Finally, Saturday night, I sobbed like there was no tomorrow. The breaking point was hearing my husband tell me that when I tried to overdose in 2004 that it was his son, Jake (who was 11 at the time), who got him through it. Henry went on to tell me that he hit the bottom where he wanted to die, too but Jake stabilized him and by focusing on that he was able to struggle through the chaos I created.
Once upon a time, tears came easily for me. For some reason (my guess is the medication) the past year or more I have not been able to cry at all. Well, with the exception of March 17th when I broke my elbow. I sobbed while walking the rest of the way down the hill.
Saturday night was the first night Henry and I really talked about my attempted suicide. (It wasn't much talk, but it was a definite start with an agreement to continue the discussion.) It's been this big elephant in the room for so long.
I have very few memories of my own of the six months following my overdose. (Henry has provided me with bits and pieces.) I remember mixing the drug cocktail, swallowing it, laying down and then....nothing. I have vague memories of a couple different psychiatric hospitals and ECT treatments -- Henry has had to fill me in on the rest. Except for the elephant in the room.
I asked Henry to take some time, however much time he needed, to put down on paper everything that happened that August night and after, especially how he was feeling. I have this very deep need to see, in black and white, how my attempted suicide affected him. I desperately need for him to fill in the blanks. I want a piece of paper that, when I am feeling that desperate again, (hopefully I never do) I can read to remind me of all the reasons I have for not putting myself six feet under. I have a tremendous amount of guilt inside my heart for what I put him through and I want that piece of paper to validate it and quantify it. Does that make sense?
I am truly blessed that this man answered my Yahoo! personal ad that asked for someone who was over 6' tall and had a crotch-rocket. He is everything I asked for multiplied by infinity.
Thank you God for another day.
Once upon a time, tears came easily for me. For some reason (my guess is the medication) the past year or more I have not been able to cry at all. Well, with the exception of March 17th when I broke my elbow. I sobbed while walking the rest of the way down the hill.
Saturday night was the first night Henry and I really talked about my attempted suicide. (It wasn't much talk, but it was a definite start with an agreement to continue the discussion.) It's been this big elephant in the room for so long.
I have very few memories of my own of the six months following my overdose. (Henry has provided me with bits and pieces.) I remember mixing the drug cocktail, swallowing it, laying down and then....nothing. I have vague memories of a couple different psychiatric hospitals and ECT treatments -- Henry has had to fill me in on the rest. Except for the elephant in the room.
I asked Henry to take some time, however much time he needed, to put down on paper everything that happened that August night and after, especially how he was feeling. I have this very deep need to see, in black and white, how my attempted suicide affected him. I desperately need for him to fill in the blanks. I want a piece of paper that, when I am feeling that desperate again, (hopefully I never do) I can read to remind me of all the reasons I have for not putting myself six feet under. I have a tremendous amount of guilt inside my heart for what I put him through and I want that piece of paper to validate it and quantify it. Does that make sense?
I am truly blessed that this man answered my Yahoo! personal ad that asked for someone who was over 6' tall and had a crotch-rocket. He is everything I asked for multiplied by infinity.
Thank you God for another day.
1 comment:
I'm sorry that you have to live with this disease. I've never heard of it until just recently reading your blog. You seem to have a good husband who is sticking with you not matter what comes your way. I wish the best for you and your family. You will be in my prayers.
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