The Things I Couldn't Say #wattys2016

Part I

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Part I

Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted. Relieve the troubles of my heart and free me from my anguish.     Psalm 25:16-17

The warm bath water soothed my aching legs, but did nothing for my mind. The intensity of my anxiety was overwhelming. The depression, black.

I had been released from the hospital seven weeks prior, but my condition worsened. At the end of my rope, I had just told John I wanted to die. Told him that I prayed for it every night. The look on his face was pure devastation. He was afraid. I should've stopped there. But I continued my hysterical rant and told him that he, along with the kids, were holding me hostage. Trapping me in a world I didn't want to live in because they couldn't live without me.

John stroked my hair. "Baby, please." His voice was full of pain. "How could you say that?"

If only I had an answer. But there were too many thoughts and none of them connected. I was too tired to try and explain. I wanted to tell him everything, so he could save me. Instead, I turned my head away from him.

"You've been in the bath for three hours. How about I help you get out. You can go lie down in bed." His pleading took on a helpless tone that threatened to break my fragile composure. "Please. The kids are worried."

Oh god, the kids. I couldn't even imagine what they've been be thinking. They were probably terrified. I'd barely said a word to them, or anyone, for days. It would be easier if I was dead. They could grieve and move on. They'd miss me at first, but they'd be okay eventually. Preferable to them having to watch as I faded away. In the long run it would be better. I had never been so sure of anything.

No child should have to witness that type of deconstruction. They were losing me in pieces, and I had seen the terror in their young, needy faces. First the ambulance, then the endless hospital visits. Week after week, they waited for me to come home, only to be met with disappointment. The longing hugs, and held back tears, when the nurse declared visiting hours were over for the day. I was ruining their childhood. My throat constricted and the tears spilled down my face, following the path of the many before them.

"Honey, why are you crying? Please talk to me, I'm begging you." His desperation cornered me. I was failing him too.

My tears were soundless when they hit the water. I could've filled a thousand bathtubs with my grief. My mind and body were no longer my own. I mourned the loss.

John ran both his hands through his hair and left them resting on his head. "I don't know how to help you if you don't talk to me."

But how could I explain what I didn't understand? How could I describe what it felt like to be trapped inside a body that was no longer guided by my own free will?

The tone of his voice deepened and he took a deep breath. "C'mon let's get you out of the tub." He slapped his palms on his thighs and stood up.

John handed me a Kleenex and I blew my nose. "Okay."

He placed his hands under my arms and together we maneuvered my body onto the side of the tub and then into my wheelchair. The vinyl seat cold against my bare skin. I stared at the floor as he wrapped a towel around me.