Nights like these

It's nights like these that scare me.

Nights when it's drink or cry.

Nights when I check in with people in an attempt to forget everything I should be fixing.

Nights when I won't let the girls leave me alone in the kitchen - in fear that I'll open the bottle.

Nights when it's a lot of sinking, with very little swimming.

Nights when I'm falling back into hurting myself to make everyone else ok.

These are the nights when the holes feel deeper and the scars more fresh.

These are the nights when my mother is staring through the mirror.

I feel like I ran out of road hundreds of miles before the skid marks stop.

And I just want to get off of this ride.

But there are bills to be paid and lunches to be packed and hair to be combed.  I don't have the luxury of checking out.  I don't have the benefit of a time out.

No strength for another inch and no extra set of shoulders to shovel this onto.

No choice but to keep going.  Tomorrow is another day and all of that.

Really, that scares me even more than tonight: another tomorrow.

I'm so far behind in this marathon that I think I've lapped myself.

It's almost their bedtime, and I'm clinging to that thread of hope.  I hope I won't break before the last good night kiss.  I hope I can muster a genuine smile when they wrap their arms around my waist.  I hope they can't see how hard I'm trying.

Yes, nights like these scare me.  But, I didn't drink and the tears were dry before I pulled into the driveway.  So, I won again.  And, tomorrow could be different.  Tomorrow, I could be brave.

Either way, every breath I draw is another fear conquered.  Soon, this night will be one more survival story.

And I will be less afraid.