Day Thirteen (part 1): Torn

****Note: This entry has mentions of suicide (non-graphic). Please read with caution if you are triggered by this subject.

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The night following my first day of the program passes by in a normal enough way. My kids need supper, Gray asks how the day went, there are clothes to wash, bottles to clean, formula to be made for the following day, bedtime prayers and kisses and tuck-ins to be done. All of these normal day to day things that comprise my routine float past with the hours and I find myself alone at the end of it, Big Book in hand, fumbling with the pages and trying to make some attempt at reviewing the material we covered today. I put the book down with a sigh. It's useless. It's the same stuff I learned four years ago. It's just not working. There is no way that it makes any sense that this will help at all. Why would it? There are no new insights to be gained in this Big Book and no new education to be learned about the diseases or treatments. It's all the same. Same isn't going to change anything for me. And short of something completely extreme like electroshock therapy, nothing is going to help this. There is no way out of this darkness. None. I don't want to leave...but I can't do this anymore. I sit in the rocking chair in our living room and make my plans. My means are still in the house and easy enough to lay my hands on. I won't do it here in the house. I will leave tomorrow, go somewhere out of the way, write my note, and do it there. That way at least the ones I leave behind won't find me. With that thought, I gather up the necessary items, tuck them inside my insulated lunch bag, and put it into the refrigerator as though it contains a sandwich and piece of fruit.

I decide that I will leave at the same time I did today in order to go to Mass one more time and beg God's forgiveness. I am not certain that He will forgive me for this. I know that I cannot receive absolution for sins I've yet to commit, but I have to at least tell Him that I am sorry for what I am about to do. It may sound crazy to some people, but I feel torn in half over this. On the one hand, this pain and anguish is so great that I cannot conceive of continuing to endure it, but on the other hand, I know it is wrong in every sense of the word to throw away my life like this and leave those I love in grief and misery over my death. The intensity of these two feelings is pulling at me so hard from both directions that I almost feel as though I will physically rip straight down the center of my body. It is an unbearable and excruciating sensation. For a brief moment as I am preparing to go to bed, I open our sharp knife drawer in the kitchen and ponder both ending it right then and a lesser form of relief that involves self-harm. With great effort and shaking hands, I close the drawer, walk out of the kitchen, and upstairs to bed. I set my alarm, put my earbuds in my ears, and drift off to sleep listening to Mother Angelica and the rest of the Poor Clare nuns praying the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary.

 

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It is morning and it is time. Despite the fact that I have closed my eyes for sleep, the fog I have been in since yesterday afternoon has barely thinned. The house is quiet with everyone but me still asleep. I look at Gray's sleeping form in the bed and take a deep breath. He will be better off. Oh Gray, I am so sorry. I hope you can forgive me one day. I love you. I swallow several times to hold back the tears. If I start crying, I will wake him and have to be honest about this. Instead, I slide closer to him in the bed and thread my arm through his, wrapping it around his waist and kiss the back of his shoulder as I rest my face against his back. He stirs a little bit and grabs my hand in his, squeezing it gently. "I'm getting ready to go." I whisper.

"Okay, hon. Have a good day. I love you," he replies almost automatically, not fully awake. I squeeze his hand back and am silent for a few moments before I respond.

"I love you too, sweetheart..." I reply, my voice thick with emotion. He stirs a bit more, removes his CPAP mask and turns over to face me in the bed. When he does, I kiss him on the mouth and linger a bit longer than our normal goodbye kiss. My heart is aching, but after a moment or so, I tear myself away and with one final look over my shoulder, I leave. I think briefly about going to kiss my girls, but I don't think I can bear to look at them. The feelings of last night are still present and already threatening to split me in two again. This time I cannot use sleep as a medicine to make these warring factions within my spirit go away. It is a special kind of torture to feel so divided and so powerless to do anything about either situation. I cannot stay and I cannot go. I cannot endure and I cannot stop enduring it. If I look at my precious girls, I will certainly come completely apart and wind up in some mental ward somewhere which is a fate worse than death.

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(Click here for part 2: A Leap of Faith)