Not gonna lie. There have been times of such intense stress that I've thought about walking away from it all... husband, four kids, job... just leaving. During really, really bad times, I've considered ending it all... and I bet a bunch of others on here have, too, though it's too taboo for most to admit...
But the sense of responsibility kept me tethered. For one thing, the house was never clean enough... If I was going to leave forever, I wanted the laundry to be done, and the bed to be made, and the floors to be clean... so as not to embarrass myself or the family... stupid, I know.
Same kind of reasoning for not ending it all-- usually because I couldn't bear the idea of my husband or kids finding me, or even worse, someone else's spouse being an on-call first responder and being called away from THEIR family to have to come investigate my death. It just seemed too inconsiderate. Better to stick around and tough it out.
But if I had fewer responsibilities...
Or if I had something coursing through my veins that was keeping me from remembering my responsibilities or changing my perception about my responsibilities...
I bet I could have followed through with those thoughts...
. WtF? Those people that know something better start talking. How can they let a family grieve so deeply for the unknown. I am pissed and devastated for them!
