There I am, freshly 23, a newly single mother of two, standing in front of the mirror, getting ready for another night of fuckery with my best friend. Just like we did every other weekend. I slip my big teal hoop earrings into my ears and then add a coat of ridiculously shiny lipgloss to my lips.

 “Noel,” I say, glancing at her in the mirror next to me. “Are you almost ready?” Her big blue eyes catch mine and she flashes me a smile. “Five minutes,” she promises as a giggle escapes her pink, glossy lips.

I sigh. We both know this is a lie. I smile at our similarities. We make a terrible team. 

Noel is bright-eyed and bubbly, with a smile that can light up the whole room and a heart big enough to fill the same room. With her kind heart and funny wit, we quickly became best friends.  

While I wait for Noel to finish getting ready, I head to the kitchen for a drink. When I open the fridge, it’s filled with fresh fruits and colorful vegetables that I’ll never remember to eat. Breezing right past them, I lean into the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water. And an even bigger bottle of vodka.

Placing both bottles on the counter, I unscrew the lids with a quick flick of the wrist. I bring the water bottle to my lips and take a swig of it. The cool liquid fills my mouth and all I can think about is how boring it tastes. I pour the rest of it down the drain and pour the vodka in its place. 

Who needs water anyway? 

I put the vodka back in the fridge but not before taking a swig. It burns like fuck and I instantly regret it. Yuck.

Noel’s voice carries through the house and into the kitchen. “You’re not starting without me, are you?” 

I guiltily wipe the back of my mouth with my hand and skip back into the living room, waving my water bottle proudly in the air. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I insist, flashing her a wink. I know she’s on to me.

“Is that what I think it is?” Her eyes sparkle with anticipation as she waits for my reply.

“Sure is,” I assure her. 

She flashes me a knowing grin.

Reapplying her lip gloss for the third time, she presses her lips together and says, “Let’s do this!” 

Tossing her the keys and slipping on my shoes, we slip out the front door. I can’t wait to be on the dance floor. Blasting our music in the car, we dance all the way to the bar. 

Most of our evenings look a lot like this, except we often find ourselves back at the beach, surrounded by friends. With girlfriends in tow, we spend every other weekend laughing under the glow of the moonlight and dancing beneath the stars. 

Somehow, this seemed like a perfectly effective way to blow off steam from work and the exhaustion that we affectionately call motherhood.

Meanwhile, the rest of society is having babies, operating a 9-to-5, while living on next to no sleep, and they seem to be just fine. 

What is wrong with me?

Overstimulated, overwhelmed, and often full of rage and despair, I fantasize about killing myself at least once a month. It’s my kids, that keep me on the planet. Without them, I know I would have already ended it.