The Road to Recovery
I apologize, this is gonna be a long one. But there’s just no way to say this in a few short paragraphs.
After a painfully turbulent weekend, James and I went out to dinner (sans kids) last night as part of our attempts to move forward. Where do we go from here?
We both made a few difficult realizations that could have ripped us apart, and yet somehow, we have stepped away from it knowing that in spite of everything, we love each other and will stop short of nothing to make our relationship something we are proud of.
I’ll spare you most of the details of what was going on not only because they’re pretty damn personal, but because unless you’re actually a part of this relationship, one could never understand the weight that some of the problems play in our marriage.
Friday night, after a good 24 hours of me being absolutely livid about a priority issue that my dear husband struggles with, it finally came down to a… “It’s me or it. I cannot live like this anymore.”
I know, it sounds awful. It really was. But let me get something straight- I am not just a bitchy, jealous (completely insane) wife. On the contrary, I’m extremely supportive, loving, and accepting. Except when James’ obsession with a particular thing causes serious problems in our relationship.
In fact, I have helped feed this obsession of his for years. I have been supportive of it. I have selflessly allowed it to continue because I love him and I thought it would make him happy.
But I was wrong.
It’s not necessarily this particular thing that makes him happy. After my daunting “it’s me or it”, James completely broke down when he realized that this thing has become *almost*, if not even more, important than me and the girls. He ultimately chose me, of course, but felt absolutely sicker than sick when he realized he agreed to give up The Thing. And no, he’s not a druggie, or an alcoholic, or any other kind of unhealthy substance abuser, so don’t get your panties in a twist over this. If you heard what this is, you’d think it was the most pussycat benign issue. Which is part why it has become such a severe problem over the years- it seemed so innocent.
What he realized is that The Thing is the only thing that has been making him feel like himself lately. “Lately” meaning the last few years. It’s gotten progressively worse over time, just as most problems do.
After making this realization, it was like the fog was lifted from his vision. Much like my recent Prozac-induced “normality”. My simple question, “Why can’t you just be yourself everywhere else in your life? Don’t you know that that’s what I’ve been missing from you? The reason that I married you?”
He had no real answer, but realized that he has a lot of difficulty “being himself” in different situations. Like at work- instead of “Goofy James”, he has to be “Stick-Up-The-Ass Engineer James”. At home he has to be “Engineer Dealing With Insane Wife James”. With his family: “Annoying Little Brother Who Doesn’t Know How To Wipe His Own Ass James”. With the girls- “Daddy James”. See what I’m getting at?
It’s not really his fault. He grew up in a really superficial family where everyone wore a different face depending on the situation. However, he seemed immune to this annoying habit of his family’s for several years. It wasn’t until more recent times with the stress of having a family and a crazy wife that he’s fallen into these different roles.
After making this realization, he seemed in awe over the doors of “content-ness” that would open if he would just stop putting on a face and just be himself. That was all it took- having the denial pulled out from under his feet- for him to yank the stick out of his ass and start being himself at home again.
It’s funny how that happens sometimes, you know? Those moments when you can suddenly see something so obvious that you have NO CLUE how you missed it in the first place.
Like my big realization of the weekend.
So once things were feeling more hunky-dory with James’ happiness, Saturday started out pretty great. Until he tried to initiate a bit of intimacy with me, which sent me into the most horrible dark little piece of hell that my brain could possible muster. Without going into detail but to give you an idea of how bad it really was, I was threatening to divorce James as he picked up the phone to call the mental health crisis center in the middle of the night, and he was begging me to please check myself into the hospital. You know, the one for crazy depressed people who try to slit their wrists with barbed wire.
But what he wasn’t getting was that I wasn’t losing my mind. I was at my wit’s end with him. I couldn’t take it anymore.
In fact, it was the very issue that Dee helped me realize at my solo therapy session a week ago. The one that I tried to tell James that only pissed him off and sent him into a manipulative, agitated state when he realized I blew his cover of being the “perfect” husband to Dee. (To his defense, though, he called out his bad behavior himself and got it under control immediately when he realized what a jerk he was being.)
Once I finally found the words to hiss at him (it would have been a scream except I didn’t want to disturb the girls), “I hate how weak you’re being,” on Sunday morning, the rest just came pouring out of me like awful word vomit that I just couldn’t hold back no matter how disgusting it really was.
Except instead of hurting him or breaking his heart, he understood. And he agreed. I am under an immense amount of stress because he sort of expects me to run his life for him. I’m the one who has to tell him to clean up the kitchen, or show him exactly where Julie’s pants are even though they’re right in front of him. Because he grew up with controlling women who were constantly telling him he couldn’t pick his own nose correctly, he has sort of fallen into the same role with me.
But one of the biggest reasons he fell in love with me was because I had no desire whatsoever to play that role. I liked him for his strength and drive and his ability to take the initiative and DO THINGS without me having to hold his hand. Last year, though, he went through a rough depression himself where he just fell into auto-pilot and left EVERYTHING up to me to do.
With all of that, he has sucked me completely dry. Here I am dealing with the most horrendous emotional and metal crisis that I’ve ever survived, and I’m stuck trying to pat his back and assure him everything is going to be alright.
I just can’t do that, and he and I both know that. He agreed that what I need is a warm, strong emotional support system in him. What I’ve been getting is someone who makes attempts at helping me ( like dragging my butt to the crisis center because he knew I was three breaths away from stepping in front of a speeding bus), but then throws up his hands and expects me to take care of him and run his life as soon as the psychologist releases me with a prescription of Prozac.
And finally, a miracle graced us with its divine presence. James saw. He understood. And he apologized when he realized how much pain he’s been causing me.
And best of all, he was suddenly back to his old self. Ta da! The light was back on in his smile.
I’m not a fool, so I know that it’s going to be tough work getting back on track, but I know for sure that we’re finally on the road to recovery.
Tags: Depression