Everyday

Everyday, I wake up, and think "Wait, what happened?".

You see, I was happily married for 7 years, to the love of my life. I never once thought "I shouldn't have gotten married".

My husband was (is) my world, and I was his world.

You see, one day in 2008, I woke up, and realized the man I married was not the man sleeping next to me. He was a person I did not know. The person that was my whole world, was gone, overnight.

After a long struggle, he was diagnosed with bipolar type 1.

For 3 long years, I watched the person I didn't know, suffer day in and day out. I quickly learned that mental pain is far worse then physical pain.

After three suicide attempts, my world collapsed at my feet. My husband shot and killed himself on 7/27/2010.

Over the 3 years of his illness, I became his nurse. His teacher. But far from his wife and friend. He pushed me away, I think not knowing any better.

When he died, I woke up and thought "Now what?". I'm no longer a nurse. I am no longer a teacher. I am no longer a wife, or friend. I am a widow.

Going from being someones nurse to them passing away, feels weird. You have your habits of taking care of your loved one. Medication, check, food, check, his mood, check. It felt like I partially lost my "Job" or my "Responsibility".

Not only did I lose my best friend, I lost my purpose in life.

I have always believed married is "Through sickness and health, until death do us part". I'll admit, I did not want to be married to this man I no longer knew. BUT (there's always a BUT or BUTT), I couldn't kick him while he was down by divorcing him. I hoped one day he would return to me, and the unknown man in my life, would disappear.

My husband over the 3 years told me time and time again, if it wasn't for me, he would have killed himself. When he did kill himself, I thought, "When did "I" become not enough to keep him alive?".

I have blamed god. I have blamed life. I have blamed him. But I have realized there is only two things responsible for this. God, and Bipolar. Not my husband. The person that died had died 3 years prior. I could not blame my husband, as he was completely out of his mind.

Sure, I have had my words with him. Screaming at him, "Are you fucking happy now??" or "Look what you have done to me, I am left to pay the consciousnesses of YOUR decision?".

I have become less angry with him, and more angry at god. I wake up every day, and ask god, "Why?". What have I done so bad as a person to deserve this life?"

Am I really a bad person? Do I deserve this lesson?

While trying to understand why I have been chosen to walk this path, I have discovered a couple of things about myself. I believe everyone is sent to earth, to learn certain lessons. I believe for whatever reason, I am supposed to experience this. And my husband was supposed to experience severe mental illness and suicide. I am starting to believe that my purpose now, is to help others. Fellow suicide survivors. Fellow widows.

But I still wake up everyday asking "God, why did you do this to me??"

Everyone said the first year is the worst. Some say the second is the worse. For me, the 3 years leading up to his death were the worst. The first year after his death was the second worst, and the second year is worse in some ways and better in some ways. I can function now. I can do the things I'm "supposed" to do. Go to work, go to the gym. But there are days that I get so overwhelmed with the life around me. Days that land me so overwhelmed I shut down.

These last couple of weeks, I am overwhelmed. I have so many things I want to do, yet no energy to do it.

I have learned being mentally tired is far worse then physically tired.

And I have learned there is no "vacation" when you are grieving.

It's always there. Always.