The Secret Life of an American Housewife

Part I

The Gun

“How was your day?”

His voice had to travel a million miles to reach me. I tried clawing my way closer for months, but I was tired. Tired of trying and tired of having to. Everything about the world around me had become less and less focused and I was lost in the blur. My heart ached and I wanted the pain to end but I wasn’t sure it ever would. I wanted to get better but, also, I didn't. I just wanted to be done. I didn’t know how I got this far, but it felt as though my old self had dwindled down to just a fleeting idea. How could I explain something to others that I, myself, couldn’t understand? I felt like I was at the bottom of a pit screaming and screaming with no sound coming out and then realizing that I was too far down for anyone to hear anyway. Helpless. Hurt. Alone. Scared. My body ached with the struggle. There was a strong force pulling me further away and over time the force either got stronger or I got weaker. Either way, I had no fight left. I was starting to find comfort in the darkness, the pit became familiar. I knew what to expect now. There was a sense of relief when I stopped fighting.

“It was good! We spent a few hours reviewing for the lab practical they have coming up.”

Somehow that sentence alone was enough to drain my energy. The rest of it was spent trying to hide behind a superficial smile. Could he tell how far away I was? We had just been married for two months. This was supposed to be one of the happiest times of my life. I should have been basking in the honeymoon phase with my amazing husband, but instead, I was lower than ever before.

“How was your day?”

I listened as he spoke excitedly about all of the people he interacted with, all of the ministry opportunities and ideas he had, and the great week ahead. For some reason I didn’t understand, the light bursting from his words pushed me further and further into my darkness. I couldn’t bear it. I wanted to creep further into my hole so the darkness that I was surrounded with wouldn’t affect his light and so his light wouldn’t affect my darkness. Each word pounded me further into the pit.

Finally the question came, “Is there a plan for dinner?”

Of course, there was no plan. I was afraid to make plans, even plans for dinner. I was incapable of doing anything right and I didn’t want to mess that up too. Out of my embarrassment I spat out some snide remark about him being a grown man able to make his own dinner, sank into my spot on the couch and set my eyes on the tv. I heard the noise and saw the characters moving but I couldn’t engage with any of it. Suddenly, an image of J’s gun invaded my thoughts. “Do it.” It wasn’t so much a voice as an urge. My mind concocted a full plan. Take the gun, leave the apartment, end it all. I sat emotionlessly staring into the tv but deep down the fleeting persona of my former self felt fear. I was at war within myself. I was scared that this part of me that was taking over was going to kill all of me. I gulped, trying to swallow the knot in my throat and the idea in my head at once.

J kindly brought me a plate of food as I sank deeper into the couch, scolding myself for being such a bad wife right off the bat. I was so angry at myself. Why had I gotten married? I had always said that marriage wasn’t in the plan. I wanted to go off and serve as a missionary. I wanted to leave the country, live somewhere foreign, immerse myself in the culture and share the gospel. Surely the Lord liked that plan. How could He not? And yet, here I was now, a minister’s wife who wasn’t even sure she still believed in God. Would I be found out? Would I even care if I was? Part of me was still holding on to the facade of my former self. The idea that I could somehow get her back if I pretended well enough that she hadn’t left. I went to church and smiled, revealing only small struggles that are common to every church-goer. I admitted I was tired and would even sprinkle in the occasional prayer request, but it was all perfectly packaged to present an illusion of authenticity. I didn’t want to reveal anything that would invite probing questions. I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t who I thought I should have been.

Our tiny one-room apartment didn’t allow for much escape but I did my best to find it.

“I need to get some homework done.”

I hurried to the room. Closing the door behind me, I fell onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. My thoughts were spinning around like the fan above me. I was thinking about nothing and everything at once. I opened my laptop and sat in front of the screen. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do anything. My brain wasn’t functioning. My whole body snapped to attention as J opened the door, I tried to look focused on my homework but everything was blank. I felt like I was a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. How could I explain that I couldn’t focus enough to even read the instructions on my homework? Or that I had just spent at least an hour doing nothing?

“I thought you were working on homework?”

“I was but I got too tired. I think I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

“Okay, I’ll probably stay up and watch a movie or something.”

“Sounds good”.

I laid in bed with my eyes wide open and my brain on fire. Nighttime was always tough. I knew the second I fell asleep I would be enveloped in a world of darkness and terror. My nightmares had become more and more vivid and were getting harder to escape. I would wake up screaming and sweating so often. Usually the morning light was my saving grace and I would finally be able to close my eyes for a few minutes. Tonight, I was determined to sleep well and sleep so deep that I wouldn’t dream at all. Soft light danced across the floor underneath the doorway as the tv flickered from scene to scene. I stared at the colorful display and began to drift into another realm of consciousness. Once again the scene of my “escape plan” entered my world and wreaked havoc. I felt helpless to stop it and ill-equipped to handle it. The urge to carry out my plan was getting stronger. I finally willed the scene to stop before the finale and went to sleep.

“J”

I shook him softly awake.

“J, I need you to hold my arm or touch my back. I’m afraid I might leave.”

Confused and half-asleep he asked me what I meant.

“I just need you to touch my back or hold my arm.”

He laid his hand on my back. I tried to push all the thoughts from my mind with little luck.

“Just a few more hours until sunrise. I can make it.” I told myself over and over again until finally I fell back asleep.

“What was that about last night?” J asked me as I crept out of my state of sleep.

I finally had to tell him. We sat down in the living room and I told him as much as I could put into words. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

“I need you to hide your gun.”

The words stuck in the air, suspended, as if waiting to be accepted. I wasn’t sure how he felt or how this affected him. Embarrassment, anger, and hurt swept over me and pulled me under once again.

To be continued…

Part II

The Hospital