If you are reading this, you fully understand there is nothing quite like the feeling of unravelling after D-day. I felt that too. After the numbness and disorientation subsided, the searing pain was constant. There was no reprieve. Day and night, this obliterating pain and confusion was derailing every thought, making the simplest of tasks feel like walking through wet cement. Even the small amounts of sleep I actually managed were haunted; there was no relief. My mind was uncooperative, only allowing me to see the betrayal, and nothing else. I saw betrayal everywhere and in everything: brushing my teeth, washing dishes, taking a shower, and driving to work. There was nothing in my life left unscathed from this bomb so carelessly dropped in my lap.

Over the months to follow, the hopelessness set in to the point that I just didn't want to be me anymore. I would have traded places with just about anyone to be someone else who was not so damaged, someone who had been "enough." I could no longer see any value in being me or in living my life. I even fantasized about getting cancer, as that would provide a relief from the life I had. It became clearer that this situation was irrevocable, and I believed there was no point in living. I could not see even a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel and I didn't have the energy to care anymore. I started to believe that my kids and family would be better off without me, and could readily find someone to take my place who would be "more" than I had been. If my husband could replace me that easily, my kids could too. Clearly, the problem was me.

The self-loathing was constant and intense. My negative self-talk told me I was worthless and ugly, and no wonder he didn't want me. I constantly compared myself to "her," and always lost. The urges began to increase and became harder to ignore. I wanted to - no, needed to - punish myself for being such a loser, and I hated myself for not being good enough. My body had failed me in this competition with the affair partner, so I took out my rage on it. In a variety of ways that surprised me in my creativity, I harmed my own body, again and again. I felt the compulsion to do this, and then the act of self-harm would provide some initial measure of relief, taking the edge off the pent-up pressure, soon to be followed by guilt and shame, then confusion and disgust for being so weak, and such a pathetic loser. I could not inflict this violence and rage on my husband or the affair partner, so I took it all out on myself. It was a vicious cycle and my husband was terrified. I did not want to live, and I thought about it constantly. I obsessed about it. I mentally crafted detailed plans which would ensure a lethal outcome. I thought about one plan in particular so often, I was secretly worried I would compulsively carry it out before I could even finish the thought, but I was conflicted. I did not tell anyone about the specific plans I made, and felt like I was looking in from the outside, and losing my mind.

I began to make plans to ensure things were organized for my family in the event of my death, and wondered how my kids would feel. My reality was so distorted that I was really not sure it would impact anyone all that much. After all, since my husband chose someone else I must not have ever mattered, so would anyone really miss me? Wasn't I easily replaceable? I could not think clearly, but was also aware of that fact, which scared me and increased the self-loathing toward myself and my weakness. I prayed and prayed, and felt totally abandoned. I stopped caring if it would ever get better. I just accepted that this darkness was the sum total of my life. I gave up and no longer hoped for anything more.

One day at work, my desire to die was so intense, I did not know if I could get home safely without carrying out my plan. While googling lethal doses of over the counter medications I had at home, the information for the suicide hotline came up on my phone. I called, alone in my office, sobbing on my desk. I hung up. I really didn't know what to do and did not want to talk to anyone. I did not see how they could help me.

The following day, after a tumultuous series of events, I was taken from my office to the hospital in the back of a police car under a mandatory mental health arrest. It was humiliating, frightening, and a total loss of control. I had a very real fear that my husband would not come to pick me up, as this was his opportunity to finally dispense with me and move on from his crazy, broken wife and all the stress and drama we had endured since D-day a year earlier. He did come, however, and tearfully struggled to decide whether he could keep me safe enough to be discharged. It was a series of events I will never forget, and I now have a deeper understanding and appreciation for people in any situation who are so incredibly lost that they feel there is no hope. I know now that God was with me. He kept me safe. I did not feel Him but I know He was there, weeping alongside me.

Today, I don't feel all of those things. In fact, I was pondering my progress recently, and it struck me that I have not felt those urges in a while. That is not to say life is now all butterflies and rainbows, but I no longer want to die. I no longer want to take out my aggression, anxiety, and desperation on my body through self-harm. That may not sound significant to people who have not walked in my shoes, but to those who have, I want to encourage you that it does get better. These intense feelings do diminish. I am still battling trauma and depression, but the feelings are calmer and more manageable. I can think clearly now. I thank God every day that I am still alive to love those around me, and that I have another day to try again to move toward healing and wholeness.

The physical scars from my self-harm have faded. I shudder to think of a different outcome in which my family potentially wondered why they weren't enough for me, and the damage it would have caused to all the people I love. I came closer to ending my life than I would like to admit. I will never forget this season, and the extremes to which the pain from infidelity has taken me. Now I have empathy for those who walk this way. I know they are not weak. I know the strength it takes to keep going. I know how out of control it feels and how the light is totally eclipsed when you are in the darkness, and you no longer even believe light ever existed. I understand that now.

I hope I can use this to reach out a hand to someone still in the blackness, and gently encourage you to hold on just a little longer. Just wait. It will get better, but you have to be patient, take courage, and look for the light. Let people help you. You DO matter and people DO care about you. No matter what your spouse did, or what he or she is doing now, you still matter. You always mattered. Your spouse can't take that away from you, and if you hold on long enough, you will be here with me to reach out your hand to someone else who just can't see any light yet either.

Luke 12:7 Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.