I had an interesting chat last night with my very good friend, who was upset that I hadn’t come across well on the iPM interview. She felt I had been too flippant, not really reflected the absolute agony and despair we had both gone through as this story unfolded. She does have a point. I felt there was no time in an half hour interview to go through all the traumas, especially as I knew whatever I said would be edited down into about 10mins. Personally, I don’t think a 10min time slot is enough to capture the horror of seeing the life I’d had planned unravel in front of my eyes.
I have referred in this blog to my “history of events”, explaining that it is still too painful for me to return there. Indeed, in our friendly conversation last night, within minutes of speaking seriously about what my friend had witnessed me going through, I was in tears. This is what I mean about it being too raw. She reminded me of how I wouldn’t leave my husband for a second, how I dragged him around like a useless appendage. He didn’t want to go out, was too ashamed to meet anyone, but I was desperate for the help of others.
She is right, I don’t think I mentioned him being suicidal and then, after her life saving offer of our living in her caravan in her back garden (and finding us a temporary home for our 5 cats), him being arrested and me sitting in their kitchen, tears streaming down my face, but having to pull myself together and go to work. Or of my lowest point, after having found us a home, got myself a job, dragged my husband back to living, I crashed and decided that Mike’s earlier plans, of us taking our own lives together, hand in hand, suddenly seemed to be the only solution. I could picture it, it seemed so attainable.
She’s right – that would have made for a different interview. I am still on anti-depressants. Every time I think of coming off them, some mini-drama occurs sending me back to the pack. I need him out, home and clear before I can even begin to think this nightmare is behind us. And there, I suppose I said it, it is a living nightmare which I skilfully cover up and make light of for the entertainment of others. But I don’t want to upset you all, life is currently – this week – good. My garden looks like something from WW1, mud included and none of my cats will come in the house because I’m cat-sitting my niece’s cats. Oh, and my husband is still in prison. Oh well, you can’t have everything in life can you.