It’s hard to explain how this came about without a really long back story so I’ll try to make some bullet points of things I’ve left out of my public blog up to this point:
2011 – My husband had a nervous breakdown/psychotic break in Washington, DC over 4th of July. That lead him to go to a counselor off post. The counselor “couldn’t tell him he had PTSD” but he could tell me I had “secondary PTSD from living with someone with such severe trauma.” Something, something, permanent medical records, something.
2012 – Another deployment… and he had an affair. I didn’t find out about the affair until we were already separated and in counseling trying to work things out. He swore it was over between them, because she was also married and a Cpt., and so I let him move back in in 2013 (not many posts from 2013 on the blog during this time, I was straight fucked up.)
2013 – Got back together, recommitted to “becoming friends” and enjoying life together. I basically gave up my true identity to become this person he wanted me to be. I was miserable. I drank like I’d never done before, just to cope with hiding my true self. I was even an “old lady” in a biker club. Me. Can you even imagine? Oh yeah, add on another deployment.
2014 – His mistress got stationed here. They resumed seeing each other but I was not aware for several months. When I found out, I quit spending time with the club, which he spent all his time with. Another deployment. He came home early because he had a mental breakdown overseas and couldn’t do his job. I broke my arm and as I laid on the grass looking up at the sky I thought, my husband won’t be here for me when I really need him. He wasn’t. I decided I would move to Texas at Thanksgiving. On my birthday, in October, he nearly got beaten to death, by his friends, because he pulled a knife….on one of his friends. When he came home he swore to me he would go to rehab and fix himself for our family and for himself. I tentatively changed my mind about leaving. Rehab #1. Mental Hospital #1.
2015…. At this point, all I can say about 2015 is that it broke me. It broke me down in ways that went beyond just low self worth and self esteem. It broke me to my core and there are parts of me that will never heal or be restored. Repeated mental (“behavioral health”) hospitalizations (#2 & #3) and medical procedures (surgeries with percocet scrips) for my husband left me fending entirely for myself while trying to start and run a business (because I was insane), raise my children, take care of a violently crazy dog, and just keep going to my job everyday and trying not to get fired. I barely survived that year. My marriage did not.
2016 – During the previous year we had researched ways and places and therapies to help him, his addictions, his PTSD. We started studying psychedelic therapies for trauma and PTSD, all of which are illegal in the US. On January 1, my husband moved to Costa Rica. Initially, it had been under the assumption that the kids and I would join him once school was out. Things had improved for us a little and he went to an ayahuasca ceremony in CR and seemed greatly improved by it. I decided to go down for a week and see how he was doing and also do a Ayahuasca retreat, during which time I would partake in two aya ceremonies.