“God, is it all for me?” I say to the air.  

The writing, you wooing me to the OYNB site to see the writing prompt—did you do it for me? Not to write a daily account for others, even though I have content that feels authentic and worthy of page space, but did you lead me there, because you knew I’d respond to the breadcrumb trail of hope and help along the way?

Did you do this so I would sign up for the 90-day challenge because you know I need it? You know if I can get back on track, I will stay on track? You know that my restlessness and depression are heightened with alcohol consumption and you want more for me—like it makes you sad when I’m sad? 

I’m grateful for today. Day 11. 

I’m looking forward to getting to the tail-end, maybe 90 days, maybe one full year. I remember at the beginning of my life without Bill, the hope of being like George Bailey at the tail-end of It’s a Wonderful Life, when he stood on the bridge, rubbing his tearstained eyes, saying, “I want to live.” I didn’t reach that bridge in the span of two hours–more like two years, but I arrived all the same.

Maybe this time I’ll stand on a different kind of bridge, or possibly crossing a finish line, fully alive, with arms raised high, saying, “I’m alive! I’m alive! I’m alive!”

Well, if I say it three times, do I just transfer to Wizard of Oz and I’m Dorothy, clicking her sparkly-red heels to triumph home?  Either way, this is not fiction, but reality, and I will reach the end with bells and whistles of some sort, because I’ve already made it to double digits.