There are some things I want to take back. Things I wish I didn’t say or I would have said.
I want to erase the words I said and say again differently. In our marriage, as with most marriages, we were hurtful when we argued. I would shut down, and he would run. They were our coping skills instilled by our childhood or by our own finding. When we argued we said hurtful things to each other.
“You’re just like your mother!”
“You’re worse than your father!”
“Why can’t you just say sorry?!”
I know we loved each other. So very much. Why did we say the things we did? I feel so much guilt still. It makes my stomach turn.
Now there are words left unspoken. I feel so much guilt still. It makes my stomach turn.
I want to erase those words and tell him how very much he was loved. I want to tell him again that the illness wasn’t his fault, it didn’t define him. I want to tell him the children needed him here. They loved him still. He knew that. Unmedicated Bipolar wouldn’t let him believe it.
I wish I could have taken the hallucinations and images of death and pain away and replaced them with love and warmth. I wish I could have taken the illness and made it easier for him.
But I couldn’t. You can’t save someone else from themselves. That has been the hardest reality for me to accept.
I did an ass load of paperwork, I stood before a judge and was granted a mental health warrant for his admittance to a hospital. He was released because he didn’t want help. . . Or he didn’t know he was sick.
I begged the Dr. to revoke his medical marijuana card. I begged the nurses to talk to the psychiatrist. I begged his gp to admit him. I begged the police, the fire department basically anyone who would listen. Now I feel like I’m begging time for one chance to go back and say what I feel I didn’t get the chance to and to delete the things I did say.
I wonder if he thought of us; how we’d feel before he took his life. Did he at any moment regret his actions before he stopped breathing? Was there a brief second of lucidity? Any tiny bit of clarity that made him want to live in that second? I hope not, because he would’ve realized it was too late.
Guilt. It feels like something rotting in my stomach. Is there anyway to let it go???
I know, deep down, and logically, even if he was medicated and in counselling, he still could’ve ended his life. There is no certainty that anything said or done by anyone would have changed the outcome. He made his choices. But because I’m living with his choice, the feeling sometimes outweighs the logic.
I have a mantra I practice when the guilt becomes to much and I replay conversations and words I wish I could erase. ” I did the best I could. I couldn’t control it, I didn’t cause it and I couldn’t cure it. I did the best I could. ”
I practice self love and compassion and let go of arguments from ten years ago because those words didn’t lead him to where he was in that moment. I didn’t lead him there, the illness did.