Several days went by where things seemed fine with my husband, though I can look back now and see that I had been feeling really insecure at the time. I was playing manipulative games with him and I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I had threatened to leave him because I wanted to hear him tell me he loved me and that he still wanted to be with me. I packed up my basic belongings, put them in our car and pulled out of the driveway…only to return a few moments later. He had asked me to stay but I recall wanting something bigger. I wanted him to show me his love on a grand scale and I was disappointed when that didn’t happen. However, I knew that I wasn’t leaving. I knew that I would only drive around the block and come right back. I hate admitting that now but I am sure it was those actions that really pushed him away. The next day he developed shingles from the stress and I felt horrible about the way I had acted.
It wasn’t until the following Friday afternoon, at my office, when I realized things between us were far from fine. I had asked him to block his former girlfriend on some social websites and it caused a huge argument between the two of us. He fought me tooth & nail and every step of the way. I asked him over and over if he was still involved with her and he was adamant that he wasn’t. He said he was upset because I was trying to control him. I tried to explain that I just wanted her out of our lives so we could move on. But it wasn’t until he realized that I wouldn’t budge on the subject that he dropped a bomb on me. He informed me that he wasn’t in love with me anymore and that he didn’t want to be with me anymore. This was earth shattering news that socked my soul to its very core. I had no indication he felt this way, I didn’t see any signs pointing to such and I felt completely blindsided. Upon hearing this news I instantly became an emotional basket case. My family was my entire world and it just didn’t work without him.
I left work, got into my car and began driving home. With tears rolling down my cheeks and the sound of sobs echoing throughout my car, I began devising a plan…a plan to kill myself. I just didn’t want to be in this world anymore if it meant having to live life without him in my arms. I recall my hands were shaking so bad that I could barely keep them on the wheel, my head hurt, I felt sick and my heart ached with a deep sadness. I glanced into the review mirror and was disgusted with I saw. I began thinking about how I would end things, when and where. By the time I pulled up into my driveway, I had decided I was going to go inside, get a sharp knife, take it into the bathroom and slit both of my wrists…really well…and just to be sure I didn’t survive the ordeal, I was going to slice the major artery’s in my upper thighs too. I didn’t realize it at the time but I had been suffering from a very deep depression that was continuing to get worse with every passing day…and…I was about to hit rock bottom.
Once I walked into the house I saw my children were there. I hadn’t thought about them being home on winter break. I hadn’t factored them into my suicide plan at all. This threw a wrench into my plan but I was determined to see things through. I began searching the house for a knife but my husband, having known my recent found love for blades, had hidden them from me. After several minutes I found a very large bread knife with a serrated edge & took it into the bathroom. I sat on the bathroom floor, crying, while holding the blade to my wrist I suddenly thought “who will find my body?”. I knew it would be one of the kids because we only had one bathroom and it was likely that someone would need to use the restroom soon. I allowed myself to imagine my baby girl finding me whom was only 9 at the time. At first, I brushed it off and went to slit my wrist anyway but when I saw the first droplet of red blood I realized I couldn’t do it. All I could think of was the irreversible damage I would cause my precious children if they were to find me bleeding out on the bathroom floor. I threw the knife down and began weeping uncontrollably.
After what seemed like an eternity, I came out of the bathroom and went into my bedroom where my two teenagers were watching a movie. I closed the bedroom door and fell to my knees. I cried out to them “please help me!” and they were immediately at my side with concern. While I can’t recall every detail of this moment I know that I told them I was having thoughts of hurting myself. And at that moment, I got to see my two teenage girls really shine. They didn’t break down. They didn’t cry or become angry. They didn’t panic or fumble all over themselves. Instead, they hugged me. They told me they loved me and explained how much I meant to them. They took their sisters to a babysitter and drove me to the hospital. They went inside with me and even when everyone in the waiting room stopped and stared at us (like we had three heads), they stayed by my side. The hospital staff decided that I need to be admitted to the mental health floor.
I spent a total of five days in a locked area of the hospital where they didn’t allow any strings in your pants or razors to shave with. They did however provide a lot of listening and advice. I attended several group therapies, individual therapies and time with a psychiatrist every day. The hospital staff helped me realize that I wasn’t valuing myself and that I was taking care of everyone but me. It was during these days that I had a lot of personal growth that assisted in my realization that I needed to redefine myself and my self-worth. My husband and I spoke a few times on the phone and again when he would bring the teenage girls to visit me. We had a series of discussions about “us” where we eventually agreed to work on our marriage and work on keeping our family together. While this was good news to me it was still very difficult to hear and believe that he honestly didn’t feel he loved me anymore.
When I came home I was so happy to have my family back. I felt the worst was over and that things would only get better from here. But, like most things, life was about to get worse before it would get any better.