Even when you’re sad…

…but it seems like there are volumes stuck in my head. Disjointed blurts. It hurts. I’m scared. I’m lost. He seems angry all the time now; not at me, just generally pissed off with the world. He’s acerbic. Vexatious. It’s like he wants to prove how he needs to not be here. Throwing out cavalier comments like “you need to find my replacement” or “sure, if I’m still alive, I’ll help with that.” The images he keeps on his computer desktop are of death, or impending death. It feels abusive, like psychological torture. But if I say that, I feel like he’ll use it as more proof he’s a horrible person that we need out of our misery. I did make a doctor’s appointment for him… but he didn’t go. Of course, we got the “missed appointment bill” in the mail, which didn’t help things. Proof, again, he’s not fit to be around. I’m exhausted by being “happy” all the time.

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He’s in his bubble. No, bubble seems too inviting. More like armor made of barbed wire.

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I still try to get close, hanging on so tight. There is pain. Bleeding. Suffering.

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I smile anyway.

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We’re there again. Well, we’ve actually been here for several weeks; keeping in “the routine” of getting up, going to work, come home, go to bed. Wish I could find the inspiration to write when he is up; this blog looks like nothing but depressing moments. That’s not true; there are many really, really good moments, and I’m too happy living them to sit down here and write. Those are what make living through times like this bearable.

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I shouldn’t say that. I feel like I’m doing OK “this time.” It’s like… I don’t know. I guess I have been able to separate what he’s going through from my own ego, if that makes sense.

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One of the things that bothered me in the beginning was when he’d be depressed, when his thoughts turned dark and he didn’t see anything good to stay around for… that there was nothing in existence that could show him it was better to be alive than dead, the same questions would run through my own mind:

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What about me? Am I not enough?

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It really is an affront to be told (albeit indirectly) that your love, affection and very presence isn’t enough to inspire someone to live a good life. To actually *live*. That’s not what Disney taught us.

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And it’s really selfish.

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He’s told me he’s fighting really, really hard right now; that he’s having a hard time hanging on. This makes me filter what I say to him – the last thing I want to do is give him that one, last piece of “evidence” he needs to say fcuk it. Things I would normally talk to him about, I keep to myself. Things I’d want his input on, I’m making the decisions without him.

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Can’t wait until you come back; we have so much to talk about .

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…because if I didn’t, I’d cry.

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We’re in One Of Those Times again and I’m questioning my strength to make it. I mean, it’s only been 5 days, but  this time it started when I was already tired, stressed and overwhelmed with general life… now this gets thrown in. It’s tough to not let this blog turn into a bitch-fest because that really doesn’t do any good. I just really don’t know what to do; I question anything I say because “what if” it either sends him deeper or “what if” he snaps at me. Neither is an attractive option, so I just keep quiet. Which, again, is an option I’m also not sure about. He asked me today if I could stay with him if he were never happy again. Instinctively I said yes. I must admit that it got me thinking, however – could I? Could I eventually come to accept this as normal? Would I WANT to? I’m scared of my answer, and I don’t want him to know it because his depressed mind would find fodder to spiral even deeper, it would use that ember of “proof” to feed the fire and continue to consume until there was nothing left.

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In the Good Times, you think you are strong, you think that everything you build up will be enough to shepard you through the Bad Times. It’s days like this where you see that the Good Times carry you up to wonderful heights that seem to always be on the edge of a cliff; the higher you go, the deeper the fall. One of the most difficult things is to not be dragged down with him; I found myself doing nothing today, there was no will to concentrate, no will to accomplish. I’d go crawl into bed again right now, except that he’s in there and someone needs to be there for his son, get dinner, get the dishes done etc – and the reality is, it hurts more to lie down beside someone and still be alone.

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What do you do when the person you would normally ask to hold you, uplift you and keep you safe is the one making you cry?

Remember the good old days when you had those roller skates? Not the in-line ones, the ones with the metal key that you snugged around your toes. They made you feel fast – sometimes they dug in, but oh, just letting  yourself go down that hill… so much speed, so fun. They were freedom, they were exponentially fast.

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Remember your greatest fear? A pebble.

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You were going so fast and enjoying the ride, not looking anywhere but where you were going – eyes on the prize. However, because of those metal wheels one, small, insignificant pebble could send you tumbling.

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Road rash stings. It is very painful and can take a while to heal. Your hands are all torn up – even eating hurts. Your knees are raw, so getting dressed is an ordeal. Your elbows start to scab over, so bending them to brush your teeth is frustrating. You just need to breathe and wait for the healing to run its natural course.

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We’ve had our skates on a lot lately; the daring things we’ve done, the speed records we’ve set; we felt unstoppable. He had a spill down today’s hill due to one of those damn pebbles, and all I could do was watch. Nothing I can do now but breathe with him until he’s healed.

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This article touched me, makes me wonder “What if he gets to that point ever again… is the help available?”

Link