I Wish She Would Die

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“I wish my partner would die.”

The gruesome, shameful desire uttered faintly through hopeless lips, the unexpected authenticity of an exhausted heart. She looked up slowly, terrified to see the reactions of the people to whom she had gifted her trust, afraid that her new admission had crossed the line of relatability to something unthinkable.

She saw nodding heads. Lots of nodding heads.

“Me too,” admitted one. “I thought I was the only one,” said another, relieved. “I can’t believe you were brave enough to say that out loud,” said a third in shocked admiration. The sound of trauma resonating on the same unspeakable frequency. 

I’ve heard it too many times to give attribution to the first person who let the wicked thought cross her lips in my presence. I don’t remember who broke the ice, and I wouldn’t betray her even if I did.

When there is addiction in the family, almost all of the concern is for the addict. The addict is sick. The addict is suffering from a disease. While that is true, and deserving of serious attention, the family suffers trauma, neglect, abuse, and unrelenting uncertainty. And in most cases, they suffer in silence for fear of the repercussions if they violate the sanctity of the details of the family secret.

The toxic secret metastasizes. Our nervous systems are designed to help us survive a bear attack–a switch to be flipped on quite rarely, and for short durations until the danger subsides. In a family suffering from addiction, the danger never subsides. Living in nervous system activation leaves a trail of biological damage. As van der Kolk wrote, The Body Keeps the Score. The kids shrink, living behind closed bedroom doors to avoid drawing attention. Partners look for windows of sanity to communicate between enveloping periods of intoxication, sullen depression, incoherence, and irrationality.

The outbursts. Seemingly out of nowhere, the emotional abuse is both predictable and unexpected. Some days he drinks moderately and keeps his shit together. Some days a secret trigger converts him into a powder keg with a short fuse, wandering around, looking for a match. The familiar middle class, middle income, midlife facade keeps the loved ones guessing. There is no Smokey the Bear fire danger warning sign to protect the family. The chances of an inferno depend on which way the swirling wind blows.

I’ve wondered if the ashes left in my alcoholic wake ever drove Sheri to wish for my death. I don’t ask because my wife doesn’t lie, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle the answer.

Now along with Sheri, I’ve felt the marrow-deep pain of toxic betrayal. Trauma never processed, allowed to fester and grow for decades. The flame flickered too close to the powder’s short fuse. An explosion of abuse somehow justified by sickness, but the disease of addiction and the fear of the unknown will never heal the wounds inflicted. Forgiveness is now my personal dilemma, but to forget is out of the question. I’ll never forget how she attacked my wife, my family, my people.

I was shocked the first time I heard the muted soloist let breath cross her vocal cords and decry, “I wish my partner would die.” Now, I join the chorus. For me not a partner, but I am in harmony with the troubled voices.

I wish she would die.

I’ve learned something deeply human through my own admission of weakness and heinous thoughts. To speak such blasphemy out loud, we must first exhaust empathy and hope. These are the words of anger and despair. This is not the wish of vengeance or the overcoming of tragedy. To wish for the death of a loved one is to face my own mortality, and accept that my words might be my own damnation. And to speak them anyway.

As despicable as it might seem to wish for the death of someone I love, there is a step lower on the descending staircase of morality.

Do you know what’s worse than wishing someone would die?

Ambivalence.

If you know the tune the chorus is sadly singing, there is a place for you to find your voice and work through the challenging lyrics. You are not alone. Please take our brief quiz to see if you belong in Echoes of Recovery.

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