I tapped my foot as I waited impatiently for Guy, my brunch date and the first Potential Mr. Sonja 2006. He was 30 minutes late and hadn't called. I tried calling his number but it went directly to voicemail. I was going to give him 10 more minutes and then I was leaving without him, of all the rude ...
Suddenly the doorbell rang.
I pulled the door open abruptly, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but as soon as I saw his face I could tell something was terribly wrong. He was as white as a ghost and visibly shaken.
"What is it?" I asked cautiously.
He just stood there, looking at the ground.
"Guy, what's wrong?" I reached for him but he took a step back. As he did, he mumbled one barely audible word, "Nancy."
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end; Nancy is the name of the very emotionally unstable girl he'd been dating for the past year. The same girl that I'd seen him at the movies with months ago and referred to as Hurricane Hussy during a jealous tirade. The girl I'd told him to break it off with because she needed professional help, and the same girl who would use her 5-year-old daughter to win Guy back every time he tried to end things with her. I had disparaged her time and time again, trying to be a good friend, always telling him that he deserved better. Somehow, he finally took my advice and in one fell swoop decided that I might be that somebody better.
"What happened to Nancy, Guy?"
"I got a voicemail message from her ex-husband." His words were labored and I think my heart stopped beating as I waited for him to continue.
"He wanted to know what I'd done, why she ..." He stumbled, choking back tears. "She overdosed on Valium and wine late last night."
"Oh. My. God," I said, cupping my hands to my mouth. Vomit rose up in my throat and threatened to come out of my nose. I swallowed hard, tears welling up in my eyes as I prepared for the worst. "Is she ...?" I couldn't say the word.
"No, critical condition," he answered. "Sonja, when she didn't show up at her ex's to pick her daughter up, they went to her house. She was passed out on the kitchen floor. They could see her from the window. Her daughter saw her ... she thought her mom was ... dead."
Tears spilled out of my eyes and ran down my face like rain on a windowpane. I couldn't breathe, there seemed to be a vise around my ribs. My turn to step back; I needed to put distance between myself and the horrible vision in my head. I didn't want to hear anymore, didn't want my mind to go to that dark, ugly place that I've tried so hard to forgive and to forget.
Because we've been friends for so long and because we've shared so many stories, Guy knew exactly what I was thinking. He knew why I'd been so harsh whenever she was the topic of conversation. He knew that she and I weren't so different. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to stop the memories of my own miserable past from coming to the forefront of my life. But it was too late. As I stood there shaking uncontrollably and sobbing, it was as though I were watching a movie, and the part of the miserable, broken, depressed housewife was being played by yours truly.
My then-husband was heating a bottle on the stove, holding our screaming baby girl and chastising me, "I don't understand you, Sonja. I am so disappointed with you. When are you ever going to grow up?" Fifty-four Xanax and several shots of tequila was the poison I chose to stop the insufferable pain I'd been living with. Looking back now, I realize it was a selfish, chickenshit, cowardly thing to do; that in that moment, I could have made a decision that I could never take back. I also know now that I might as well have shoved those pills into the mouths of my crying daughter and my sleeping son, because if I had succeeded in killing myself that night, I would have robbed them of the happiness, normalcy, confidence and security they know today.
I wanted to go to the hospital and shake Nancy until her teeth cracked, wanted scream in her face, "What in the hell are you trying to do? Don't you know how important you are to this world, to that little girl? Don't you know that things are never that bad? Ever!"
But more than that I wanted to hold her, to take away her pain and show her that when life becomes unbearable, when you think you can't take even one more step, you just have to keep on living. Things will get better if you just hold on.
That night as I lay in my bed watching television with my precious children, I held them close to me and kissed the top of their heads and told them over and over how very much I love them. "We love you too, Mom, what's wrong with you?" asked my teenage son, smiling up at me. The love and gratitude I felt in that moment was more than I ever imagined possible a lifetime ago when I felt so lost. And as I closed my eyes, I said a silent prayer for Nancy that consisted of two simple words: Just. Breathe.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?