I think the hardest days with depression are the slow fade days. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying the days where my husband is down and out all day are easy. Those are hard, but at least I know what to expect. It’s all me all day. I can pace myself. The days where he seems to have some energy and that energy seems to slowly vaporize are exhausting and discouraging.
Take today for instance. I knew he wasn’t great, but he seemed ok when he got home from work. Somewhat talkative. He was energetic enough to work a little on a patio project. He took some time to be with the boys, though with low attention. He affirmed he was paying attention without getting involved in what they were doing a whole lot. I could tell this wasn’t his best day, but it didn’t appear to be his worst.
As the afternoon gave into supper time it was clear things were changing some. His energy level was starting to wane. His interactions with us diminished. He came in for supper and sat at the table waiting for . . . I’m actually not sure. I explained we were having leftovers and he could come and pick. He acknowledged my comment and sat, staring at the floor vacantly.
I asked if he would be eating with us or just sitting with us. He said he’d eat with us. Eventually he got his food and warmed it up. Then he sat staring into space while his food cooled. Any interaction with us was initiated by the boys or I. His responses were simple and minimal. It was becoming clear he wasn’t going to be present with us much. He didn’t address the kids behavior unless it was extreme. (Cue shreaking toddler.)
He laid on the recliner while I cleaned up the kitchen. His eyes were closed. The boys played happily in the same room. They’ve learned Dad isn’t very responsive when he’s like this. I initiated bed time routines, every little stage and transition. He put the youngest and himself to sleep.
The heaviness if the depression is palatable. It weighs me down and threatens to suffocate my contentment. It tries to steal the optimism that keeps me afloat. Tonight I feel like a frog in a frying pan. Someone turned the heat up steadily but slowly. When I finally realize what’s going on it feels like it’s too late.
I want to come out fighting like a tiger. I want my husband back. I want our life back. I know we’re on the journey. We’re doing the right things to get us to a better place. But when will it be better? When will our relationship maintenance be a shared responsibility? When will the dark moments end? When will my husband look at me, listen to me, touch me again like I’m a real person. When will he be able to fully engage with us, his wife and his sons? When will we rise above the oppression of the depression? I want to know. I want us to be free.
Lady Worship Fingers 