Albert Einstein once said, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different result.” Hours turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. The only change in my conditioning is that it has become worse. Over time, the call to end the pain via suicide causes my head to pound. My relationship with Angie lies in ruins. We only go through the motions of being together. She sleeps in the master bedroom with my children, I sleep on the floor of the guest bedroom. Signs hang from the doors informing me what I can eat, what not to touch, and to not disturb them on the weekends.
“I fight all day at work only to come home and fight here at home. If all I am doing is fighting, I never should have come home. The war must end sometime,” I think to myself.
While driving to work after a horrendous weekend at home, I see the child from my time at war. I’m speeding, and I stare at the boy as I pass. He stands on the side of the road, his brains in hand. My mouth drops open and tears fill my eyes. A horn breaks me out of my trance. “Oh crap! I’m on the wrong side of the road!” I snatch the wheel to the right. I barely avoid causing a collision on I-25. After correcting my vehicle’s course, I pull off to the side of the road. I look for the boy, but he is only a figment of my imagination.
In my mind, I hear the hyena laugh of madness.
I sit on the side of road, as my body shakes from the fear I feel. My heart feels as if it is going to burst from my chest. Slowly, I pull myself together. I am always early to work, punctuality is my strong suit. My career is all I have left, I refuse to endanger it.
Under what appears to be a harvest moon, I finish my drive to work. There is no sudden appearance of the apparition. The company is still dark when I arrive. In the cold, winter Colorado air, I think of what I had seen.
“I can’t escape what I’ve done. My marriage is a burning pile of refuse that I can’t save. I am slipping lower and lower into the pit of despair.”
In the dark, I pray for a way out. The words of my former pastor cuts through the cry of madness.“God hears every prayer. Don’t let the devil convince you otherwise. Call upon the Lord and He will save you.”
As low as I am, I hold on to this nugget of truth. I open my truck’s console and pull out my anxiety pills, and wash them down with two swigs of Jameson.
It’s time to go to work.