Confessions

***WARNING***

This post will be talking about depression and suicide and may contain triggers for some. Also, please do not speak to my children about any of this content. Their understanding of the events of this month has been very...censored. I am not censoring myself during this post. Shit is real.

Normally, I hate writing out of chronological order, but this is necessary.

We all understand the falseness of social media. How people put up facades for various reasons. Maybe they don't want to air their dirty business in full public view. Maybe they have previously shared real emotions and been shut down. Maybe they don't want people to think poorly of them. Maybe they don't want to remember the dark times.

Confession: Shad struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts for at least 18 years, since around age 14. He didn't want people to know. He didn't want people to look at him and treat him like he was defective or broken. I didn't want to remember the dark times.

For many of you, Shad's suicide was a complete shock, you never would have thought this would happen. We appeared to have such a happy, perfect life and marriage, these wonderfully, adorable, amazing kids. But what you didn't see was that suicidal thoughts were a daily struggle in his life and became part of my life when we started dating. Not that I was also having those thoughts, but that I became his caretaker. For me, finding his body on the floor of my bedroom closet was no surprise. In fact, my first thought was, "Fucking bastard, he finally did it."

Seems like a harsh first thought. I know. Let me rewind two weeks.

Memorial Day weekend. We decided to get a divorce.

Shit. Hold the phone. Let me rewind further. How far back do I need to go? Please excuse my scattered brain; it's not like I outlined this writing therapy before I began it. Okay, let's try 10 years ago.

We were dating. I don't remember the exact date we got engaged, but it was in July before the 4th. Should be good enough a time frame. Shad told me at some point that he struggled with suicidal thoughts. He didn't really like counseling because it always made him feel worse about himself. He didn't like medication because the one time he was on it (on his mission for the LDS Church in California when he was 19 or 20) was the one time he actually made an attempt. We started sleeping together because one night when I tried to send him home he started crying because he knew he'd go home and be plagued by suicidal thoughts. He didn't have that when he was with me. So I let him stay. That's absolutely against the rules and regulations of Mormon dating, but I felt like it would be worse to send him home. Thus began my time being his caretaker.

Have you seen the movie The Theory of Everything about Stephen Hawking? It's on Amazon Prime. Shad and I watched it in January, I think. That one hit my heart. Jane knew what she was getting into with Stephen's ALS diagnosis, but he also had a three-year prognosis. She loved him and was willing to marry him, care for him, do everything. But she didn't expect that it would last forever. Spoiler alert: Stephen didn't die after 3 years. They had 3 kids and Jane ended up taking care of the kids, Stephen, the house, everything, and was exhausted and drained. Anyway, you should watch it.

So when I knew about Shad's depression and suicidal thoughts, I chose to marry him anyway. Why? Because I loved him and because he told me all that went away when he was with me and I was naïve enough to believe that it wouldn't be part of our lives anymore. Wrong.

I'm not saying I regret my choices or that our marriage was bad. We loved each other and we did have good times. But there were also times that he'd be so exhausted from fighting suicidal thoughts all day at work that he wouldn't be able to interact with the kids. Those were days that I'd take care of dinner, clean up, bed time, and then find energy to take care of him, all after spending all day taking care of the kids to begin with. At the beginning, those days were rare. In recent years, they outnumbered the good days. And then we finally followed through with Shad joining the Air Force reserves, something he'd wanted to do since before we got married. And then shit hit the fan. I've already written about that, so I won't again. Just the synopsis that he went into boot camp, they found issues with his paperwork (he reported his suicidal attempt from 12 years prior) and decided to disqualify him. He then spent 3 weeks in Med Hold, aka Purgatory, which he described as being a combination of military, prison, and psych ward. And then they released him. He was not the same person.

My side of that: Already mentally, emotionally, physically exhausted wife from taking care of her husband for 9 years, now he's returned to me and has PTSD and anxiety. Yes, we knew this was a possibility going into the military. Yes, he already had issues to begin with. But he was doing great in boot camp. It was Med Hold that messed him up more.

Here's what he didn't want people to know: He never really felt safe anywhere anymore. Not at work, not in the kitchen, not walking upstairs to bed, not at Walmart, not at IKEA. Just a few examples off the top of my head where he had anxiety attacks. Anxiety attacks have various appearances. Sometimes it's invisible. He looked like he was fine and functioning, but internally he was in complete panic and just trying to get out of there. There would be times that he'd be fine at work, fine driving home, and then walk in the door and the kids would excitedly greet him and he'd shut down. Most of those times, he'd process by zoning out watching tv on the couch. Problem with that is that he was choosing a common room instead of our bedroom where he'd be able to shut himself away from the kids and noise and overstimulation. Then it became my job to try to manage the kids to keep them calm or away from him, which is a hard thing when kids just want to see their dad, be with him, cuddle him, love him. And here I go tearing up now. And then twice in my memory, I'd be upstairs putting the kids to bed and Shad, trying to help me, would go to the kitchen to wash dishes or even just to get a drink of water. And I'd come downstairs and find him rocking in a fetal position on the floor in a corner of the kitchen, eyes closed, hands clamped over ears to block out his senses. I'd have to tell him he's safe and hold him and try to at least move him to the couch. Those attacks lasted at least half an hour. I didn't exactly time them. But my adrenaline would kick in and I'd get him through it. Then after watching a few episodes of The Office to help diffuse the tension, we'd walk upstairs, him in front, me hugging him from behind so he'd feel safe, like no one was going to attack him. That method of going to bed happened more than just the twice after the fetal positions. It was almost every night for several months. But the days after the fetal positions, I would be so exhausted, so physically, mentally, emotionally drained that I'd be unable to get out of bed and do anything, often paired with crying just at the sheer shock of it. And many more nights of trying to coach him through things that would leave me exhausted the next day after the adrenaline wore off.

I kept begging him to get help. I couldn't keep doing this myself. I was exhausted and running on fumes. How do you take care of someone when you're empty? He got home to me end of September last year and I finally succeeded in getting him to see a counselor in February. That means that it was me bearing all that weight for 4.5 months. And alone because he didn't want people to know. That meant I had an invisible burden, too. His first counseling session, he came home with two diagnoses: Manic-Depressive Disorder and General Anxiety Disorder. He was so happy, filled with so much hope because this was fixable! He would take medication and it would be managed! I had the opposite reaction to him telling me this news. It felt like someone was reading me a death sentence. This is what's been controlling and dictating my life. This is going to continue to dictate my life because it's illogical, can't be reasoned with, and isn't going anywhere.

Shad began going to counseling every week and taking medication, which was subject to change every 3 weeks as they attempted to dial it in. Sometimes he'd be better, sometimes he'd be worse. There was already a bit of a rift between us, but it grew bigger. His moods were erratic and sometimes he'd lash out and yell at me. Shad has never been violent, but this was the beginning of times for me when I would feel unsafe and want to run away with the kids for a while. I would tune out and get lost in my phone, seeking out support and adult conversation from friends, vent a little. He didn't like that. Why couldn't I just talk to him and get support from him? It's hard to feel love, comfort, and support from the person who is causing your emotional pain and distress, mental breakdowns. And you can't very well vent to your husband about how he's a burden to you, now can you? I didn't feel like I could. That would just make him feel worse, and he had already been relying on me to provide him confidence and love because he couldn't do it himself. No self-confidence, self-love, self-worth. This was also when stress did something different to me that I've never experienced--no stress-eating or emotional eating. No, rather, I lost all appetite. Or some days the stress would be so intense that I would feel such physical tightness in my chest that I couldn't eat. I couldn't swallow. Not solid foods, not smoothies. Just no. I went from 115 lbs to 104. I am now up to 106.

Anyway, we decided to get a divorce. Honestly, looking back, I've thought about it several times, beginning two years into our marriage. And then we'd work things out, smooth things over, and be fine. Until the next time.

We were trying to be amicable about the divorce, but that was proving difficult. (Oh, insert: the Skoolie idea was kind of a panic "Let's see if we can do this and it'll fix things" decision.) Sunday, June 2, after having good discussions Saturday night and Sunday morning, we began talking again Sunday night. Shad started to get heated and yell, and then I interrupted the conversation to help Tommy with something. When I returned, I couldn't even remember what we had been talking about. The mental exhaustion was that heavy. He looked at me, expecting me to say something to resume the conversation. I said I didn't have anything to say. He got mad at me because I was "unwilling to talk." That I always do this, I just shut down and walk away. He wanted me to say anything I wanted to say, to tell him what I think about him, to yell at him and just get it out. I said I didn't want to fight. I don't want to yell, I don't want to fight. I grabbed my pillow to go down to the couch.

That pissed him off. Down on the couch, I heard him slamming things around up in our room. I didn't know what was going on, I didn't feel safe, and I was starting to think I might need to go to a friend's house for the night. That's when he came rushing down the stairs with my two suitcases packed, shaking with rage, and told me to get out of the house. He took my key ring from my purse so he'd have the van keys and gave me the single key to his car. I wasn't going to fight him on getting kicked out of the house, but I asked him if I should take the kids with me or come back in the morning. It was 9:30 pm. He said he wasn't going to tell me because we can't talk about things. I stood my ground and insisted. He said he'd take the day off work so I wouldn't have to come back. I grabbed the key, the suitcases, my shoes, and I went to the garage to load my things in the car. Again, that incensed him. That I wouldn't fight, that I'm just walking away, that this is what I always do. I turned on him and yelled back that it scares the shit out of me that I'm walking out of the house and leaving my kids with an angry husband with Manic-Depressive and Anxiety disorders, on medication, in the midst of a divorce (we hadn't yet filed), and in possession of guns. And I'm not the only one with those concerns. So many people had asked me in the previous 3 months if the kids and I were safe. That made me feel uneasy, as well. But the look on his face when I said that. He was so shocked that someone might think he'd harm his kids. I said, "No, Shad, you probably wouldn't. No, you have no precedence for it. But people snap and this has so many conditions that make this situation ripe for just that to happen."

After staying the night at a friend's house, I group texted my mom and siblings Monday morning (June 3) to announce the divorce (I had just seen most of them the week before for our family reunion) and that I had been kicked out of the house and left the kids behind. I had thought to call the police the night before when it happened, but I was so tired and couldn't think straight and just wanted to deal with it in the morning. My sister Becky...I don't know the emotion to describe for how she reacted. Panic? Hysteria? Consuming fear? I don't know. But she insisted I call the police right then or she would. I did. I felt like the mom on Home Alone, being transferred from person to person to explain the situation "I would just like somebody to go to my house and check on my kids!" and nobody really gives a shit. I told because they refused to do anything. She got on the phone and got a welfare check ordered. Police went to the house to check on the kids while I was busy going to the bank to get cash so I might rent an apartment; apartment shopping; coffee, coffee, coffee from not sleeping; courthouse to get protective order forms to fill out for me and the kids, and divorce papers; calling a lawyer; and making arrangements for a neutral and safe friend to go to the house with me so I could get the kids out.

I picked up the kids, took our bunny, Scarlet, packed more of my clothes (he missed all of my shorts), AND MADE DAMN SURE THAT I TOOK MY KEY TO OUR GUN SAFE THAT I HAD ALREADY HIDDEN WEEKS AGO. And then I dropped the kids off at two different friend's houses and then went to another friend's house so I could collapse in exhaustion, have a cry, and then get to work on the protection order papers because they had to be turned in by 9:30 am in order to go before the judge at 10:30.

Tuesday morning, June 4, I woke up, dressed for court as best I could with the random clothes I had in my suitcases, and went to the courthouse early to get help making sure I was filling out my paperwork correctly. Got it filed just in time and went to the cafeteria to get food. I actually managed to eat. And drink a huge coffee. And get up to court in time, only to be denied in my plea. The judge was very sympathetic to my case. She told me it breaks her heart and she really didn't know what to say. It was clear that I needed help, but because there had been no threats made, legally she couldn't do anything. I went back to my friend Katie's house to cuddle with my kids. Dancy had come down with a fever and thrown up. Tommy was stressed and worried.

And then at 1:24 pm I got a text from Shad. He said, "This should simplify things, at least for the long run. Tell the kids I love them. I love you too.... not that you would believe that."

I thought he was referring to our situation of me taking the kids out of the house and telling him I'd return them Thursday evening for him to have custody for the weekend.

I replied, "I do still believe that. I know you're overrun with emotions. It's just a tense situation and not good for either of us. How are you doing?"

He never responded and I didn't think anything of it because we weren't really talking anyway.

It wasn't until I got a text from Dan, Shad's oldest brother, texted me at 6:17 pm that I thought something different about Shad's text. Dan asked, "Is Shad safe? No one can get in touch with him." I called Dan for more information: Shad had been texting a friend during the morning and then stopped responding. She got concerned and contacted Shad's dad. That set off a chain reaction in the family, trying to contact him and no answers. I immediately knew I needed to call Ethan, Shad best friend at work. All year, Shad had been having suicidal ideations about killing himself at work. He told me about two times when he almost tried. He brought rope to work one day. Another day, he fixed zipties to the bathroom ceiling and attached his belt. He was standing on a chair and almost kicked it but then got down. And so my first thought was to tell Ethan to go to work and find Shad. But when Ethan answered, my mind went clear and I asked if Shad had even gone to work that day. No. Ethan hadn't been able to get ahold of him all day and neither had their boss, Scott. Shad had been struggling with work all year, either needing to come home early, or not being able to go in until late morning, or not at all. But he always communicated with them.

At that time, I was at the park with my kids and one of Katie's right behind her house. She had just pulled in the driveway from being at the YMCA. I had another friend with me, the one I had spent the night with the previous two nights. I tried to maintain calm, but definitely had an edge of panic and urgency in my voice when I said everyone needed to go back to the house, that Katie was in charge, and I needed to leave. I grabbed my friend and as we jumped in my van and sped off, I said we were going to do a suicide check.

When I got to my house at 6:40, there were people in my driveway from the church I left, dispatched by Shad's friend. When I saw Janet, I knew everyone was on the same page. Janet is going to school to be a physician's assistant. She'd be able to handle seeing a body or to resuscitate. They said they had been there for a while but no answer at the door. I punched in the door code on the pad, fingers shaking so I could barely get it done. I told Janet's husband Trenton to check the garage, I was going to the basement. Check the hanging locations first. Then I checked the backyard. Trenton started to ask me a question and I just told him to go anywhere in my house and FIND HIM. We got upstairs to my bedroom and I was expecting to see Shad dead in my bed. Nope, not there. Through the bathroom, into the closet and there he was on the floor in his robe. I yelled at Janet to check him, check him, but Trenton grabbed me and held me and calmly said it was too late, he's gone. I started to make the 911 call, but Janet took my phone and Trenton got me outside and handed me off to my friend. I sat on the porch for a few minutes breathing, ranting, yelling. And then I got up and said I need to see how he did it this time. I ran back in the house, upstairs, pushed past Trenton and insisted that I needed to see. That's when I saw the gun in Shad's right hand, his keys left in the lock of the gun safe, door open. I was livid. I had been worried there was a second key I was forgetting. It made sense. What lock ever comes with just one key? I absolutely know this isn't my fault, that he'd have found another way if I had gotten his key or that it wouldn't have even been safe for me to try and get his key, had I remembered it. Regardless, I was pissed. I grabbed those keys, ripped them out of the safe and threw them across the bathroom floor, screaming about how I tried to prevent this. And all the cuss words. "Fucking bastard! Damn you, piece of shit! How could you do this? After all this time you finally did it! DAMN YOU!!" (Now, I want to acknowledge that I don't in anyway think my husband is a fucking bastard or piece of shit. Not even with all the divorce crap. But I write it the way I remember it because I need this to be real. And yes, that is how I reacted.)

The rest of the evening was spent making phone calls (once Janet finished with my phone and returned it), punctuated by talking to the police. Calling Dan because I was on the phone with him when I got to the house and then cut him off suddenly when I found Shad. Calling Shad's mom and telling her. Shad's sister Ruth. Shad's brother Jimmy. My sister Becky, who would then run point on everything and tell everyone for me because she's a funeral director and can do it. My sister Lori, who I needed to tell personally. Shad's cousin Aimme, waking her up at whatever early morning hour on her vacation in England. And so on and so on. Any cousin or friend who I could think of that should hear the news directly before I told the general public on Facebook. What I can recall of those three nights, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, is that I totaled 13 hours of sleep between them. That Tuesday night my back immediately locked up with tension and stress and I knew I'd need to schedule a massage to release it and take care of myself.

* * *

My brain has gone blank now, so I'm going to quit writing. I figured this was easier than continuing to answer questions and tell the story individually as I have been for nearly a month now. I don't mind telling people. Why shouldn't you know? I just haven't been able to write it until now. And now I'm going to melt into my bed with a cup of tea and probably watch Gilmore Girls or Downton Abbey. Or something.