When my first life ended, I was 28.
I was a married mother of two. I worked from home. I had a high school diploma. We lived in a mobile home on a big rural lot.
I’d met my first husband at 20. We were married the following year. We had a boy when I was 23 and a girl when I was 26.
We were very poor. We did not get public assistance. We rarely had two working vehicles. There was nothing for miles. The trailer felt like a prison.
My mental health declined. Counselors were unsuccessful at reaching a diagnosis. Therapy began and ended abruptly. It was not easily accessible.
My first life ended in a hospital far from home.
I take nothing for granted now.
When I left, I got a small apartment, a new job and a newer vehicle, and I went to college. I needed a lot of support to make that happen. I’m blessed— and I put in work.
My story may someday inspire. It flows slowly lately.