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| It couldn't get much worse |
I have often wondered just how many of my Sufferer's 'less pleasant' traits are genuinely depression-related and which are simply in his nature (and therefore something I could beat out of him with a very large nagging stick!)
I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to play "Nature vs. Depression: The Game Show" with our sufferers. It's probably ill-advised. But for our own sanity, what else can you do? When you find yourself, for the umpteenth time, staring at the over-flowing refuse & recycling bins which should already be nestled at the top of the driveway, and you happen to mention it to the owner of said job - your Sufferer - and his response is some mumbled rendition of the "I didn't even realise" chorus. You must have been there. Sometimes I can't help but call Bullshit. I mean, really?! Just once, couldn't the answer be forgetfulness or just a plain and simple "I can't be bothered - let's stew in our own filth this week, darling".
This kind of scenario puts you in a dilemma: Whose mental health comes first? Do you grin and bear it yet again - put it down to the depression - all the while sensing your shoulders tense ever so slightly more than they were just a moment ago. Or do you question it and risk a) openly telling your sufferer you don't believe him, b) reinforcing any feelings of worthlessness he is already fighting against, and c) risking yet another argument about the bloody bins!
At least if you've said your piece, there's a chance you will have released some tension you no longer have to carry on your shoulders. But what else might you have triggered?
It was exactly one of these (nope, that's a lie - it was a succession of several of these) little things that caused a Buckaroo-style response from me. I could no longer hide my doubt and disbelief. Nor could I pretend that it was all going to get better some day. It wasn't going to get better because he wasn't doing anything about it. In fairness, neither was I. I was up to my eyes in making happen everything that he couldn't face.Shamefully, I didn't have the time nor energy to invest in his recovery.
It was these arguments that finally made a difference.
I simply couldn't carry on as I was. Self-preservation kicked in. I had reached breaking point and emotion took over thought. I told him what it was like to live with him. Sugar-coat it? I didn't even rinse off the dirt. Hot, molten truth spewed-forth followed by cold, icy tears. Words billowed in clouds of hot air only to splinter as they hammered home.
It might not be advisable, but it worked. Not that that was my intention. I can only assume that the black dog was so shocked, it ran and hid for just long enough that something sunk in. It wasn't pretty, but I am so glad it happened. I highly doubt we'd still be here if it hadn't. Not in any mortal sense, but I doubt I'd be sat here blogging about our life while he sorts out the recycling. At 11pm. Again!
Life's been getting better lately.
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