My story by Mark

I married a woman who was adorable in every sense of the word. She meant more to my heart than the air it moved; made me proud to enter any room holding her hand and was one of whom flowers got to see her beauty. Yet none of this could she see herself.

Instead, my former wife carried with her a heavy past. From teen-years, and as an adopted child, she'd grown accustomed to ridicule, mocking, jealously, envy and self-doubt. Pregnant and in her early twenties, she was physically abused by her then partner, for which she needed hospitalisation. In raising their child alone, she remained forever hungry of acceptance from and trust within her own (adoption) Mother. And after all of this, she attended the suicide funeral of her older brother.

We'd known each other for many years, off and on, with neither of us aware of what the "little idiosyncrasies" truly meant. For after we married, entering into an intimate relationship, the unfounded pessimism and suspicions by she grew more rapid. More frequently came the confusing, negative interpretations on every incident or, at least, the nullifying of anything suggesting she was so loved and cherished. "Yet again you were the most beautiful woman in the restaurant tonight", from which I'd always hear, "well that could only be because there wasn't much competition." As is felt by any loving partner, the skepticism hurt.

Once depression (and later PTSD with panic attacks) was diagnosed, my heart became immeasurably committed to learning and helping my dearest friend. Yet the illness had its grip. "There ain't no mountain high enough" (as the song goes) I would tell her. I was wrong; Mt Illness is unconquerable to any couple when one climber seeks not your help. Instead, at its peak, she screamed for help from anyone (else), by overdose. Certainly her life was nearly lost; but from which it might now be saved.

Against my lifelong dreams, she's left my future. I can only wish for her a safe journey and, after two years (of D-Net poetry, medical research, ARAFMI, loneliness, etc), I turn now to restore some sanctuary into my own life. The lessons learned about the devastation mental illness has on family and relationships will always remain with me, perhaps now of good use to lessen the pain of tomorrow's victims.