In the first picture, I was a fat drunk. I was getting fucked up at least twice a week. After Larry died, I was drunk damn near every other day. Then epilepsy entered the chat. Hell, I had gotten drunk the night before I had my seizure.

I had a choice after the diagnosis: continue being a drunken sot and play Russian roulette with my life, or stop. And I’ve been alcohol-free since October 2020.

I was also an ignorant drunk. It’s by the grace of my ancestors that I didn’t get my ass beat.

My children didn’t like the harridan I became when a large amount of tequila was in my system. I’m still apologizing.

The woman on the left looked like she’d been through the trenches of life. Her eyes were dead, and her mouth sat crooked on her face.

And now?

The woman on the right looks peaceful. Her eyes are filled with laughter and quiet amusement. She’s come almost full circle, but not quite yet—because she knows she still has a lot of living and loving to do.

She is me, and I’m her. Two sides of the same coin, finally fused together.