ISSUE № 7 , JAN 2018
2
Stories from Ryelle
I woke up with my heart racing and my breaths coming in quick gasps . I had just escaped a nightmare . The curtains in our bedroom filtered the early morning sun and cast a soft glow throughout the room . I turned and looked at my husband , Aiden . He was fast asleep beside me but I found myself watching him very closely checking for signs of life . To recount the product of my dream state that so disturbed me , I closed my eyes and let the pieces drift back into focus . He was depressed and in his state of desperation and despair he decided to harm himself . There were no words in my dream , only an innate knowledge of what he intended . The depth of his desperation merely chafed the periphery of my emotional barometer . Rather , it was the grotesque image of him bloodied and badly injured that really moved me . I opened my eyes again to make sure that he was safe . I breathed deeply and attempted to bring some relief to myself by acknowledging the fact that it was only a dream . But the images of the dream resurfaced again later that day . I found myself haunted and fearful especially since I knew he was going through a rough patch in more than one area of his life . As the days went on , all seemed well . I decided that I need not have a talk with him . There were no tangible indicators causing me to suspect otherwise . The dream became more like a dream ; a distant and unreal thing . One year later , I was being tirelessly worked on by a team of medical doctors in the emergency room . My family stood outside in their various states of horror , shock and bewilderment . It was a few hours post incident and none of the doctors could give any assurance that I would survive nor come back from the incident as a whole person . I had attempted suicide . It ’ s funny how time can spawn the most unexpected of circumstances . I can ’ t help but feel that maybe that dream about my husband seemed to have some psychic element attached to it , except that it was not about him . He wasn ’ t the one who became broken , helpless and was lying in an emergency room ; I ended up fulfilling that role . I remember how troubled I felt and how much I wanted to step up and help him in whatever way I could when in fact , it turned out that I should have paid closer attention to the person who really needed my help - me . You may well find there are gaps in this story , but it wouldn ’ t do justice to the characters in this story and the readers to share my experiences with you in a linear , logical fashion . And that is simply because it is not that kind of story … not to me or the people who are a part of it . The issues of mental illness and suicide are very real and the onus is on so many of us to follow the trail of breadcrumbs and clues to help someone through recovery . I am one such story and I am one who survived . I am alive . So now I can share my stories .
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