S is for Sucks

I am sitting at home, alone, as usual. Thinking... Feeling sorry for myself mostly. I have been thinking how much my life sucks! I am living in a house, not my own, that is in foreclosure. I have nothing to speak of... Actually, that's not true. I have my son who is 14 and in his first year of high school. He's who I've been thinking of mostly...

...Almost 15 years ago I was living with his father. A great man, really, with a very lost soul. In the beginning he was my saviour, my hero. He stayed by my side during one of the worst times in my life. He kept me safe when everyone I loved and trusted turned their backs on me; gave up on me. My own family and my church, my friends would have nothing to do with me. But there he was. Even when his family told him to stay away from me, he didn't. I loved him and he loved me. A beautiful man, a good man. I honestly believe that when you truly love someone that love never goes away. I mourn for him, and grieve for him even to this day.

He and I were together for 5 years. I was young and he was my first love. I was nervous and jealous and neurotic. How could this man love me? And how long will this last? I was everything that I had seen in other women that I hated. I couldn't stop myself; I kept waiting for the other boot to fall. And it did.

About 2, 2 and a half years after we'd been together the voices started. He'd gone to his home town for some festival and came back convinced that people were talking about him. I thought it was just something that would pass, some phase he'd get over. But it didn't, and he didn't. Pretty soon the television had to be covered because they were watching him and talking about him. They had bugged our house and were talking about him on the streets. Cryptic messages appeared on the walls and slowly my belongings were being destroyed. I was afraid to go home, but afraid to stay away. My counselor said something about schizophrenia and psychotic break. I didn't want to believe her, but in my heart I knew she was right.

I called his brother and asked him to help. He called his parents and they took him to a hospital. They kept him for a 72 hour hold, but had to release him because he wasn't a danger to himself or others. I remember commenting to the doctor, "So he either has to try to off himself or off me before he can get help." He replied, "Yes." His parents have asked me many times how could I have stayed with him for so long? I've asked myself that, too. I loved him. He stayed with me when things were the darkest; how could I leave?

I stayed for as long as I could. I lived with the t.v. covered and a sheet on the wall to disguise the messages he'd written and my Christmas decorations impaled in the wall. I had gotten rid of his gun but still slept with one eye opened. The day I decided to leave was the worst. We'd been arguing and I thought it was over. I was using the bathroom and he came in and spit on me. I knew then that I was no longer safe and he couldn't control himself any more. I called my Aunt and told her I needed to get out. She came and got me. He cried.

15 years later and I still feel guilty for that.

It was just before Thanksgiving when I left. My story has always been that I was pregnant before I left. I lied. I went back to see him after Christmas to see how he was. I was worried. I brought him some things, food and stuff. He was having a good day; the voices were quiet. I thought the man I loved was gone, but that day there he was. I made the decision then to be with him one last time. I knew I would never have him again and I wanted, needed something to hold on to. I know it sounds strange, but I knew I would get pregnant. I had only been off the pill for a couple of weeks, but I knew.

I took 3 pregnancy tests. All were positive. My doctor said there was no way I could know so soon, but when she took the test in her office there it was, positive. It wasn't until she confirmed it that the doubts entered my mind. At first I was happy, relieved even. But when it was officially confirmed I started doubting my decision. Questions started popping into my head. What right do I have to bring a child into this world with so many strikes against her? (I was having a girl because I wouldn't know how to raise a boy.) Her father was mentally ill, every other person on both sides of her family were alcoholics. Those doubts were there, but what right did I have to end someone else's life.