Page 83 of Keeping Her Under
“Then help me!” she shrieks. “Please.” She falls to her knees. “Take me to Switzerland. Have mercy.”
“Summer…”
“Please… please!”
I shake my head as I walk towards her. “I can’t.”
“I hate you.”
“That’s the depression –”
“No, it’s not! It’s me! And I hate you! I wish we never got married! I wish I died in the car crash so we never would’ve met!”
“Summer!”
She cries as her anger morphs into pain. As deep as her words hurt, I know they’re not really hers. I know she doesn’t mean them. She’s just having an anger attack – a common symptom of depression. People always focus on the sadness and melancholy, but the easy irritation, the horrible lashing out – they’re about as common as the Hollywood signs.
“Please! Please… I don’t want to live anymore.”
I squat down beside her and wrap my arm around her. Pulling her against my side, I try to push all my love for her into her heart. Maybe I can fight for the both of us…
Maybe this time it’ll actually work.
“If you won’t kill me…” she sobs. “Can you put me back under?” She turns her head to look at me as I freeze. “Put me back in a coma, where I was safe from my thoughts. Please. Please…”
“No,” I say in horror. “We’ll get you more help. I’ll find you another therapist –”
“I don’t want another therapist! I’ve tried your way for years! Nothing stops it! Nothing helps.”
Tears roll down my cheeks as I stare at her twisted pain. I want to tell her to not give up hope yet, that treatment is always advancing.
But I don’t even know if I still have hope.
None of the traditional methods of therapy or drugs are doing a damn thing. Nothing is making the slightest bit of difference. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t laugh. Even these anger attacks are getting rarer and rarer. I’m losing her, and I can’t stop it.
I’ve lost so much weight. I can’t take the time to eat or sleep, so afraid she’ll hurt herself while I’m not paying her attention. I force her to go to the bathroom with me. To shower with me. To sleep practically handcuffed to my wrist.
I’m utterly exhausted. Heavily drained.
I don’t know what I have left in me anymore.
How long can love keep you going?
When is it not enough?
“I can’t…” I cry as I bury my head into the crook of her neck.
But for the first time, I don’t know if I’m saying I can’t kill her.
Or if I’m admitting to myself, I can’t do this any longer.
“I think you should do it,” Asher says as he sits at my kitchen table. He holds up a hand before I can flip out on him. “We all heal differently, remember? This could be what she needs.”
“It isn’t healing!” I hiss, but I’m careful not to raise my voice too much. Summer’s asleep on the couch, and I don’t want to wake her. It’s the only time she seems at peace.
“Says who?” Asher demands.
“Says everyone! Being in a locked-in state is horrifying for most people. She’ll be trapped, unable to move except for her eyelids.”
