OK. Just to put everyone’s mind at ease- I have a network of awesome people supporting me, right now. It’s not enough- is it ever, in this situation, when I’m so anxious and need people so badly? I could have a thousand people who love me around, and I’d still be the loneliest I’ve ever been in my life.
But I have practical support, people who are holding me up. People I will always be grateful to. People who are making this easier.
And I am under the care of a psychiatrist (Liz, I love you). I have a mental health support team. Soon, hopefully very soon, I’ll have intensive bereavement support for myself and specialised care for my children, and clinical trauma care for myself.
OK? OK. Awesome.
Thing two- there’s a massive scope, a huge difference, especially in me, right now, between the rational and the emotional. Rationally, I know that Tony loved me. Rationally, I fucking know that there is nothing I could have done to prevent this, that if this didn’t happen things could be much worse right now.
I know, all those things and more. All the things I’m supposed to know, rationally, I know.
But it doesn’t fucking help. Not really. Not now.
Not when I have people, people who knew him, telling me how much he loved me. How he loved me like there was no one else in the entire world, the entire universe. Apparently, I was his everything.
It doesn’t help. It pulls me, digs at me. Because all I can remember is him, spitting in my face and calling me a slut. Telling me that everything was my fault, all of it, that I was the reason behind everything wrong in his life. That I was a bad mother, a bad wife.
Six months, of that.
And, days before he died- the root of the problem- that he wanted someone perfect. That I cooked, I cleaned, I fucking did his god damn ironing, for pity’s sake. I was a devoted mother to my children. I was smart, funny, beautiful, a bloody good handbag when he needed to impress. I was honest and trustworthy and didn’t spend too much of his money. I put up with him, with his shit, how often did he say that?
As perfect as I could possibly be. But still not enough. Not good enough. Not perfect enough. Because I smoke, I scream, I can be selfish and lazy.
Because, I think, I’m sure- there was something ugly about me, something fundamentally ugly and wrong and distateful about me, that makes people turn away.
I thought that, for years. From the ages of about fifteen to twenty four, I had that feeling. That no matter how perfect I was. there was something Wrong with me. Not something anyone could see as such, or articulate. But it was There, and it made people turn away. Made people not love me,not want to be near me. Made be chronically, compulsively Unlovable.
I’d forgotten, how it felt to feel like that.
I remember now. As time passes, events, emotions,the way Tony was, it all slides into perspective, slowly, and I get a better understanding of what went on here, what is going on here.
And my mind keeps coming back to that, logically. I know, somewhere deep inside that it’s irrational, but it seems so logical.
I had a part in killing my husband. If there wasn’t that something fundamentally Wrong with me, this wouldn’t have happened.
Something Wrong. Something bad. In my life Before, Before all of This, Before Tony, Before my Perfect Purple Life even existed, people knew, without really knowing, that the something Wrong was there.
It was almost like they could smell it.
And now, again. Tony, the person closest to me, he saw it properly. My imperfection. My something Wrong.
And he took steps to make sure everyone else could see it, too.
And know they can.
To show, everyone, what a terrible person I am.
Everyone can see it now.
I’m stigmatised, stained, for the rest of my life.
The woman who’s husband hung himself, in front of her.
I’ll never be ashamed of it, as such, and I’ll never keep it quiet. Mental illness is a bitch of a thing, and needs to be talked about.
But emotionally, deep down, this happened because there of me. Because I am Not Perfect Enough. Not good enough.
Because there is Something Wrong with me.
And now, everyone knows it too.
And- this I’m ashamed of, and why am I putting it out here, where everyone can see it?
Because I don’t care. Because it might be pathetic, and wrong, and make me an even worse person than I am already.
But it’s my truth, and this it where it is spoken.
I want someone else.
Not a life partner, and certainly not a replacement, a father figure for my children.
But I want someone for me. A man, for me. Someone for me.
To hold me, while I cry. To make me smile, make tingle and look forward to later that day, which ever day that may be. To tell me I’m beautiful, I’m wonderful, that I’m amazing, that none of this is my fault. That I’m beautiful, that I’m awesome, that’s it’s OK to be small and weak and fragile for a little while because they will hold me up, and love me, and take me away from the world and all it’s ugliness, just for a little bit.
And I know, that’s so stupid, and selfish, and probably disrespectful, and no one will understand, but that’s OK.
And rationally, I know, that if I did actually get that, what I think I want, it would break me, and I couldn’t do it, and I turn away from whoever it was that was not Tony, because I all I really want is him back.
But this is my truth, and that’s how I feel.
Maybe it makes the Tony I didn’t know more correct, than incorrect (slut).
But I want. I want someone to erase, by loving me, just for a bit, all the horrible things my husband said to me in the last half hour, in the last six months. To make me feel like I’m worth something again. That one day, in the future, when I’m not so broken and ugly and traumatised and grieving and fucked up, someone might love me again. Maybe.
Just a tiny little bit.
I dreamt, last night, about my husband, my Tony. Lieing on his chest, kissing his neck, his stubble, the salt of his skin, the taste of him, the smell of him, deep and manly and so divine and I miss it so, so much. And I layed on him, enjoyed just being with him. Stroked his face.
“Careful, darl. I have rope burn on my neck.”
I wonder why I didn’t wake up screaming.
Edit- I just wanted to say, to make sure you all know, no one anyone has said online- apart from that dick on FormSpring- has made me more upset, or hurt me. Every comment, everything- it helps. Thank you.