I know I always seem to put J on a pedestal as the perfect husband, and in almost every way he is. He is patient and understanding, kind, funny, warm, romantic, thoughtful, tender. He is strong for me when I need him to be, and goofy when the moment calls for it. Before he leaves for work, he has to hug and kiss me every morning. When he gets home in the evenings, the first thing he wants is another long hug and kiss. It's wonderful and amazing to have someone in my life that feels that way about me. I don't even feel that way about me.
But I'm not sure J understands how deep my depression runs, and if he did, I'm not sure he would be able to help. Oh, he tells me all the time if I feel like I need to talk to a therapist, please go. If I think yoga or a massage will help, he's all for that. Or he gently suggests I go to my family doctor and talk to her about it, to see if she thinks I need medication. He said he approves of anything I want to do, to improve my life. J's mother and older sister both suffer from very deep depression, so he's familiar with it. But I don't think he truly understands. And I don't think I can make him understand. Even if he did really understand it, I'm not sure if that would change what I'm feeling, what I'm going through. J's response is always for me to shake it off. He doesn't say this flippantly, he truly believes that I'm in control of my depression, and I am the key to making it better- or worse. His sister has improved her depression through natural remedies and herbal teas and exercise. His mother has relied on prescription medications. And me? I'm not doing much of anything but trying to ride out this latest wave of dismal days. It's not working out very well.
Lately I don't want to do anything, I don't want to be anywhere, I don't want to even think about stuff. I want to escape. Not permanently, just escape my thoughts, my body. I have been reading nonstop every day for the last few weeks. I am reading an entire paperback in one day. I know it's just to keep from dealing with the world around me. I don't tell J that I've just been sitting in my chair in the corner of the bedroom every day, looking out into the yard, all the cats sleeping around me, wrapped up in a sweater with a book in my hand. I don't even turn the lamps on, I just read by whatever light comes through the window, and some days it is dark and gray and I don't care. Some days I don't even walk outside the house, except to go to the mailbox, that's it. I think my husband would be disturbed to know these things, but right now I don't have the energy or desire to do anything else. So every day I do just enough housework, so that when he comes home at night, he can see that I did something during the day. I feel like I'm a big fraud, that I'm living a secret life. And J and I don't keep secrets, at least we're not suppose to.
Some days he will leave me with a small task to complete, a favor as he calls it. Can I write a check for the termite inspection and get it mailed? Can I hang this framed photo for him in his home office? Will I go to the pharmacy and pick up his prescriptions? He always asks politely, considerately, he always says please. That's how we talk to each other, why we get along so well- respect for one another even during the most simple of conversations. We don't yell, we don't demand, we don't demean, we don't insult. My ex would have said, get off your fat lazy ass and wash my clothes! J says, honey if you don't mind today would you go to Lowe's and pick up some new light bulbs? Of course, yes, absolutely my love.
I always make certain I do these little things for him. First of all, I love him, and how could I ever refuse him anything when he gives so much to me? Secondly, what would be my excuse, after staying home all day long, that I couldn't find the time to put a check out in the mailbox? It sounds ridiculous to even say it. But there are days when I think to myself, I don't even feel like doing that. Then I become filled with shame and loathing for myself. What kind of wife am I, to dismiss one little small favor asked of me by my amazing husband, just because I don't feel like it? I'm sure J doesn't "feel" like going off to work every morning for 12-13 hours a day at a place he has come to hate, but does it because he's a responsible adult and head of household, and does it to take care of me, of us. My self-pity is ridiculous, there is no reason for it at all.
The only thing J ever truly asks of me, is to please please just be happy and enjoy my life. Really, that is ALL he wants me to concentrate on. Why can't I do that? Why can't that be just a simple thing? I'm not sure why, but I need to find out the answer.
MISS GEE
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