You Can Love Someone And NOT Like Them
It's really common for Survivors to embellish their dead loved one's lives. Families sometimes put them on a pedestal and the memory becomes bigger than life. The portrayal of them becomes nowhere similar to who they really were. There are those who also say things like "you can't speak ill of the dead!" That's garbage. When I hear someone speak of their loved one who took their life and they seem perfect, as if there were no indication they were in any way flawed, troubled, at risk...it makes me wonder if they really knew the person.
I am very realistic about the man my husband was before he became sick, while he was there and at the end of his life. My pretending everything was great and he had no issues would be a lie and a disservice to others. By sharing the behaviors he exhibited I can help others identify warning signs in their loved ones. And people are good at masking things. If you asked my former in laws if my husband had any at risk behaviors before he died they would say no. Some had no clue he was sick or spiraling out of control. He hid it and I protected it. I made excuses and covered for him, in attempt to shelter his pride. I know now it was not helpful to him. I don't recommend enabling a sick person this way in hindsight.
I've loved him since I was 14 years old but I can tell you with absolute honesty that I didn't like the person he'd become at the end of his life. I hated his opinions, his behavior, his complete denial he had a problem. I loved him so such and couldn't stand him at the same time.
One of our last big arguments was during the Trayvon Martin trial. I happened to walk out to the garage while he was quite casually explaining in terribly racist terms what a low life thug Trayvon must have been to be lurking around the neighborhood. Now, everyone is entitled to their own opinion of the situation but it was the words he was using. I had known my husband since we were teenagers. 20+ years. I had never heard him use the word "nigger". It hurt and shocked me. After that "debate" I knew without a doubt there was something wrong with him. I asked him later when he sobered up about it. He said it was just the alcohol talking. I told him beer doesn't make you racist. We'd drank hundreds of times before and that never happened. He said maybe he'd just never shared his REAL opinion before...
I told him I was disgusted and embarrassed of him and the things he said. It turned into another argument. I told him to keep his opinions to himself. I did NOT want our kids to learn this or use these words. I felt defeated and so hurt. How could I possibly enstil good values in my kids with this new version of their dad?
Toward the end of his life he was drinking heavily...daily. I just tried to stay out of his way. At this time I was working full time and he was attending school. I had to go to bed around 9pm in order to wake up at 5:30am to wake my eldest son for school, drop him off and be to work. Monday through Friday.
He got drunk and told my sister and the neighbor that he was thinking about divorcing me because I didn't "party" anymore. It was a Wednesday night! I had to work in thr morning. I literally woke up for work some mornings and he was still drinking from the night before. It was just another change in his behavior I grew to hate.
My kids had began to fear him. They said he was pushing them around and being aggressive with them. It never happened around me and he denied it when I confronted him. It got to the point that I couldn't leave my kids alone with him. I had my sister stay there when I was at work. She finally saw him do it with her own eyes and called him on it. It turned into a war. Luckily no one was hurt and that day I told him I'd had enough. I gave him a month to find somewhere else to live. If he didn't want to acknowledge he had a problem he could be that way away from us. I was not going to allow my kids to be harmed any more. It was bad enough I was being hurt but not my kids...
Two weeks later he was dead.
I wrestled with that choice for years. Had I not gave him an ultimatum maybe he would still be here? No. I've made peace with it. If he had stayed my kids would possibly be hurt or worse and I did the right thing. I pick my kids first. My job is to protect them above all else.
I still look back and wonder who that man was? He didn't resemble the man I married. Everything about him changed in his illness. I loved someone who did no longer exist. That's just part of his untreated illness. It robbed us all of a great man, long before he took his life.
I will never lie about what life became in the end. I won't paint a fairy tale to save his image because happy, healthy, well rounded people don't kill themselves. He was in denial for so long and the PTSD ate away all the health, happiness and beauty he once had. It was like a cancer to his soul.
You can stop someone from taking their life in the moment but if the person does not address what got them to that point you've only delayed the inevitable. PTSD didn't kill him, his denial and pride did it. He became a paranoid, hateful, mean man. That's not who he was at all. But that is where you'll end up if you allow the illness to win. You have to be strong enough to stare it down head on and look it in the eye. You have to decide you aren't your enemy. PTSD is survivable. It takes strength admitting you have a problem and accepting help.
As much as I loved him and hated who he became, I understand now that he hated himself even more. You don't have to feel that way alone. You can get better. Life can be good again. You've fought for others for do long, now you need to fight for yourself. I know you can do it. You've got support. I have PTSD from witnessing his suicide. I'm not ashamed of it. I'm not afraid of it. I work on it everyday. It will not make me a stranger to myself. It won't beat me.
I am very realistic about the man my husband was before he became sick, while he was there and at the end of his life. My pretending everything was great and he had no issues would be a lie and a disservice to others. By sharing the behaviors he exhibited I can help others identify warning signs in their loved ones. And people are good at masking things. If you asked my former in laws if my husband had any at risk behaviors before he died they would say no. Some had no clue he was sick or spiraling out of control. He hid it and I protected it. I made excuses and covered for him, in attempt to shelter his pride. I know now it was not helpful to him. I don't recommend enabling a sick person this way in hindsight.
I've loved him since I was 14 years old but I can tell you with absolute honesty that I didn't like the person he'd become at the end of his life. I hated his opinions, his behavior, his complete denial he had a problem. I loved him so such and couldn't stand him at the same time.
One of our last big arguments was during the Trayvon Martin trial. I happened to walk out to the garage while he was quite casually explaining in terribly racist terms what a low life thug Trayvon must have been to be lurking around the neighborhood. Now, everyone is entitled to their own opinion of the situation but it was the words he was using. I had known my husband since we were teenagers. 20+ years. I had never heard him use the word "nigger". It hurt and shocked me. After that "debate" I knew without a doubt there was something wrong with him. I asked him later when he sobered up about it. He said it was just the alcohol talking. I told him beer doesn't make you racist. We'd drank hundreds of times before and that never happened. He said maybe he'd just never shared his REAL opinion before...
I told him I was disgusted and embarrassed of him and the things he said. It turned into another argument. I told him to keep his opinions to himself. I did NOT want our kids to learn this or use these words. I felt defeated and so hurt. How could I possibly enstil good values in my kids with this new version of their dad?
Toward the end of his life he was drinking heavily...daily. I just tried to stay out of his way. At this time I was working full time and he was attending school. I had to go to bed around 9pm in order to wake up at 5:30am to wake my eldest son for school, drop him off and be to work. Monday through Friday.
He got drunk and told my sister and the neighbor that he was thinking about divorcing me because I didn't "party" anymore. It was a Wednesday night! I had to work in thr morning. I literally woke up for work some mornings and he was still drinking from the night before. It was just another change in his behavior I grew to hate.
My kids had began to fear him. They said he was pushing them around and being aggressive with them. It never happened around me and he denied it when I confronted him. It got to the point that I couldn't leave my kids alone with him. I had my sister stay there when I was at work. She finally saw him do it with her own eyes and called him on it. It turned into a war. Luckily no one was hurt and that day I told him I'd had enough. I gave him a month to find somewhere else to live. If he didn't want to acknowledge he had a problem he could be that way away from us. I was not going to allow my kids to be harmed any more. It was bad enough I was being hurt but not my kids...
Two weeks later he was dead.
I wrestled with that choice for years. Had I not gave him an ultimatum maybe he would still be here? No. I've made peace with it. If he had stayed my kids would possibly be hurt or worse and I did the right thing. I pick my kids first. My job is to protect them above all else.
I still look back and wonder who that man was? He didn't resemble the man I married. Everything about him changed in his illness. I loved someone who did no longer exist. That's just part of his untreated illness. It robbed us all of a great man, long before he took his life.
I will never lie about what life became in the end. I won't paint a fairy tale to save his image because happy, healthy, well rounded people don't kill themselves. He was in denial for so long and the PTSD ate away all the health, happiness and beauty he once had. It was like a cancer to his soul.
You can stop someone from taking their life in the moment but if the person does not address what got them to that point you've only delayed the inevitable. PTSD didn't kill him, his denial and pride did it. He became a paranoid, hateful, mean man. That's not who he was at all. But that is where you'll end up if you allow the illness to win. You have to be strong enough to stare it down head on and look it in the eye. You have to decide you aren't your enemy. PTSD is survivable. It takes strength admitting you have a problem and accepting help.
As much as I loved him and hated who he became, I understand now that he hated himself even more. You don't have to feel that way alone. You can get better. Life can be good again. You've fought for others for do long, now you need to fight for yourself. I know you can do it. You've got support. I have PTSD from witnessing his suicide. I'm not ashamed of it. I'm not afraid of it. I work on it everyday. It will not make me a stranger to myself. It won't beat me.
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