He’s depressed and it annoys me.
A few years ago he was put on Welbutrin for seasonal depression and after a month he stopped taking it because he started to feel better. He practically had a nervous breakdown before we moved to AZ, something I diligently supported him through because I understand.
After the Tiny Superhero’s diagnosis in September, I have seen a steadily decline in his health and an increase in his weight. Easily angered, constantly on the kids case, constantly complaining about me and my inability to do what he expects of me, a lack of caring about the house, etc. etc. It started to really come to a head the last three or four months.
In November, my meds were changed and things were significantly better. I could feel it, I was doing things differently, it was amazing. But it still wasn’t good enough for him. I had changed so much but he would come up with things that I wasn’t doing right. We started exploring new things in our relationship. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t comfortable with it, but the new meds really improved my overall mood so I was able to discuss things with him and make compromises without totally freaking out on him.
But it just got worse, and worse, and worse.
Eventually, I did something that he had encouraged and he used it against me. He was so hurt and so angry and I was so hurt for him. My intent was never to hurt him and I had no idea what was so bad. He blindsided me with this rage. He wouldn’t look at me or touch me and he barely wanted to sleep in the same bed as me. He didn’t want to talk to me when I was away. Actually, I wrote a little bit about it recently… the feeling of emptiness because he acted like he didn’t want to have anything to do with me.
But I had hurt him, and I acknowledged it, and so it was my responsibility to show him how much I cared about him and how apologetic I was. How I hadn’t meant to hurt him. So I started making sure that if he was playing a game that he wanted me to watch or he was watching something on youtube he wanted me to see, I didn’t get on my phone. I made sure to do what he’d like to do, so that he could see we had things in common and that we could do things together that we both enjoyed. And he seemed to work. He wasn’t better, by any means, but gradually his anger receded. But he still wasn’t himself, and there were issues with him wanting to be himself but not with me around and that was bothersome to me.
And then I noticed the drinking. Large bottles of liquor being finished within 24 hours of him buying them. Drinking while he was supposed to be taking care of his diabetic son overnight while I was at work and then lying to me about it when I confronted him. The drinks started when he got home and stopped when he passed out.
And then he stopped wanting to do anything. He just wanted to sleep. Didn’t go on his computer for a couple of weeks. Every time our friends came over, he’d go to bed or avoid doing anything when they were here. His job suffered so much that he was put on a warning that he would be fired.
Then he decided it was time to buy a house. He and his brother and his dad went and picked one out and he started the process without even consulting in me. The next thing I knew, we were signing papers on my birthday. He had just, three weeks before that, told me he didn’t like me and didn’t care about me and now he wanted to buy a house with me. “We are going to stay together for TS anyway, so we might as well continue things as if everything is fine.” I signed the papers because, well, because I agreed.
And then… he decided we couldn’t buy the house. After $1810 he decided we couldn’t afford it and without discussing it with me, he backed out of it.
Then sickness. Throwing up every single day, no appetite, possible blood in his stool and when he threw up, excessive sleep and thirst.
An ER trip later, he finds out he has fatty liver disease and alcoholic gastritis.
The welbutrin has started to work and he stopped with the liquor. He’s requested wine because he likes the way it tastes and he can’t drink very much of it because of the sugar it makes him sick. I’m up his ass about it constantly.
But I’m so angry with him. I can’t even think of all the reasons right now because there are so many.
First, why is he so special that I stand by him and accept his depression when for three years he acted like my depression was a slight against him. I spent three years with crippling depression, which was only made worse by him making me feel guilty because of how bad he felt because of my depression. All I wanted to do was sleep, I couldn’t muster up the desire to be intimate, I was generally not in a good mood. But that all hurt him so my depression became about him. I still pushed through though. I took care of my kids and I worked my job to the best of my ability and I had no support from the one person who was supposed to be by my side through it. Even with K he would sit there and tell me she had no business feeling as bad as she did and he’d be furious with her for the way she felt, and she was only thirteen. Him though, he needs all the support, and I give it. I give it because I know how much more depression hurts when you don’t have the person you love to hold you when you need it. I support him because I don’t want him to feel as bad as I ever did. I support him because I love him and I want to see him through this. But I am so angry that I support him. I want to tell him to get over it and figure it out himself. To stop hurting because it hurts me. I want him to feel guilty and miserable like I did because he doesn’t have anyone to treat him like his illness is real. I’m so, so angry.
Second, the house. See, when he told me about the house I really didn’t care for the idea. It’s not in the area that I want to live in, it’s not in a neighborhood that I find appealing in location either. There were certain things I absolutely wanted when I bought a house and that was to stay in the same school zone, especially, and this one was in a different school zone entirely. That’s a mess I really didn’t want to deal with. My kids can walk to school where we are now, I love the staff and they know me. But he made the choice so I looked up the schools and started to figure out where they could go. The kids saw the model house and they started to get excited. I started making plans and working my budget so we could save money and buy new furniture. I started planning how I wanted to do the backyard. When he told me he really didn’t want the house anymore, a part of me didn’t care. You know, I really didn’t want it to begin with. Let’s talk about it, you know? That’s when he told me he’d already backed out without so much as mentioning it to me. If we’d talked about it and decided together that was the best thing to do, I wouldn’t be so angry. But I am. I’m angry because we spent almost 2K on this already and we don’t get that money back. I’m angry because I had designed the house and planned a backyard and was started to get excited about it. Now every time I drive past developing communities I just want to cry because I had made myself excited. The kids were excited. C and L were gonna get there own rooms and I was gonna have this beautiful new kitchen and a real office and it was amazing. The things I didn’t like suddenly didn’t matter because I wasn’t even given a choice. I spent the first 25 years of my life never having a choice… how dare he.
Finally (but not really, there is so much more), his lack of doing anything just drives me up the wall. He doesn’t feel well so he thinks it’s appropriate to literally lay around all the time. The other day he wouldn’t take out the recycling. He said, “Who cares if it’s there? No one is coming over.” I blew up at him. I told him that I cared, it was my house and I want to live in a nice place. I reminded him that C cleans the dining room, living room, and the sitting room every day, he also takes out the garbage and the recycling and does his own freaking laundry and would be getting yelled at if he didn’t do one of those things every single day so how dare he act like he doesn’t have to. He cannot hold my children to a higher standard than he holds himself. I made a list of things I’d like him to do every week, and guess what? He didn’t do any of it. This doesn’t surprise me. It’s generally like pulling teeth to get him to do anything anyway, but now it’s even worse since he’s depressed.
This all makes him sound horrible, and he’s not. This is my anger coming through. I feel washed over. My pain and my depression overlooked and pushed aside, K’s disorders and problems ignored, but when he feels even slightly bad it’s real. Chances are, by the time K is home from her Dad’s, he will forget how bad he felt and not remember what it’s like to have those feelings.
He’s a good guy who didn’t deal with life as it threw things at him. He still feels guilty for diabetes, his job is stressful, K gave us a rough year last year with a hospital stay and several thousands of dollars of medical bills (that her dad, of course, isn’t helping with). He has so many things to deal with, but the fact is, so do I. What makes him so special that he should be treated differently than I? Because I don’t lash out as often? Because I take my very heavy set of medication every day? Because I deal with the problems as they come and don’t internalize them for months and months until I just can’t handle life anymore?