The Marriage is Survived by Both a Husband and a Wife
Once I wrote a list to steel my mind What I should do if you kill yourself
Hid the list at K’s house, preparing for the truth avalanching toward us
text my boss / tell our kids / fly in a friend /
schedule more therapy / call the VA / remember to shower /
Hid it at K’s, hoping not to accelerate the truth already avalanching toward us
make slow choices / secure the safety net / fall apart /
schedule more therapy / call the VA / remember to shower /
Why is there no hospice for hopelessness?
make slow choices / secure the safety net / fall apart /
I spent years cruelly insisting you keep waking. I’m sorry.
There is no hospice for hopelessness. I’m sorry.
I never offered permission. Instead ketamine. Instead a magnet to the brain.
I spent years cruelly insisting you keep waking. I’m sorry.
Write this narrative instead. Swallow this Ambien. I’ll paint the silver lining by morning.
I never offered permission. Instead ketamine. Instead a magnet to the brain.
I’ll fake resilient and unburdened if you’ll unattach yourself from the floor.
I’ll bury my narrative. Just swallow this ambien. Look. I painted another silver lining.
Somehow I never needed the list. Somehow you thrashed your own way out.
I faked resilient and unburdened. You unattached yourself from the floor. Thank you.
You offered a new truth. The only thing you needed to end was us.
Somehow I never needed the list. Thank you. Somehow you thrashed your own way out.
I texted my boss. I told our kids. I flew to a friend.
The new truth: the only thing that would end was us.
Once I wrote a list to steel my mind: What I should do if you kill yourself. I’m sorry.
Danielle Garland (she/her) is a writer, science communicator, and feeding therapist from Southern Appalachia who spends time thinking about grief, trees, silence, and the fragility of narrative. Her work has been previously published in Empty House Press, Susurrus Magazine, and Anti-Heroin Chic. Find her on Instagram @_daniellegarland.
