Selfish

This one is short and a lot of it is pretty dark, but with some light at the end of the tunnel.

I'm not sure what to say about this one. Many of us occasionally go to dark places. I've had some friends that went darker than is healthy. I guess I wrote this hoping that they find a light at the end of their tunnel... or at least find the help they need to make it through.

I am putting this in Romance, because in the end it is a love story.

Trigger warning: Suicide.

Selfish

Have you ever seen one of those news stories? There is usually a picture of a sweet-looking girl with a smile on her face accompanied by the headline of how she just committed suicide. You immediately think to yourself 'what a waste.' Reading through the article there is usually some message left behind. Something along the lines of 'I'm broken.' I've probably read a half dozen of these types of stories over the years. I can relate. I'm broken too.

Problem is, I would not be an innocent face staring back. I was a middle-aged man. I also had what I believe most people would objectively describe as a great life. I made good money, lived in a decent house and had some great hobbies. The biggest thing though, the one money can't buy, I had the best wife in the world. I really mean it, and all my friends agreed. They all saw what we had and would constantly joke with me about how good I had it

I say 'had' because, you guessed it, I killed myself. Why? I told you - I'm broken. The list of things that would send me in a downward spiral was long and varied. I'll recount a few of them for you though. Curious if any of you have the same ones? The most obvious, and the one that seems to affect a lot of people: the cringe factor. The list of cringey things I've said or done and vividly remind myself about goes back forty years at this point. From the memory of the adult guest at my seventh-year birthday party who I was rude to, because I didn't think their gift was good enough, to the stupid things I said at a friend's house last month after I had one too many drinks.

The best is when all these things come flooding back when I'm trying to get to sleep... and when I say 'the best,' I obviously mean the opposite. I can literally stay up the entire night reliving all my past faux paus in technicolor. Has anyone else ever caught themselves mumbling about what a piece of shit you think you are when one of these memories comes along during the middle of the day? Luckily my wife had terrible hearing. More than once, she would ask what I had just said while I had been cursing myself standing at the counter making a sandwich. I would brush it off, telling her I was mumbling about what I was currently doing, and she was none the wiser.

Another thing that haunts me: mistakes. Yes, we all make them. Yes, it's probably good to be a little hard on yourself sometimes. This way you can learn from it, so you don't make them again. But letting them become debilitating to you, where you feel like your body can't move because you're so afraid of making another mistake... not healthy. I have spent hours just sitting in my chair in my office, or lying in bed, unable to do anything because I felt like anything I would do would lead to yet another mistake.

Finally, the biggest one. I said I had a good life. Yet here I am, dead. Well, being I'm dead, I guess I'm technically 'not here' anymore, but you know what I mean. Here I am complaining about how miserable I am. Go anywhere and you will see folks that are a lot worse off than you. I was at the supermarket one day and saw a mother with kids, struggling to pay for her groceries. Before you ask, I was not in a position to offer to help her, or I would have. I was in the next checkout lane and between other customers. Maybe I could have excused myself and tried harder to help, but that's not the actual point here. The point is: how much of a narcissistic butthole do you have to be, feeling miserable, feeling sorry for yourself, hating yourself, when there are people in the world who can't put food on the table for their kids while you seemingly have it all? Yeah, it was hard not to drive into a tree on the ride home that day.

So yes, I did the deed. I'll spare you the gory details because they don't matter. I will say that I made sure I did it so my wife wouldn't be the one to find me, but that I would be found quickly so she wouldn't spend days wondering what happened to me. She was too good a person to put her through that... wait, let me back up a bit.

My wife knew my mind went to dark places sometimes. She would ask if there was anything she could do, she would worry of course, but she wouldn't nag. Sometimes my funk would last for days. Just another thing to look back on and hate myself for, because I put my wife through dealing with it.

Finally, one day I had a talk with her. It's funny how you can convince yourself of certain things when you spend enough time in your own head. For instance, I had convinced myself that since my wife was so awesome, she would be better off without me. Simple, right? Up to that point, we had never really discussed my dark times. She would figure I was in a bad mood or a funk and that it would pass. I explained that it was more than that. I explained that I didn't want to do this whole 'living' thing anymore. I then went into detail about how she would be fine financially and how she would be better off without me. I was actually pretty proud of myself. I thought I had made a convincing argument. I mean who the hell wants to be married to the moody guy?

The look of horror on my wife's face made my smugness quickly evaporate. She was horrified. How could I think that her life would be better without me? "You're my person!" That's the way she would put it. How could I think that could ever be replaced, and why would I think she would even try?

It dawned on me... my wife really loved me. Like true, honest to goodness, Hallmark card, sappy Lifetime movie loved me. Not sure why this was such a revelation to me, I felt the same exact way about her... but like I said, I'm broken. This just triggered a new round of self-hatred.

The hatred deepened one day. I was having one of my normal bouts, nothing too extreme, but I'm sure uncomfortable for my wife after hearing a few weeks earlier that her husband was considering offing himself. We had interacted in the kitchen briefly and then I went upstairs to my office to work. I had forgotten my drink, so I headed back down. As I said earlier, my wife doesn't have great hearing. She didn't hear me come down to the kitchen. I heard the sobs coming from around the corner in our laundry room and headed to investigate.

A felt a bit of panic. Did a relative pass away? I didn't hear the phone ring. Would someone just text that information? She heard me enter as this was going on and turned to face me. I asked what happened, what was wrong? It was me. I was the issue. She didn't want to lose me. Didn't want to contemplate life without me. She made me promise that I would stick with her... and I did. I promised.

I hated myself just a little more that day. What kind of asshole acts in such a way that his wonderful wife has to go hide in the laundry room to sob about losing you? This asshole apparently.

The breaking point came at Christmas. I used to love Christmas. I genuinely got into the spirit, goodwill toward man, great cheer, the whole thing. I loved buying presents for my loved ones, and I was sad when it was over. It still baffles me to this day, and I cannot point to anything in particular that happened to change all that, but I now loathe Christmas. This year was no different and when the day came, I couldn't get out of bed. Literally, I did not want to get out of bed. I didn't do the obligatory call to family, didn't answer any of the 'Merry Christmas' texts, wouldn't even go downstairs to open the gifts that my wife bought, or give her the gifts that I bought her. The shame of how awful this was caught up to me the next day and just made it worse. I know I'm repeating myself here, but what kind of an asshole doesn't get out of bed on Christmas to be with his wife?

What did she do about this, you may ask? Was she angry? Vindictive? No. She was upset of course, but didn't take it out on me. No, she just cried and asked what she could do to make it better. Was there something she did that brought this on? The perfect wife was blaming herself.

A smarter person than me would have taken this as a lesson and tried to get some help. Apparently I am not smart, and as I've already stated, I'm broken. Instead of getting help, I spiraled down further into self-loathing and self-pity. It didn't take long, there wasn't much further down the hole I could go. About a week after Christmas, January 2 to be exact, I broke my promise, I did the deed. I wasn't proud of it, even at the time. I knew it would hurt my wife, but I genuinely believed she would be better off without me.

What am I doing now, you might ask? Where am I? Or, more precisely, where is my soul?

I'm in Hell.

At least I think it's hell. I'm in a small room with a dome ceiling that extends down to the floor. All around me and above me is a constant stream of images and scenes. Some from before I passed, some from after. All are portraying the pain I put my wife through. Past, present and future. At least I assume it's the future. There is no concept of time. I don't have to sleep, don't have to eat, shit or piss. It's just wall-to-wall pain being inflicted on the one person that means the most to me. The projection of it on the ceiling gives it a slightly detached feeling that just makes it worse. As if you're watching a movie where you constantly want to punch the main character in the face.

The pain from the past was particularly enlightening. All those moments that I could have done or said something slightly different that would have made her day, but instead I took a different route. So many missed opportunities. They say it doesn't cost anything to be kind, and this has brought that truth home to me.

Obviously, the immediate aftermath was hard to watch. The funeral, dealing with relatives that want to know why. But it was the long-term damage that hurt the most. Having to watch the light of your life slowly be consumed by grief. Turning to alcohol and pills just to try and get through the day.

As I've said before, I have no idea how long this has gone on. It may be years now at this point. I've seen the same scenes many times now, but they are always shown from a slightly different perspective, or are woven into other scenes to provide a new punch to them. Whoever the director is, they deserve an Oscar. I've been crying and sobbing pretty much non-stop.

The one thing they haven't shown is the grand finale, what ultimately happened to my wife? I'm sure this is done on purpose. One of those times where your imagination is much worse than the truth. Seeing her rapid decline after my death was so painful that I don't imagine anything else could top it.

Those that have experienced true love can hopefully recognize how awful an experience this is. Seeing your loved one in nothing but constant pain for a few minutes is terrible. Extend that out for years and imagine what it would do. It would break most people. The issue for me though, is that I was already broken. Most people would be screaming for it to end after the first thirty seconds. It affects me of course, I've basically been bawling my eyes out for what I assume is years at this point, but I don't ask for it to end.

You see, I deserve it. I realize now - too late of course - how selfish I was. Seeing the utter destruction of something beautiful tends to have an effect on you. It was eye opening for me.

*****

My eyes fluttered open. I scrunched them closed against the light streaming in the bedroom. I open them again, just slits, just to let a little light in. The huge ceiling fan in our master bedroom slowly churns the air. I wonder what memory this is. It's a new one. There hasn't been a new memory in what feels like years.

It's then that I realize... there's no domed ceiling, these aren't images. Is this something new? Have I moved on to a new part of Hell, where I'm seeing it live instead of seeing it projected? A few more blinks and I was finally able to fully open my eyes. Yup, I was in my old bedroom. A shiver ran down my spine. I was afraid of what was coming, what fresh hell they had in store for me now.

I looked to my right and froze. There was my wife, laying on her side with her back to me. Wearing a tank top as always. She said sleeping nude "wasn't comfortable," which always baffled me. I just stared for a moment longer before lunging towards her. I expected her to disappear, evaporate, I just knew something would happen and I wouldn't be able to reach her. But no, I was able to grab her, pull her to me. She groggily told me she just wanted to sleep more, assuming I was pawing at her to try and get lucky. It was then, with her in my arms, that I began to sob. She went from groggy to wide-awake in an instant. She tried to roll to face me. I made this hard for her as I didn't want to let go of my death grip. She was eventually able to squirm her way around and face me. She just kept asking over and over "what's wrong!?" I was in no shape to respond.

This lasted for a few minutes before I was able to bring myself under control. I described the "dream" I had to her. She found it upsetting of course but was her usual supportive self. Telling me she was here, that we were together.

*****

Things were obviously different after that. Even though I knew I would never do what I did 'again,' I still went to therapy, just to show my wife that I was serious about trying to be better. The therapy wasn't a bad thing though, it was good to talk to someone you had no history with, to get things off your chest.

I never did tell her, even as we grew old, that I really did go through with it. That for some reason, I was shown, in vivid detail, the error of my ways and was able to correct them. I thought it would just hurt her, if she believed me that is, so what purpose would it serve? Better to just move forward, show my wife the love she deserves, and not be so selfish.