I told her I wish I had never met her; that I was better off without her; that I could fight this illness alone.
I didn’t need her, I didn’t need anyone.
I poured every last drop of malice I had, all over her beautiful soul.
I wonder if, just for a moment, she was the illness.
What a strange dichotomy that I must fight with such ferocity when I least have the energy to do so.
And there she stood, tears rolling down her face.
I am bitterly ashamed of myself.
Together we wept, uncontrollably, oblivious to the outside world.
Such love as I cannot describe, but in that moment, however transient, this illness died.
I asked her to leave me, whilst she is still young, whilst she is still able to build a new life for herself, and all the while, the thought of seeing her on another man’s arms, radiant with happiness and full of life, brings me to my knees.
If only it was that easy, but nothing about this illness has ever been easy for me, and I know, deep within, that no-one would be happier for her than me.
Like a burning building with no exits, I see but one chance to save us.
Should it be and I am gone, those pieces, scattered far and wide must be hers; and only she can hope to put them back together again.
Put them back together she will, and with a life worth living yet to come.
I will not do that, but I know that deep within, that choice might be taken away from me, for what choice is there when you are taken to a place where choices don’t exist.
I am so sorry Inessa; I am so sorry that you had to go through this. I wish I’d told you from the beginning. How selfish, how naive, how desperate my situation.
If I could give some advice, it would be to keep talking, keep a diary, and know that such times will pass. Above all, never miss the chance to love one another; how I wish I never missed those chances myself.
I am sick and tired of hearing of news about CBT/GET being ‘’effective treatments’’ for this illness.
The very strong inference is that people like me don’t want to access this treatment because we don’t want to engage in anything to do with psychiatry.
It doesn’t matter what I say, or how many times I say it. I have done anything and everything to get better, including psychiatry ( Seacroft Hospital Leeds; M.E. clinic 2006 ) but that’s not the narrative they want to hear.
Perhaps they believe I would rather put my wife through years of misery instead ? Tell me, who's in need of a psychiatrist now ?
If this illness is an infectious disease as Lipkin believes, am I to assume that there are a group of academics here in the UK and beyond, that can talk the pathogens out of a hostage situation ?
In sickness and in health
Blog entry posted by Quilp, Mar 5, 2014.