendary confidence filled with empty noise, a characteristic she thought would quiet the triggering complexities of her thoughts but when these thoughts betrayed her, she'd resort to a drink, or two. Until her last drink ended with a green prescription bottle she frequently took advantage of.

An unspeakable, hidden poison of tiny white capsules accompanied with booze, giving her the sleep she needed when restless, intoxication turned to numbness. Overdosing well enough to end up in a hospital under suicide watch, yet all she wanted was a break. A break from existence, a pause from the silence she couldn't bear.

The following months brought her a distraction. Not her usual type, he was older, diligent, masculinity reaping off his pores. Falling hard for his kind of different, only to be left astray by a simple "I don't see a future with you." But this is expected when Alpha male meets the girl who doesn't need saving, not from him anyways. Such news brought her to overdosed for what she didn't know would be the last time in her life.

This isn't a story about seeing through the light at the end of the tunnel. It's a journey of survival in the darkness when there is no light to be found. It's the breakthroughs in neurotransmitters as she opens her eyes choosing to fight her battles tirelessly, everyday. The recovery didn't happen after she gave me the pills to discard, it was accepting her stoic-ness being a mere avoidance fog. I once thought her real strength was standing in her power of control. It wasn't until she admitted her powerlessness, 8 months sober, where she willingly surrendered herself to her different, her silence, when her face spoke ferocity. It had been her courage to walk 12 steps away from the blaring noises and into the shadows of vulnerability. Pure strength, resiliency and 4 fierce steps towards love.