I think it will require a few postings to empty myself of all this sadness. So in my fuzzy-brained state, I am trying to measure just how depressed I am and all I can come up with is more than usual. A lot more than usual. And I know exactly what got me here, but I cannot tell how deep into the sadness I am. So I’ve called this posting Part 1 because I’m pretty sure they’ll at least be a Part 2. And maybe more
I wrote in prior posts that my husband has had to put up with a lot being married to me with all my mental health crap. But it was a give and a take and I’ve carried my share of the burdens of building this family despite all of that. It was a good partnership overall. Not perfect, nothing is. But good. And the kids are healthy and happy and decent people. So it seemed good. But something happened last year. I know in hindsight now he was probably starting to become ill, but I didn’t know then that his surly disposition and nasty temper were symptoms of anything but him being tired of me. And so that’s what I convinced myself of and once that happens, well then things really start to disintegrate. The respect, the caring, the sharing and then even the love are just so easy to toss over the side of the sinking ship. Almost 17 years of marriage and in 9 months it appears to have gone to shit. That’s all it took.
In January he started falling down from dizziness. It took weeks to figure out he needed a triple bypass and now he’s been home recuperating for the last two months. And the last thing we needed was to be thrown together 24/7 when we were already not getting along. And I could be wrong. Maybe he did just tire of being married to me. And then I got ticked and made myself feel nothing for him. But he did start it. Before we learned he was ill, he said the meanest things he’d ever said to me in the 20 years I know him. It could have all been the disease, or he could just not like me anymore. But I cannot forget the words he said. I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven him, but I cannot forget. Never. Because he knows that as a Mom with Depression and PTSD from a messed up childhood, I have a few achilles heels. There are things he knows he can’t say, yet he said them…
He told me I was being a bad mother for spending too much time in bed. He said I was harsh and overly critical to the children. He said I was cold. He said I was turning into my mother. Now I know these are things that would greatly piss off any woman, but with me he would’ve been better off shooting me that saying those words. Those words are burned into my skin like a brand. I can’t shake them. And I cannot stop thinking about them every time he is here with me and the kids. I have started to resent him watching me or trying to take over the parenting. I am always certain he’s judging me. And this is after only years of praise. He never said anything unkind like this before. He was so supportive. But then he did become unkind and at first I became despondent….and he got so mad. At me! Because I was making him feel bad for hurting me. Then I got angry and he stormed out. He told me I was being too dramatic. Then I grew silent and he said I was being spiteful. And this cycle of my behaving and his responding has been going on like this for months. I am no longer allowed to have any of my feelings because they are wrong. By his judgment they are wrong so I just have to shut up and have no feelings.
And that’s why I broke. The spell broke. The notion that we would be together for the rest of our days started to appear unlikely. From certain to unlikely in just months. And it’s gotten worse after his surgery. We sit here for hours on end not speaking to one another because I don’t want to have any feelings. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. And I don’t know what at all to do. I am so lost.
Lonely. I have never felt this lonely. And scared because people who feel like this usually do stupid things. I used to do super self-destructive things when I was anxious or depressed. It’s amazing I’ve survived this long. You know, drinking ’til you blackout…going home with a stranger you just met…driving drunk. I guess I have had my share of “get out of jail free” cards. I don’t think I deserve them but nonetheless I am still breathing. But I’ve never felt so isolated while having these other feelings. I want to do something stupid. I want to get out of this house, maybe just book a trip somewhere and disappear. Drink myself into a stupor or worse. But I can’t. I can’t do that anymore because I’m a Mom. I have to keep all of this bottled up inside and pretend I’m normal today. It’s been going on for awhile but especially today. And I can let it show.
But it must show, right? Like cracks in the surface of my being where the reality just seeps out. Like my spirit itself is shattering my body in order to escape? It feels like that. Like I will explode. And I realized I have no one to talk to about it except my Doctors. That’s it. The only people who I can tell how I feel are those whom I pay to do so. And that is sad.
I keep thinking about Grey’s Anatomy. Meredith. If you are a fan, you’ll understand this. I’m like the “dark and twisty” Meredith who is sinking into the icy water and not caring. No instinct to fight back. Just allowing the water to slowly do its job. I always loved the dark Meredith because she felt like me. But as they always say on Grey’s, despite all their crazy, they have “people.” They have their people. And some people or even one, is better than no people. I have no people. My mother is a crazy narcissist and my sister’s life is a disaster. I actually have to avoid them or I get worse. My best friend lives so far away and works like 100 hours a week so I never even see her anymore. The one close friend I had in this town turned out to be a Bible thumping hypocrite and tale teller. She told my secrets to other people. Not my people.
That leaves my husband. I mean I can’t tell my kids I’m falling apart because I have no one to talk to. They’d freak. They cannot be my people. But my husband. I can’t talk to him anymore. Our relationship is an emotional black hole. The last time I confessed my anxiety to him he threatened to quit his job and stay home and take care of the family since I was incapable. And he didn’t care if we lost the house because of it. Which frankly is emotional blackmail because now…no matter what happens, I can never tell him about my sadness or my anxiety or my panic attacks. That jackass shut me up but good. I’m sitting here today because my PTSD made it so I couldn’t work anymore. Not at what I was doing. Too much stress. But now because I can’t work, I can’t leave. I’m stuck here. I’m trapped. I have nowhere to go and no one to tell. Except this page. I write these words to get some of the sad and lonely bits out before my kids get home from school.
Maybe somebody reading this will be one of my people. I can hope anyway.
P.S. All credit to anything I cribbed from Shonda Rhimes. I wish I could live in Shondaland. I feel like she could’ve been one of my people.
Not seriously…but a little bit seriously maybe.
I cannot believe I haven’t written in 2 months and this is what I am going to write about. But it’s the end of summer (an extremely hot August filled with grouchy and bored children), and I just couldn’t sit down and write about it. I couldn’t put into words how much I hated going outside and driving to camp and even taking the time to water my flowers. Yes, they are all very dead now. No…I was too depressed. So by Labor Day, I was no joy to be around. I was, although, very much looking forward to school starting again. I probably have been awfully difficult. The heat plus the depression plus whatever is starting to “change” at my age all adds up to a truly sucky attitude. But now to add to all of that, my husband has lost all patience with me.
Why did we have a terrible fight? Why did we yell in front of the children, which by the way we (especially him) never do? Why did he call me a bitch? I wish to Hell I could tell you. He was mad because he didn’t think I was diligent enough about the kids’ summer assignments. He doesn’t think “anything happens around here unless HE holds it all together.” Maybe that was it. I don’t think so. I think he is mad because I’m depressed again. I think he’s mad that we’ve been married what will be 16 years this month and I’m depressed AGAIN. I think he’s mad I didn’t get better.
I don’t really think he hates me. That’s hyperbole I’ve used to try and get you to read my blog. I want someone out there to hear me. Because no one in this house is hearing me. My therapist hears me, but she always hears me. She’s the only one. I pay her to hear me. If you’ve seen my other posts you know for sure my mother isn’t hearing me (and Oh, Lord save me, she’s coming next week). But no, I don’t really think he hates me. I just don’t think he likes me very much. Is that possible? That he loves me? He thinks I’m a crappy mom and loves me anyway, but is just sick of me? See he’s been divorced before and it was horrible on him and his other children so I think I’d literally have to Trumpishly “shoot him in the street,” before he left me. But I just don’t think he likes me. Maybe that’s a thing? I don’t know. What do you think?
I know I don’t like me so it sure seems possible to me.