10 years, but not really

Today could have been my 10th wedding anniversary if my husband hadn’t killed himself. 

But, to be honest, we never would have made it that long. I had considered leaving for several months, I knew I had to leave when he disappeared for a second time. I needed to get away from his addiction and mental illness for my own wellbeing. This is not to say I didn’t love him or wish that we could have had a long life together. I just don’t want to pretend that I’m grieving for a happy marriage.

It’s a complicated set of emotions. I mourned the loss of my husband many times before his actual death. When he checked himself into rehab in 2016 — who am I kidding, when his daughters and I checked him into rehab — I prepared divorce papers. But rehab brought out the best parts of him, the parts that I fell in love with, and so, I threw those papers away, gave it another shot, trusted that sobriety might take hold and our plans of growing old together would work out. 

What didn’t get addressed at rehab was the mental illness aspect of his challenges. He’d walled off the part of him that had the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. He performed, he learned the language of the 12 Steps, he sat in the rooms. All the while his brain fought against him. I just thought he was moody — a dark Irish giant trying to stay sober. 

Marriage, at least in my experience(s), is a daily exercise in self gaslighting. Your partner says something harsh? They’re just having a rough day. They decide to not speak for 48 hours? Maybe they just need time to think. They tell stories that you know are not true? Creativity runs deep and that’s something you liked about them. 

When your partner is an addict, that gaslighting runs even deeper. Are they slurring their words? No, they’re just tired. Did it take them longer to get home because they stopped at a liquor store? Nope, there was probably a train. Is there alcohol in that Gatorade bottle? He’s a triathlete, he’s just dehydrated.

If your partner is in the middle of a bipolar breakdown, but you don’t know that’s what is happening, you end up gasping for air as you fight to maintain your sanity. He wants to be in the Olympics at 57? He’s sure he’s getting promoted to a job he hasn’t applied for? He convinces himself that you’re unfaithful and unsupportive?

To know that this marriage wouldn’t have lasted another day, let alone made it to a ten year anniversary, while also remembering the good times and how happy we were ten years ago today, is complicated. I’m sad he’s dead. He had a lot of good in him. His family loved every complicated bit of him. I loved him dearly even when I knew it was over. I miss him sometimes, even the chaos. I wish that he could have accepted health for his addiction and bipolar diagnosis, even if I wasn’t going to stay. 

Today likely would have never been our ten year anniversary, but it is a good day to remember the marriage. All of it. The good and the bad.