…of my mum finally getting - and staying - sober. This is, undoubtedly, a good thing, and a massive achievement. I’m hugely proud, and grateful.
But no-one who is celebrating this, telling her how amazing she is, and how well she’s done, has stopped to consider that what they’re are celebrating was also one of the worst days of my life. What finally stopped mum from drinking was my suicide attempt. I was 15, and I’d been on my own with her, trying to take care of her, since I was 5. My life was chaotic and scary and had been for as long as I could remember, and finally I couldn’t take any more. I took a massive dose of antidepressants and lay down to die.
Obviously I didn’t, and I’m glad I didn’t. I have a lovely life these days, a husband I love and who loves me, two gorgeous kids - and a great relationship with my mum. I’m very lucky.
But I can’t celebrate this day. I can’t. It’s still too painful, and no one ever wants to hear that. They just want to celebrate her stopping, and not think about what came before.
So I’m telling you all. Because no one else wants to hear it.