I've posted here before about the end of my marriage to my very dear, but very sick wife of 16 years. Her primary condition is in the OCD spectrum, but there are also the attending battles with severe anxiety and depression, coupled with social fears & paranoia, and occasional descents into borderline personality disorder. Life with her, at times, could be about as miserable as I can possibly imagine. Because I cannot imagine anything much worse than witnessing the torment of someone that you love and being (seemingly) unable to do anything about it.

But that is that key point, now, with which I constantly wrestle: I.e., did I really do everything that I could do? Over the last couple years of our marriage, I had time and time again brought myself to the conclusion that I just could not cope with it any more. And that wasn't just based on a feeling of wanting something different for myself. It was more of a functional issue, really, inasmuch as I was starting to falter in my ability to perform at my job and keep-up the household. I felt as if I had been so worn down, that not only was I no longer helping, but my presence was genuinely a hindrance to my wife's struggles. It seemed as if all my efforts to help simply added-up to increased pressures on her. It was as if I couldn't figure-out a way to avoid the downward spiral into the toxicity of mutual despair.

It seemed as if the only possible thing to do was to end it. And so that, finally, is the choice that I made. I had hoped that the end, at least, could come with some sense of amicability and that we could part with a respect for one-another and for the time that we shared together. But like so many other things in my life, I held out frivolous hopes that could never come to fruition. Things ended very badly, with my wife winding-up in legal trouble and the two of us, now, being barred from any communication with one-another. Were it not for her family, she would likely be out on the streets.

I can't help but fixate, now, on the notion that perhaps I have made a terrible mistake. In the depths of her soul, I know my (soon to be ex-) wife to be the most kind-hearted, giving, caring, and genuine human being that I've ever known. Her smile and sense of humor is so warm and comforting. And when she was herself, and able to express her own personality, it all seemed so very simple. She made me very happy and contented, and I know that she desperately wanted to show me love. To be ripped from those things, in this way, and to experience her absence in the full, terrible knowledge of what has happened to her, is the most wrenching experience I can possibly imagine. I am full of compassion for her, even as the divorce settles and I am faced with a dire financial predicament as a result of it.

In those few, rare moments that we were able to find our respective desires to love one-another and to seek happiness and hope, it all seemed so simple. She enjoyed such nice, simple things in life. We liked to go hiking and bicycle riding together. She liked to be outdoors and to feel the peace and freedom of finding a solitary place in the wilderness to sit quietly and take-in the natural sights and sounds. She liked to work around the yard, too, and derived a lot of pleasure from planting bulbs in the Fall and then seeing them come up in the Spring. I made her a special little patio, under a tree in the yard, where she could sit comfortably and view them.

...It was just this past Fall that I'd finally made the decision to seek a divorce, and now as things come to a close, all the lovely tulips and so-on are all in full bloom around the house. I have a desire to go pull them all up so that I don't have to burst into tears every time I come home or leave, but I don't have the heart to do so.

I love her so much, and miss her very, very much. I am so lonely and afraid, and am wracked with the guilt of feeling like I did not do enough. I feel like I failed her. I feel like we met one-another for a reason--that I was meant to be the one that would stand by her side, without fail, and meet her every need to the very best of my ability.

But I just don't know. The one thing that I keep coming back to is the argument that I constantly had in the pit of my soul, the essence of which goes something like this: Never once have I felt any resentment or problem, whatsoever, for my wife's "special" needs. For those issues I have nothing but infinite understanding and compassion. I have always been perfectly fine with making whatever accommodation necessary, and sacrificing of my own needs and desires in order to better facilitate her needs. What I could never accept, however, is argument that there was "nothing" at all that could be done to alleviate her struggles. As was always emphasized to her, through many and varied forms of therapy, it had to be her OWN decisions and actions that would lead her to any semblance of relief from her suffering. She had to take-on a responsibility for herself and develop her OWN desire to lead the best possible life that she could.

But this is exactly what she could never do, and I could never adequately communicate my desire to unconditionally support her, on the one hand, but also to want her to take her life and her mental health into her own hands, on the other. She became desperate and helpless, rather than finding her will to fight. The only conclusion that I was able to draw, in the end, is that at some level her mental illness had "won" the fight and taken her over completely. She was no longer able to love herself, or anyone else, truly enough to continue the battle.

I do want to believe that I did everything that any human being could do. I feel like I tried so hard. I look back and can honestly feel a certain sense of pride at the sacrifices I made, and the sense of resolve and hope that I retained in my heart. But I also made selfish mistakes, at times, and feel that I could've done so much better. I am, in the end, merely human, and have my limitations. It would appear that love does not conquer all. Mental illness is an insidious, insistent beast that in some cases will simply not yield. We are beholden to it, in our respective fates as mortal beings. Owning-up to this fact, and attempting to accept it, is probably the most difficult task that I, personally, will ever face.

To my dear wife, wherever she is, and whatever is happening in her life: `please know that I do love you forever. I would set myself on fire for you. There is no force in the universe that could ever tear my heart from you. I wish for you peace and happiness, and will do anything you could ever need to have your share of those things.'

I ask anyone else who has faced similar circumstances: did I do enough? Is my heart true enough? Did I make the right sacrifices? Is my mindset correct? Is there a different approach I should have taken? Should I have completely given-up on my own happiness and sanity to continue providing her with support? Or is removing myself from her life perhaps the best gift I could've ever given her? I would like some sort of closure on these thoughts, even if that closure comes in the form of a negative conclusion.