A personal essay about leaving a five-year emotionally abusive relationship — the morning of the escape, the drive home, and why walking out the door was only the beginning. Part one of two.

I wanted a better friend like I wanted a better mother, and although it was never my job to improve either of them, I felt the need to take on the challenge. Part two of two.

“Have you heard from Autumn lately?" I asked my sister, as we ate dinner across from each other. She sealed her lips and squinted her eyes, nonverbally signaling that I might not like what I was about to hear. (Part one of two.)

It was 2020, a year that had already taken so much from so many of us, and it was about to take one more thing from me. I didn’t know it then, but that phone call was the last time I'd ever be met with my mother’s silence.

After a night of too many drinks and an emotional outburst at a bar, I started reading into alcohol abuse and discovered that there is another kind of picture painted for the alcoholic - my "kind."