One morning, at the crack of dawn, I woke up. In a moment of clarity, the reality of my situation hit me like a Mack truck. Emotions flooded me in the most overwhelming way. I was finally awake to the nightmare that had become my life. Desperation overtook me, and I instantly had a plan to end my life, I had every detail in mind, so that I couldn’t be saved. I was getting ready to sneak out of the bed, when I started to silently sob in a way I hadn’t since I had been informed my husband was killed. I begged God, that if He was there, to please give me a miracle. Get me out, safely, quickly. For it would take a miracle to keep all the animals quiet as I moved around, and to keep E sound asleep. It would take a miracle to be able to reach family that I had hurt so deeply for years. I told God that I was prepared to take my life if He couldn’t get me out, because I couldn’t bear another second in this hell that I helped create.

He gave me my miracle. Family picked up the phone immediately, and formed a plan. I only needed to wait about 30 minutes for help to come. The animals stayed quiet. E remained fast asleep. I was able to grab a few essentials, chain-smoke, and my rescuer arrived in no time, though it felt like hours. The healing process would be a nightmare in its own way. It’s a long journey that you can’t prepare for.

I had become a shell of person. Nothing was my own, my money, my body, my mind, my wardrobe, my grief, all belonged to E. How do you recover from that? How do you rebuild?