I don't think I was ever in denial. Absolutely there were times when I hoped and wished that he would open up the door to our home and walk right in as if he had just come home from work. I can close my eyes and envision him from the birthmark in the crease of his right elbow to the scar on his chin from the one rugby game he played in college, all the way down to his pinky toes that curled out like hammers. I think about how much he would have loved the new Justin Timberlake song as he loved his suits and ties as well and even better than that, I can imagine him singing that song in a high-pitched tone deaf sort of voice. But even in my dreams, I am fully aware that he is dead. I have had dreams where it was some kind of set up and that he really wasn't dead. I think I even dreamt that he came back to life. I even dreamt that it was a murder. Sounds like denial, but even in my dreams, I wasn't fooled. I knew the truth.
He prepared me well. It was made known to me very early on in our relationship his thoughts on suicide. Most often, they came up randomly and he spoke about it almost as casually as if talking about the weather. He knew that it was often looked at as a selfish act, but he twisted that into it being selfish to want and to ask someone who is in so much turmoil to continue on. He never shared that turmoil with me, or as he described it, his demons. He spoke of how I had a long life ahead of me and how he wanted me to be happy and to move on. This he did as his eyes would glisten, while all of the other words were stated matter-of-factly. However, he also said words that held and created so much hope that he never would act on it.
He was highly functioning and to most, they would never suspect the thoughts that crossed his mind. He was good at covering and hiding it. He was very smart. He knew what people wanted to hear and what to say. He even knew how to play me as I was left feeling like I was walking on egg shells for much of the time, especially in the last few years. And I think that I was in more of a denial before his death than after. It was just as confusing and incomprehensible living with a suicidal person as it was grieving the loss of one.
He had been on medications and had seen therapists before meeting me. However, he did neither of the two while he was with me until almost the very, very end when he was forced to. It is not as if it was never discussed. It is not as if I hadn't asked him to. It eventually came to the point where he told me he didn't need them, he needed me and for me to do what he needed when needed. That was not something that made me feel special or important. I've never been an emotionally dependent person and I didn't understand what he was putting on me by saying that. I just knew that I was his wife and that I would do anything to help him just as I would if he was sick from cancer. The trouble is that I never knew exactly what he needed. I listened to what I thought he was telling me. I read and tried things on my own that I thought would help. Nothing ever seemed to be good enough. He became increasingly more and more frustrated with me. And I came to feel increasingly helpless.
This was not my life everyday. In the beginning, I knew that he suffered from depression and his thoughts on suicide. Perhaps to most that would be enough to send someone running to the hills. But he was so much more than that. That is what I saw. And I was full of hope. I never thought that I could save or rescue him. More so than not finding that romantic as some do (Fifty Shades?), I never thought of myself as being capable of doing that. I was just able to separate the man from the sickness and thought that he was magnificent.
Hindsight is 20/20 as I can now look back and see how over the years things started to build up and everything started to escalate. But much like someone who puts weight on gradually, you don't notice it right away, especially when you are in the midst of it all and living it. That is not to say that I was in full denial. He had planted a seed within me and I was always conscious and aware of the potential possibilities. I worried. It slowly took over my life as I was never completely at ease. It was always an option for him.
I came to a point where I had nothing left to give. It sounds awful, I know. I gave everything that I had and in the process, I lost myself. I didn't give up on him or even us. When I got to that point, that is when I knew we needed to step out the cycle we had found ourselves in. We both were unhealthy and we both needed to take care of ourselves individually. It was at that point that I all I had left was to hope and pray and to believe in a faith greater than I ever imagined possible that it would never end this way.
So when it did, I did become numb. I found myself in a state of shock. But denial, no. I had lived with reality of the potential possibility for far too long to deny that it wasn't just a potential possibility anymore.
He prepared me well. It was made known to me very early on in our relationship his thoughts on suicide. Most often, they came up randomly and he spoke about it almost as casually as if talking about the weather. He knew that it was often looked at as a selfish act, but he twisted that into it being selfish to want and to ask someone who is in so much turmoil to continue on. He never shared that turmoil with me, or as he described it, his demons. He spoke of how I had a long life ahead of me and how he wanted me to be happy and to move on. This he did as his eyes would glisten, while all of the other words were stated matter-of-factly. However, he also said words that held and created so much hope that he never would act on it.
He was highly functioning and to most, they would never suspect the thoughts that crossed his mind. He was good at covering and hiding it. He was very smart. He knew what people wanted to hear and what to say. He even knew how to play me as I was left feeling like I was walking on egg shells for much of the time, especially in the last few years. And I think that I was in more of a denial before his death than after. It was just as confusing and incomprehensible living with a suicidal person as it was grieving the loss of one.
He had been on medications and had seen therapists before meeting me. However, he did neither of the two while he was with me until almost the very, very end when he was forced to. It is not as if it was never discussed. It is not as if I hadn't asked him to. It eventually came to the point where he told me he didn't need them, he needed me and for me to do what he needed when needed. That was not something that made me feel special or important. I've never been an emotionally dependent person and I didn't understand what he was putting on me by saying that. I just knew that I was his wife and that I would do anything to help him just as I would if he was sick from cancer. The trouble is that I never knew exactly what he needed. I listened to what I thought he was telling me. I read and tried things on my own that I thought would help. Nothing ever seemed to be good enough. He became increasingly more and more frustrated with me. And I came to feel increasingly helpless.
This was not my life everyday. In the beginning, I knew that he suffered from depression and his thoughts on suicide. Perhaps to most that would be enough to send someone running to the hills. But he was so much more than that. That is what I saw. And I was full of hope. I never thought that I could save or rescue him. More so than not finding that romantic as some do (Fifty Shades?), I never thought of myself as being capable of doing that. I was just able to separate the man from the sickness and thought that he was magnificent.
Hindsight is 20/20 as I can now look back and see how over the years things started to build up and everything started to escalate. But much like someone who puts weight on gradually, you don't notice it right away, especially when you are in the midst of it all and living it. That is not to say that I was in full denial. He had planted a seed within me and I was always conscious and aware of the potential possibilities. I worried. It slowly took over my life as I was never completely at ease. It was always an option for him.
I came to a point where I had nothing left to give. It sounds awful, I know. I gave everything that I had and in the process, I lost myself. I didn't give up on him or even us. When I got to that point, that is when I knew we needed to step out the cycle we had found ourselves in. We both were unhealthy and we both needed to take care of ourselves individually. It was at that point that I all I had left was to hope and pray and to believe in a faith greater than I ever imagined possible that it would never end this way.
So when it did, I did become numb. I found myself in a state of shock. But denial, no. I had lived with reality of the potential possibility for far too long to deny that it wasn't just a potential possibility anymore.
No comments:
Post a Comment