Set Fire To The Rain

I Love You...

Noe

If it's something I need to hear, she'd tell me. It's not like I tell her everything I'm thinking about. Why should I put that expectation on her?

Respecting our personal spaces was a mutual agreement between us.

She didn't need me to report every second I was away at the firehouse, and I didn't ask her about the "disappearances".

I trusted that we could trust each other.

I trusted that she knew how much honesty meant to me.

I trusted her.

And I tried not to jump to conclusions and assume the worse as I sat at the counter next to my chilled, untouched coffee and the cordless phone, hoping she was in a place where she could call me and tell me she was ok.

I was knocked out cold. I didn't even hear her get up and get dressed.

She didn't take her keys...her wallet...her purse...

She didn't even take her shoes.

Why the hell would she walk out there barefooted in the snow?

Was this another mental break?

How did I miss the signs this time?

I wanted so badly to believe we were ok after the last time, but I guess that's just the nature of the beast. When you're really sick--"up there", I mean--you're going about your day and you never know the moment it hits you. It's not like how I was always taught. Pull your boots on and get back in the game, Noe. No...It's unpredictable and it's a slow killer. A certain smell, or sound, or place that triggers you and you're thrown in a spiral again...at least that's what I've read about it. Ever since I started suspecting that Cass might be going through some personal things, I've been doing the research on mental health when she's not around, because I know if she ever knew I was, she'd shut down on me.

Hell, not even guys in my house are open to talking about anything you can't see, hear, touch, or smell.

But I know it's there because I've been in dark places too...One of which I've made my home.

I don't want that for Cass.

Call it playing the "savior" all you want, but I love her too much to let her believe I don't see her in this dark place and won't come in after her.

Reading on it can only take me so far, though.

As many books as I've picked up at the Borders near her job, I still don't know exactly what she's going through.

If she won't open up to me, it's like I'm fighting an enemy for her I can't see and still don't completely understand.

I wasn't a shrink, or the proud owner of some piece of paper that told other people I was smart enough to make calls on the heart. But I'd learned enough on my own calls to know we all got our battles to fight that other people can't see. And I hated feeling helpless, that I didn't have the training or equipment to protect my wife from those things.

All I could do was go by my gut feeling that something was wrong, and hope that she felt brave enough to share it with me, but other than that, I wasn't sure how to help her yet. Not if she refused to let me in.

And it's not like I could trust anybody enough in confidence to ask about tips on how to support your wife's mental health.

Anybody who knew her and our situation at the firehouse would only shake their head when I told them I felt like something was going on with Cassie, and tell me, "Goddamnit, Noe, I told you so. We told you not to fuck with that girl."