There is no oneuntouchedbycrisesofmental health.
Im sitting alone on the couch, held in place by a weighted blanket my husbands grandmother gave us.
The living room is dark except for the light coming from the TV.
Illustration by Blake Cale
An episode ofX-Filesis playing at a low volume.
My sister has been staying with us for a week this time.
Perhaps she comes to me when shes in trouble because Im older.
Maybe its because she doesnt have to hide who she is when shes around me.
I dont judge her when she spends long hours asleep.
The bottom of her pajama pants had been folded underneath her feet when shed shuffled to bed hours earlier.
But I suspect she is still awake.
The meds she takes to quiet her mind dont always work.
I fill a small glass with tap water and tip-toe to the end of the hallway.
I knock lightly on the door.
The small TV in the room is on, but no sound is coming out of it.
Im heading up to bed.
Can I get you anything?
I always want to make her feel cared for in a way I fear she never does.
Im ok, she says.
I push the door all the way open and kick mismatched socks to the side.
Some water splashes from the glass as I navigate across the messy floor and sit down on the bed.
I nudge her body, buried under blankets, to make room for me.
Im glad youre here, I say.
You should just rest now.
Well have plenty of time to figure everything out.
TheDeath with Dignity Actinvokes a sense of pride for most Oregonians.
The physician-assisted suicide lawpassedin our home state in 1997.
But she was suffering.
I never judged her drug use.
Legal or illegal, I just wanted her to feel better.
Nowhere in the United States is medical assistance in dying allowed for those who are suffering mental conditions.
Paradoxically, the logic is that the possibility of doctor-assisted suicide may actually save lives.
I tell her I dont think they do that for mental illnesses.
Then will you do it?
She sits up to look me straight in the eyes.
Her bottom lip starts to tremble the way it does when she begins to cry.
she says loudly, uncontrollably.
My head hurts and I cant think straight.
If we do it this way, you could be with me.
Everything goes silent, and a high-pitched ringing rips through my ears.
The room is filled with the smell of fresh laundry.
No matter her circumstances, she always has clean clothes and they always smell good.
I picture myself injecting her with something that would end her life and her illness at once.
It wasnt the first time she asked me to save her, but this time was clearly different.
But this time its not my safety I fear, its my inability to survive her.
My hope blinds me to reality, that the fact she fought before doesnt mean she will fight forever.
Tonight she is telling me that she is done.
I hear my husbands feet stop behind me at the bedroom door and immediately wonder how much hes overheard.
I turn quickly, like Ive been caught in the act.
He is a sweet and generous man.
No regrets, he told me on our first date.
Something only 20-year-olds say.
Wed grown up together in the way you do when you marry young.
If youre lucky enough, your tangles intertwine around each other.
Were good, I say too fast.
Ill be up in a minute.
He steps through the doorway anyway.
Am I missing the party?
he says with a grin.
Not right now, babe.
Ill be up in a minute.
No matter her suffering, I cant allow myself to consider playing a role in her death.
Shed been sick for a long time.
But surely, there is hope.
She lays back down and turns away from me, defeated.
I bend over and move her hair back away from her face.
In that anguished hustle that so many families of the mentally ill know well, I was alone.
I still commemorate the anniversary of her death every year.
She found her own dignity through her incredible strength in the face of so much adversity.
I will forever remain in awe of her fight.
If you or someone you love is suffering, pleaseseek help.
