Election Day

This past Tuesday was Election Day. The results were less than pleasing for me when you look at the official win/loss board. The Republicans won the Senate seat for Kentucky, and Democrats lost control of the House. It was really no surprise though.



Since I turned 18 -- nearly 30 years ago (ouch!) -- I have voted in every election, every primary, general and presidential. I went to the polls informed, for several years with a child or two in tow. I even went to vote when I was on bedrest because of the pregnancy with the twins. The officials that year let me go to the front of the line.



I have always gone to the polls, imagining that I was casting my vote for all of the women in my past who were denied that right. I went with purpose and pride.



That changed two years ago.



Election Day 2008 proved to be historical in electing our nation's first black president. It also proved to be the day I hit the bottom that I had been spiraling towards for months.



By the time the final votes had been counted, I found myself at Ten Broeck Psychiatric Hospital, but not before I cast my vote so impaired from prescription pills and starvation that I took out a stop sign in the parking lot at the voting poll. (I'm just hoping I actually voted for Obama, but I couldn't swear to it.)



Anyway, I haven't voted since that day. Feelings of shame, unworthiness and paralyzing dread kept me away. Just thinking about going caused me to feel my heart beat in my ears. I guess I thought of myself as a convicted felon, that I had given up my right to voice an opinion.



This year on election day I cleaned and vacuumed my car out. I took Margaret, Laura's mother, to lunch; I hadn't seen her since I left Jeff. I walked Grace and did some laundry. I talked with my kids and my mom on the phone. I was just getting ready for an afternoon nap when Cathy called. She was predicting the outcome of the election, concerned that Rand Paul would be our next senator. I listened quietly when it dawned on her.



"You haven't voted, have you?" After a couple of seconds of silence, she said quite simply, "Go vote. It's time."



I grabbed my keys and made the short drive to the neighborhood church where I stood in line to vote. I stood there chatting with the old man who was volunteering. I stood there with clear eyes and a steady hand as I filled out my ballot. And while it wasn't an historical election, in the national sense, for me. . . my ticket won before the votes were even counted.