Well, my contentment of yesterday didn’t last into today. I kind of knew it wouldn’t, which is why I was so grateful for it yesterday. It gave me a breather, a reprieve, from my normal life and from what I know will be a very difficult few weeks.
My fiance commited suicide sometime between May 24 and May 25 (I found him on the 25th; the last time I heard from him was the 24th…) However, the downward slide began much before that. The “point of no return” happened on Mother’s Day, last year. Who knows how the fight started, I just know there was one. J always told me that when he was stressed, he would feel better if he took a motorcycle ride. He told me I should not try to stop him; and I finally agreed that I would not, as long as he was sober and could try to keep the destructive voices at bay. He promised. He also asked me not to approach him when he was upset. He said he just needed to be left alone until he was ready to talk.
So, Mother’s Day, last year. J was upset. He hadn’t gotten out of bed much for a few weeks. When he did, there was a manic feel to what he did. He refused to interact with the kids, and sat in the dark in his room. I went to tell him that i was going to the store and asked him if he wanted me to take my son with me. He said no. I left. Probably 15 -20 minutes later, he called demanding to know where I was. I told him I was at Target. He asked me what was taking so long; and screamed at me for leaving my son with him. I reminded him that he had told me it was ok. He was inconsolable. He began accusing me of being gone to long, and that there was no way I was still at the store. He told me he thought I must be out at the bar, or with another guy (which he had NO reason to think). he told me that he was going to call my son’s father (the abusive one) and tell him to come pick up his son because I was not a fit parent for leaving him to go to the store (Yes, J was at home with him).
Of course, I immediately left the store and came back to the house. I got home, walked upstairs, and checked on my son. I saw that the door to the bedroom was closed. So, I went back downstairs to give J the space he had asked for. I got on the computer. After awhile, he came down and said that he was going out on a motorcycle ride. I stopped the plea I could feel on the tip of my tongue for him to say, and told him “Ok.”
He came back quite awhile later. I was still on the couch, waiting for him to come home. He walked past me and went straight back upstairs. I heard the bedroom door shut behind him..
I stayed downstairs for quite some time after that. Still trying to give him that time and space that he had begged me for so many times. I did send him a text, but I got no answer.
Finally, I went upstairs. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I knocked again and called his name. Still no answer. I tried the door – it was locked. I started to panic. I pounded on the door and called his name. I called his phone… no answer – no noise or sounds whatsoever came from that room. I looked for the spare key we had for the door, and it was gone. I started pounding harder and harder. I went to find a credit card that I could use to try and get into the door. I finally got the door open; and there was my love. Eyes closed. So still. No movement or sign of life even after all of the noise I had made to try and get him to answer. I went to the bed, still calling his name. Still nothing. Yes, I am definately afraid and my heart is pounding and I am sure he is dead.
I reach the bed, still calling his name. I touch his shoulder, gently shake him. Still nothing. I grab his shoulders and I begin to shake him in earnest, calling his name and crying. Finally, in desperation and pure instinct, I slap his face. I see his eyes flutter, just a little. I shake him harder, calling his name. Completely frantic now. He opens his eyes for a moment, tries to focus on me, and mumbles about he hitting him. Then, just as suddenly, his eyes roll back into his head, and he goes limp, his head lolling to the side. So, I slap his face again, since that is the only thing that got him to respond in any way the first time. His eyes open again – and I can tell he is confused, not sure where he is, but very angry.
I start demanding to know what pills he has taken. Slurring, he tells me it doesn’t matter. That I don’t really care so why don’t I just leave him alone to die. He says, I let him go on his bike completely medicated – and that he had every intention of crashing his bike and ending it all. He is upset that I let him go. I keep having to shake him every time his eyes roll into his head. I’m still demanding to know what he has taken, or else I will call 911.
He finally tells me…. 6 mg of xanax before he took his bike out. Then, the rest of the bottle when he got home. Plus, all of the sereqeul he had left, which he assures me is not a lot. Oh, and a few zoloft, plus some aleve to top it off. I get onto the computer to see if he is at risk of dying. I’m anxious and scared, and he is telling me not to call. I’m thinking of my son, asleep in the next room, and how scared he will be if the ambulance comes and takes J away. He seems to be coming to, so I decide to wait and see.
However, when J finally seems like he can stay away – he is ANGRY. He starts screaming that I had hit him. He tells me that I am abusive. He grabs for the phone to call the ex; to tell him I don’t deserve my son. I grab the phone, and he grabs me. He screams to my son ” Your mother hit me!”. He picks me up and slams me against the nighstand. My back hits it, scraps a gash in my back, until I hit the floor. I am stunned. I am scared, and I am beginning to feel as if I have left the present and re-entered the world of my abusive ex-husband. I can feel a full-fledged panic attack threatening to overtake my senses, and I fight it with everything that I have. I stay on the floor, unable to move. J grabs his phone from my hand, and says “I guess now you will tell everyone that I am just like your ex. You will get a restraining order and tell all of my friends that I am an abuser.” I am begging him to calm down; telling him that I would never say that.
He tells me that all he wanted to do was get on his bike, wreck, and die. He says, he almost lost control of the bike, and then he became to “chicken-shit” to go through with it, and that he hates himself for it. I continue to do everything I can to calm him down.
Finally, J is calm; and semi-coherent. I know that he may not remember tomorrow, all that has happened tonight. In the end; we are able to talk a little bit, and he promises me that he will go to his therapy appointment in the morning (which had already been scheduled) and that he will be honest with her about what has happened, at get her opinion.
Goddamn it; what would have happened – if I had called the police? Would he be alive today?????