My Darkest Hour: The Edge of the Abyss

The Day I Wanted to End It All – My Darkest Hour

My Darkest Hour began in a surreal calmness, a clarity sharper than I had felt in years. I had planned everything. Every last detail. My mind had never felt so clear, so resolved. It was literally my Darkest Hour.

That morning, I woke up earlier than usual—5:30 AM. After a long time, I brushed my teeth and took a shower, the cold water prickling my skin like tiny needles. I had sold my motorbike two days ago and had some money with me. Although I hadn’t kept any reserved alcohol, my body craved it. Trembling, I lied to my wife, saying I was going to get tickets for our supposed journey, but instead, I dashed to find liquor.

A man walking alone to a railway station, lost in thoughts, stepping deeper into My Darkest Hour — The road felt endless, but my path was set—this was My Darkest Hour taking shape

The summer morning air was thick, the rising sun casting long shadows, and for a moment, I noticed the world waking up. Birds chirped, oblivious to the turmoil inside me. I found myself at the railway station, where a woman sold liquor under the guise of a tea stall. Her eyes widened seeing me so early. “Oh my God! I didn’t expect you this time,” she said.

“I have to go somewhere. Maybe I won’t be coming to you for some time,” I replied, forcing a smile.

She handed me the bottle. “Take care in the journey and don’t drink much.”

I had three quick drinks, the burn of alcohol both familiar and numbing, anchoring me to this, my Darkest Hour. I could have had more, but I wanted to stay somewhat sober, to feel every moment of this day—the last day.

One Last Day of Pretending

By 8 AM, I was home. Despite three drinks on an empty stomach, I acted as if nothing was amiss. My wife looked surprised—I hadn’t drunk that morning, or so she thought. I wanted this day to seem normal, one final perfect memory.

I played with my sons, their laughter echoing through the house—a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt inside. My youngest, just five, tugged at my shirt, “Papa, buy me a real horse!”

I forced a grin, “I’ll buy three, one for each of you.”

The aroma of spices drifted from the kitchen where my wife was cooking my favorite dishes. She glanced at me, suspicion flickering in her eyes, but said nothing.

“Papa, let’s watch a movie together,” my middle son chimed in, his eyes sparkling with innocent joy. I nodded, fighting back tears that threatened to expose my Darkest Hour.

A father surrounded by his children, battling an unseen storm in My Darkest Hour — Laughter echoed in the room, but inside me, My Darkest Hour screamed in silence

A Long Night of Reflection

The night before, I had sat alone, bathed in the dim glow of our bedroom lamp, replaying memories that cut deep.

My father’s sudden death, the crushing weight of responsibility.
The first sip of alcohol that promised escape but delivered chains, the mountain of debt. I had been consumed by drinking, and how my struggle with alcohol took control of my life had led me to this breaking point
The loans that piled up until I was drowning in them.
My motorbike, sold just days ago, felt like the last piece of myself slipping away.

The alcohol was bitter, its taste clinging to my tongue, as I tried to numb the pain, dragging me deeper into My Darkest Hour.

The Final Conversation

After lunch, I sat beside my mother, masking the turmoil inside. “You should take your medicines on time,” I said, my voice betraying nothing. “You have the responsibility to teach your grandchildren about our culture.”

She smiled gently. “Why should I worry when you’re here? Slow down on the drinking. Difficult times come and go; those who fight through set examples for others.”

I wanted to tell her everything but couldn’t. Instead, I kissed her forehead and left.

I found my wife staring out the window, lost in thought. “What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice softer than usual.

“Nothing,” she replied, eyes searching mine.

I wanted to say so much—to prepare her, to apologize—but the words caught in my throat. “You’re looking beautiful,” was all I managed.

“That’s why you shout at me all the time now?” she teased, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“I’m sorry. I was under a lot of tension, but now I’ve found a solution. Thank you for everything.”

“Everything in this world has a solution. First, you have to believe it.”

Her words hung in the air, a lifeline I was too deep in My Darkest Hour to grasp.

The Breaking Point – Hitting Rock Bottom

All day, I sipped slowly, savoring what felt like my last day. By evening, my body grew heavy, suffocated by unseen weights. I couldn’t bear the normalcy around me—the way my family carried on, unaware of my Darkest Hour.

I drank until the room spun, the walls blurred, and sounds faded. I blacked out, letting the darkness consume me—the moment I realized I had truly hit rock bottom.

A man lost in intoxication, slipping away into My Darkest Hour, as the world around him distorts — The world faded, my vision blurred—My Darkest Hour swallowed me whole

The next thing I knew, there were hands shaking me, voices cutting through the fog.

“Wake up! Get up, we’re leaving.”

My wife’s voice pierced the haze. “I can’t watch you die like this.” I wanted to resist, but my body refused to comply, too drained from My Darkest Hour.

A Life That Almost Wasn’t

Had my wife not intervened that night, I wouldn’t be writing this today. My Darkest Hour could have been my final hour, but somehow, it became my beginning. What followed was a battle toward redemption—the journey of self-discovery that followed my darkest hour.

What Comes Next?

Rehab was a battle. Sobriety is a war. But at least I lived to fight it. In my next blog, I will share my first days in rehab—the withdrawals, the anger, the moments I almost gave up, and the first glimmer of hope that made me realize that maybe, just maybe, I could still turn my life around.

➡️ Read my next blog: Rehab: More Than Just Sobriety.