Update: Wednesday 8th June, 2016 – I have been debating whether I should delete the post below because I most definitely do not have those thoughts and it’s only been three days.
The dark clouds have definitely shifted.
For now, the post stays as a reminder to me of what darkness looks like.
However, I promise myself and my loved ones that if I ever feel remotely like I did on Sunday, I will pick up the phone and call my mum or any of my wonderful three sisters who love me very much and who I love more than the world itself, or call any of my close friends.
If anyone stumbles upon this post on a dark day, please trust me when I say that the dark cloud will shift and there will be sunshine.
Please call a family member, a friend, the Samaritan free from any UK mobile 116 123 or send me an email with your phone number and I will call you back, wherever you might be in the world – I have Skype and WhatsApp and can call none UK numbers.
I don’t feel like the post below means that I have lost all the progress I have made as a person since my marriage ended. On the contrary, it has inspired me to be that person that carries on, stays positive, who is a survivor and not a victim, and who keeps looking forward.
I might have taken 50 steps backwards on Sunday, but right now, from where I was that day, I have taken 60 steps forward. I have made progress.
Double rainbow forming on the western outskirts of Innerleithen, Scottish Borders
WARNING: This post is dark and talks of suicidal thoughts. It may cause upset.
Today is 12 year since the day I married my husband – I call him my husband because we are not yet divorced.
Today is also exactly a year to the day since my husband sent me the anniversary present of getting the lawyer in the same divorce law firm as the sister of the married woman he had an affair with, to write me asking for divorce.
Two years ago, we were celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary, having returned to the same wonderful hotel in Mauritius where we spent our honeymoon.
Today, my husband changed his Facebook profile picture to a picture of himself smiling by the sea.
Today, something else happened to remind me of my so called empty life; 40s, discarded, unwanted, undesirable, used goods. I do not want to talk about this other event.
Today has been a fucking miserable day.
This evening, I had a pizza, two cans of diet coke, chicken wings, garlic pizza bread and half a tub of ice cream. I didn’t have breakfast or lunch. I had pizza and it was good.
I feel so fucking depressed it is unreal.
I am currently sitting on my sofa sobbing my eyes out.
Earlier, as I sat here looking at my wedding photos, I know I shouldn’t do so but what the hell, when you’re down, out and on a pity party, you might as well keep going and depress the fuck out of yourself.
My wedding 12 years ago was a totally awesome wedding. It was so full of fun, joy, music, dances, different, my husband and I smiled like we were the king of the world. We were drunk with happiness, happy as anything I’ve ever been, laughing and smiling broadly all day.
For several years, friends would say how much fun our wedding was.
To be clear, I have accepted the end of my marriage, that much I am certain of.
Earlier today, as I sat at this sofa, I thought about going upstairs, taking a handful of the anti depressants, anti psychotic pills, strong sleeping pills, strong painkillers codeine etc. by my bedside.
I imagined going upstairs to my bedroom, setting out my will, writing letters to my family and just how peaceful it would be to swallow as many of those pills as I can, keep swallowing them and falling into a very deep sleep from which there would be no waking up.
No more emotional or physical pain. Just peace and quiet.
I imagined the peace of never having to experience the back pain that sometimes completely cripples me – I am wearing a TENS machine set to the highest level as I write this; that highest level is insufficient for my pain. TENS machine is given to women experiencing the pain of child birth. I live with that level of pain on a daily basis.
I imagined the peace of never ever having to deal with the prospect of going to court next month and having to face seeing my evil, psychopathic ex who continues his life completely oblivious to just how evil, unfeeling and inhuman he has been.
I imagined the peace of never having to deal with lawyers in the mess my husband has made of trying to end his marriage, one year later, this evil, wicked, heartless man still has all of this hanging over me like an unending nightmare that just won’t go away.
I imagined the peace of never having to think of the pain and betrayal my husband continues to cause me.
I imagined the peace of never having to deal with the fact that my life as I know it is empty and bleak.
I imagined the peace of never having to deal with the fact that I am destined to spend the rest of my life alone. Please do not write to tell me that one day, I will meet a man who will love me for me. I am realistic about the prospects of that ever happening; it won’t, that’s just my reality. Having spent 14.5 years with a man that would look at me with eyes full of love, I will never ever submit to any such fallacy called love that will end in monstrous pain.
As the urge to take those pills magnified, I thought of my mother.
On Friday, one of my closest friends had spent the night with her two children. On Saturday as we had some heart to heart, I told her about my mother and how much loss that woman had endured in her life. I told her how my neurosis probably started because when my mother was pregnant with me, she had been so convinced she would die in pregnancy or giving birth, that she had written letters, prepared her affairs and asked her best friend to marry my father when she dies and to look after my two elder sister.
My mother’s premonition were not completely unfounded. Her mother had died the year before I was born. Her closest sibling, her handsome brother had died, in his twenties, the year I was born. Her father had died the year after I was born and my beloved father would die in a plane crash, 10 years after I was born.
Four years ago, my mother was crushed by the death of my 24 year old sister-in-law who died giving birth to my brother’s son. The little boy died too. She left my 6 years old nephew who my mum now looks after. Last year, my mother lost her closest remaining sibling, an elder sister who she adored.
As I contemplated, ended it all, I thought of my mother. She had tried to call me this morning telling me that she knew what day it was and hoped that I was alright.
She called me again as I sat pondering whether to end it all, I initially ignored the call but when I saw her face with her WhatsApp photo, I finally tried to answer but the connection was poor and I didn’t call her back. My mother lives abroad.
I started Googling and reading pages about how parents and siblings deal with the suicide of a loved one. Given everything my poor mother has endured in one lifetime, do I really want to deal her with yet another cruel hand? Would she survive my death? Do I want to be ultimately responsible to my mother’s demise?
I read about how suicide tears a family apart like a hand grenade dropped in the middle of a room. The closest to the grenade suffer forever. Do I want to drop a bomb to the family that I love so much?
I think of the close friend who had spent Friday night with her two children one of whom is my God daughter. She had lost a friend in January who had died sitting on his bed, with his laptop open, on a Saturday afternoon. He was only 39 years old and with his whole bright life ahead of him. The conclusion was sudden adult death syndrome. His death had devastated my friend and she still hasn’t recovered from it. She would have to deal with yet another friend dying unexpectedly and explain to her little ones that the “auntie” they had only hugged and kissed just yesterday had died.
This friend calls me twice, sends several messages, I ignore her calls and messages. I will call her tomorrow.
I thought of my siblings explaining to my nephews and nieces that I had died. I wondered if they would tell them that I also killed myself.
I read this poem on a random blog talking about mothers and their children’s suicide. I sob like a baby as I read this because this could be my mother.
My Mom is a survivor,
Or so I’ve heard it said.
But I can hear her crying at night
When all others are in bed.
I watch her lay awake at night
and go to hold her hand.
She doesn’t know I’m with her
to help her understand.
But like the sands on the beach
That never washes away…
I watch over my surviving mom,
Who thinks of me each day.
She wears a smile for others…
A smile of disguise!
But through Heaven’s door I see
Tears flowing from her eyes.
My mom tries to cope with death
To keep my memory alive.
But anyone who knows her knows
It is her way to survive.
As I watch over my surviving mom
Through Heaven’s open door…
I try to tell her those angels
Protect me forever more.
I know that doesn’t help her…
Or ease the burden she bears.
So if you get a chance, go visit her…
And show her that you care.
For no matter what she says…
No matter what she feels.
My surviving mom has a broken heart
That time won’t ever heal.
Sunday 5th June, 2016 will pass and I will still be here.
Before you write and tell me to seek medical help, I know. I do not usually have suicidal thoughts, it was a tough day, in a tough period.
Realistically, I am not overly confident seeking help will do anything other than give me more pills when I have more than enough.
Tomorrow is another day. I do not know whether the dark cloud would have passed. I can only take it one day at a time.
Tomorrow, I will try and eat well, stay on my diet, exercise a little in the fresh air, if it will help, and take it one day at a time.
I have a busy few weeks coming up with divorce crap and court in July.
I completely accept the end of my marriage. However, the evil, wickedness and despicable acts of this serpent I married, the pain and damages that he has caused me, I will never comprehend, nor is his behaviour comprehensible to any half decent human being.
Please don’t write to tell me to move on. It is impossible to move on when there has been no movement whatsoever in resolving our affairs and ending our marriage, in the year since my husband decided he wanted a divorce because my husband has refused to settle or make a counter offer to the offer of settlement I made him in September 2015, a few weeks after he ended mediation to settle our financial affairs because he would not accept the mediators telling him he was legally and morally wrong.
A year on, I still do not even know whether I will lose my beloved home where I have lived for over 12 years.
A year on, there is still no privacy because the court requires this man to see all my bank and credit card statements and vice versa.
A year on, there is no moving on from this nightmare.
One day at a time is all I can pledge.