Hindsight is 20/20

My first husband was like an addiction. I could never do or say enough to impress him. We were young and on our own for the first time. I had never lived with anyone but my family before. He had to patiently instruct me on the finer points of housekeeping since I had never cleaned a day in my life thanks to an extremely anal retentive mother. I was hopelessly and desperately in love with him.
We married impulsively because we were about to be separated by the military. Our marriage was simple and quiet with only our friends and his parents in attendance. My family refused to attend. There was some strong objection to the groom and to the fact that we were both barely 20 years old. My brother in law warned me that the first dumb things people do within six months of boot camp are to get a tattoo and get married. I did both.
Without going into the long, sordid story he was kicked out of the military for being arrested dealing drugs at a rave while we were between duty stations. I was in NY starting a new training program and he was in FL waiting to follow me up to NY for good. In the process of being booked at the police station he consumed a large quantity of a certain drug to keep it from being found during a body search. It changed him forever.
I am sure he had always had an undiagnosed chemical imbalance. But this drug altered him completely and caused him to have flashbacks from time to time with no warning. There was no rhyme or reason to it. We could be going along normally and then BAM, instant insanity.
I watched him attempt suicide twice. The first time was during a flashback in our apartment in Navy housing. We were on the second floor. We had been fighting and all of a sudden he snapped. I was due to report for work in a little while and all of a sudden he lost it. He ran across the living room, opened the window, pushed out the screen and tried to throw himself head first out. I grabbed on to his pants by the belt loop and hauled him back in. It never occurred to me what a Herculean effort that must've been at the time until I woke up the next day completely sore from my shoulders to my feet. Somehow I had conjured enough super human strength to haul this 165 pound man against the force of gravity back through the window.
I had to call a friend of his to come watch him while I went to work. The military waits for no man. I showed up for work late. When I was questioned about why I was late I promptly burst into tears. The military does not like tears, especially from a woman. Eventually, I explained what had happened. My supervisor took me in his car to take the long drive back to our apartment. On the way home we passed my husband and his friends heading up to the base. We flagged them down and my husband informed me that I had forgotten my dinner and they were heading up to drop it off. He was normal again and worried about me being hungry during my 12 hour shift. My supervisor insisted that he get checked out at a hospital. My now normal husband was angry at me and at him.
We were at the hospital for 4 hours and they finally released him only if I promised to have someone with him at all times for the next few days to make sure he didn't relapse. After my supervisor dropped us off at home my husband tore into me for telling people our business. The next day my boss' boss tore into me for crying at work and lying about why I was late(I had originally told them I wasn't feeling well).
Sometimes when I am just falling asleep and my mind is drifting I have flashbacks from this period in my life. I assume that anyone who has had traumatic events occur does the same thing. It is just a byproduct of the PTSD experience. Occasionally, I remember details that I had forgotten or chosen to forget. Usually, I am flooded with the emotions I felt back then and feel them come rushing back in remembrance.
I am ashamed to say that there are times when I welcome the feelings. Feeling something, albeit sad and scary, feels better than being numb.