Desolation Row

Continuing the saga, my life from 26 to 39 wasn't very pretty. While it's sometimes painful to look back on it, it's also instructive and provides a wonderful opportunity for gratitude. The past 20 years have been pretty fabulous, all in all. But we have to slog through the middle of my life first. Sigh.

I met the man who would become my second husband when I was 26. I was introduced to a completely different kind of life through him, a dark life, and one neither of us are living in now.

Twenty-seven. See four. And six. Some things are better left unsaid.

At 28, in a moment of clarity, I broke up with the man who would become my second husband. The fact that I eventually married him should tell you a lot about my state of mind in my late 20s.

My doctor hospitalized me for a long weekend when I was 29. I was clinically depressed, suicidal, and he was concerned for my safety. I remember my parents couldn't even visit without checking in at the nurse's station first. There was a "NO VISITORS" sign on my door. The bright note from this time period is that I started taking flying lessons.

Thirty. When I was growing up we were told "Don't trust anyone over 30." And here I was, hitting that wall, grown up all over again. I became a licensed pilot, single-engine, land. And I married my second husband, a completely misguided decision.

He moved out when I was 31.

I was twice-divorced when I was 32.

My children decided to go live with their father when I was 33.

At 35 I met husband number three and stopped drinking. For a while.

From 36 to 39 I was up and down a lot. If I was not drinking, I was crazy, for by this time I was an alcoholic, and an alcoholic off booze and not in AA is not a pretty thing. I was fat and started going to Overeaters Anonymous, and then Al-Anon, eventually finding the right rooms.

Tomorrow, life starts getting better. If you're still reading, thanks.