When my ex-husband committed suicide, the early morning call that we received surprised us. I sort of felt like the last puzzle piece had fallen into place, even though none of us had ever seriously considered that he would take his own life. But it suddenly made sense. One of the first memories I have of that event was standing in the shower later that morning, crying my eyes out in a moment of grief. No matter our differences and the fact that our very last conversation had been his screaming at me over the phone, blaming me for something that was actually his fault, it tore at my heart imagining his being in a place that would give his mind the idea that killing himself violently was the way to go. Since then I’ve learned that perhaps he had abruptly stopped taking an anti-depressant, which is now known to increase the risk of suicide….but still.
Disclaimer: No worries. I’m not considering suicide, and I’m not taking any medication. I most likely should be, but that’s another story.
No, what I’m driving at here is one of the thoughts that I still have running around in my head. This was a man who had had a lifetime of failures and disappointments, some not his fault, but many that were. I wonder if he was ultimately face to face with the reality of WHY he kept hitting a brick wall in his life. Was it too much for him when he had no choice but to realize that he couldn’t do anything to improve his life because he would always be…HIM?
So that brings me to, well, ME. Someone posted on Facebook the other day that a decision made in a moment could alter the course of one’s life. Oh, yeah. Don’t we all have that moment in our lives, whether it was a decision for good or bad? I have one. Or 20. Maybe 45.
I remember back in ’96 when my then-estranged husband told me he was filing bankruptcy. I insisted he add me on because I didn’t want to be left with all the bills. I wish I had had better advice or at least had asked someone for advice. But who knows? At any rate, I remember as I was going through it that I had this monologue going on in my head. I was reminding myself that I never thought I would be in that place (filing bankruptcy), and I was discovering that, while I wasn’t happy to be having the experience, I was surviving it. I was learning that my life wasn’t really over. It was huge for me.
I’ve had more and more of those experiences. It’s like I draw this imaginary line and tell myself that at least I haven’t had to go beyond THAT. Yet. And then I do. And I’m still standing. Here I am in 2011, 15 years after that time, and I have had ever-increasing financial woes. I’ve been divorced and remarried. I’ve seen my family erode and turn their backs on me en masse. I’ve sent one of my children away because of the danger she presented to my loved ones. I’ve had to allow another one of my children to live on the street a time or two, I’ve been an abused wife. I’ve been the mother of abused children. Today everything I thought was important in life either surrounds me in tatters, or it’s on the brink of disaster. And I’m still afraid of what’s next. So, yeah, I learned that the things I thought would spell the end of my life really didn’t. But why would anyone want to keep getting up in the morning if this is all they have?
I’ve got a passport. Some days I feel like I just want to make a plane reservation for ANYwhere else in the world and just disappear. Again, no worries. My sense of responsibility is probably part of my core person. I couldn’t leave my two youngest children. They need me. They still want me. And I am curious to see what happens with them. And my husband always has his family to turn to. Must be nice…..
What I am afraid of is that, while I’m not willing to turn my back on my life, I will just shatter one day, and I will involuntarily “leave.” How much can a person really take? Something has to give. Something has to change. I need to be moving up again. I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, but I greatly fear that I haven’t. Yet. :(
