A few minutes ago I sat in the upstairs bathroom and came as close as I have ever been to killing myself.
Trust me. The weight of that sentence is a hard one to write.
I didn't actually have anything in my hand, but I truly and calmly thought, "this is the day" or maybe "this is the hour". I started making a checklist in my head, making sure the laundry was fairly caught up and the sheets on the beds were clean. I thought about what would be the quietest way to leave this world. I wouldn't want to upset my kids of course. Then the irony of that sentence made me laugh. Crazy, cackling laughter that shocked me in the way that it made me sound completely and totally looney.
I came downstairs and informed my husband how very much I was aware that I was a fuck up. That I was a failure. How do I know this? Because I hate the look of myself in the mirror. I hate waking up and I hate coming home from work. I hate me more than anyone else ever could. I understand. I get it. The 28 weeks of constant pain, the stress of dealing with my FAS and RAD child. The financial melt-down that it our life . . . I just can't do it anymore. I hate everything about me. I despise the person I have become.
What brought all this on? Him getting mad at me about something I said. I get it. I suck. I am a horrid wife and a worse mother. I know, trust me I know. I get so frustrated with him not fol.lowing through and doing what he says he will do and I lost my cool. I made it worse. He told me "It is obvious you don't care." Oh hell, you have no idea how that set me off. I told him that if I didn't care I would've been dead a long time ago.
The only reason I have kept going is because I know my kids will be even more screwed up if I killed myself than I have already made them. I walked upstairs and thought long and hard about it. I really could've done it today. You know what has always held me back? Thinking that my God would not forgive me and I would go to hell. Why did that not stop me today? Because I am not sure it makes a difference anymore. I feel like such a bad person and a failure that I'm not sure I would go to heaven anyway, so what's the point?
So I came downstairs and poured my heart out to my husband and what did he say? What did he say that would make me feel like anything other than a failure? What did he say that would make me even remotely help me feel like I was loved? What did he say that made me think I could possibly be contemplating a mistake? Nothing. He said nothing. He looked at me in my eyes and I saw what seemed like cold indifference. He walked away, went upstairs and laid down in bed. I got nothing. See, I do suck. I don't even warrant a "honey, please don't feel like that." Nothing. And to top it all off, he left me with the kid who needs the supervision, yay for me.
So here I sit at my computer, crying a river of tears. My kids are playing upstairs completely oblivious to my pain thankfully. What is stopping me? Them. I have failed so much, but I can't turn that corner. I can't leave them with that legacy. I just can't.
Oh how I wish I could, but I can't.