I struggled for a long time to even say words out loud that sounded as scary to me as the words I am about to share with you.

I have endured countless sleepless nights over the years. Most of these nights I would lie in bed wide awake, sobbing into my pillow or quieting letting streams of tears roll down the side of my face as I scooted myself as far to the edge of the King size bed as I could praying he wouldn’t hear my cries because I might have to explain why I was crying. It would be easier to just say I was fine because words often failed to come to mind that could accurately portray what was going on inside of me.

It is difficult to explain things you don’t understand yourself.

I remember trying to find the words a few times, but they were usually met with harsh criticism or blame or that I shouldn’t feel that way because it was stupid. I would end up feeling guilt and shame even deeper than I had already felt realizing it was my fault yet again for making him upset (because my sobs woke him up) or having these feelings that were wrong.

What was scary were the thoughts I had during these sleepless nights. My mind would drift to death. Always death. My death. His death. Just death. I should throw a disclaimer out there that I was never suicidal, but I would fantasize about him just no longer being alive. Or that somehow or another I would die so I could be out of this situation.

My counselor calls it “suicidal ideation”.

I called it “the only way out”.

I prayed that he would kill me. I didn’t want to suffer, though. Like a gun shot to the head or something quick and relatively painless. I had already suffered enough and I, as I saw it, had died a long time ago so why not finish the job and take me out physically as well? I was just going through life trying to keep the peace and avoid conflict…do the right things…say the right things…wear the right things…until the “right” things were no longer the “right” things all of a sudden and I was somehow supposed to know when right became wrong and vice versa out of the blue.

I prayed that he would just somehow no longer exist. But I didn’t want him to suffer either. I just wanted him to be gone if that makes sense. *And then this thought process would cause a downward spiral of guilt as well because why would I want anyone in my life to just not exist?! That seems like something a horrible person would think and so I would think I was the worst person on the planet….and all the other negative thoughts…and just dwell on them….and then depression and anxiety would hit really hard until I found myself so deep into it I was essentially a zombie!

And then we would have a “good” day or two. All was well. Peace. Harmony. Rest. (Not really, though…I was always on heightened alert. I believe this is called “hypervigilance”.)

It would go from “good” to bad again. And the scary thoughts about death came running right back. I almost think that each of these lows got lower each time they occurred and that my body would just eventually no longer be able to handle them and shut down.

Operating this way for years takes it toll on you for sure. Hiding it all probably made it worse. Believing that I was the only one who had ever endured this and telling myself it was all my fault and that it really wasn’t that bad anyway was most likely catastrophic.

I didn’t realize that rescuing myself was an option. I never felt like I was strong enough to get out of the situation. Strong enough to choose living over dying. Strong enough to see another way out.

And I wasn’t. It took a series of events and one person to tell me that they believed me to start the process of recovery. I am so glad there was another way out!