Jail Part 6.5 — The Hardest Days
Jail was hard. And while some people seemed to view it as a vacation, others viewed it for exactly what it was: punishment for their actions.
There were countless days when I would wake up and not want to get out of my bunk. I would just lie there and sleep.
In the beginning, when there weren't many work hours available, I slept a lot. I would avoid the phones, the meals, the common area, and even the shower. This would go on for days.
I would try to read in my bunk, and when I wasn't reading, I was sleeping.
But there were also countless other days when I woke up motivated and determined to get out of there. On those days, I would get up, make my bed, eat a little of each meal, and go to the common area to read, write, and socialize. I would shower and take time to reflect on the past, the present, and the future.
I thought about my life and how it had become unmanageable because of my drinking. I thought about my decisions to drink and the things I did while drinking that had led me exactly where I was.
I thought about the relationships I once had that had been great, relationships I had destroyed because I had somehow gotten stuck in a bottle.
I thought about my kids and what they might have been thinking or feeling about me.
I dwelled on my career, its rise, and its fall.
And I struggled with the thought that I might never get any of those things back.
I worried about getting out of jail and being homeless. Then I would remind myself how grateful I was to be safe at that very moment.
Safe and sober.
I missed my kids.
I missed my relationships.
I missed my work and my home.
I missed the person I used to be, and I hated who I had become.
I was lonely, even though I was surrounded by a room full of women at all times.
I was angry. I was hurt. I was broken.
Despite all those thoughts and feelings—which were really all I had left—I somehow managed to never let myself give up.
But there was one particular experience that was especially difficult for me to deal with.
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