I feel like I’m wandering around and about -2 and normal boring day, uneventful, just day is at about zero. It’s not like I’m sad per se, more like not right. I’m not depressed. I get out of bed. I do the things I’m supposed to do for myself. I work out. I call my friends. I do “things” for myself. Whoever came up with that nonsense had NO IDEA what it’s like.
My boyfriend of years is depressed. He is drowning because it’s dragging him down. It started in February. I don’t know what to do. I can’t help him. And he’s working very hard at kicking everyone out of his life, including me.
Every day I hurt because he doesn’t like me around. I might sound pathetic, but that’s not it. One week, last week for example, he was there. We went out of town. We laughed, we had so much fun. He was smiling. I hadn’t seen his smile in so long. Then over the week we went out. We hung out. Then Friday he blew up, said he figured it’d be easier if we broke up and got mad when I got tear-y eyed at the idea. He then called me impossible or crazy or something . He said he wished I would stop caring for him and he’s doing and he left. I haven’t talked to him since then. It’s been 8 days. No texts, no email, no calls, no nothing. The man I love and adore, like he doesn’t exist.
And so here I am, suffering alone. I have my friends. This whole ridiculous ordeal has shown me clearly who they are. And they are GREAT! But they have no idea. They encourage me to go out. To do things I like to do. They go out with me. It’s all very nice. I do appreciate them. But they really have no idea. When I talk to them I get these sad eyes and soothing tones and the, “I know that’s hard.” But what do I do? No one seems to know. So I trek on alone. And I’m tired of it. If 10% of American’s are depressed then 10% of loved ones suffer this fallout. Why is the only advice for us go do something? Is depression so stigmatized that loved ones must suffer this debilitating loneliness alone?
It’d be easier if the boyfriend was dead, then he’d stop hurting me. It’d be easier if it was cancer, because then I could wear a ribbon and walk for three days for him. But it’s not. It’s this giant scary tar monster that eats away joy and light. It sucks up everything good and tries to get me too. I don’t get ribbons, and for all my love and support, I get 4 days of the boyfriend back followed by a mean outburst and heartache.
I was told it’s grieving that I’m going though. I’m grieving the loss of the boyfriend and our old relationship. It’s kinda like that but worse. Because you see, if the boyfriend died, that’s it. It’d be over and I’d move on. I’d find more sympathy in a counselor and I could talk to one of the support groups on every corner. I’d have a cause, a ribbon. Every year I could visit his grave and say things like, I wish you were alive, we could be snorkeling in Guam right now. But instead, I get a shell of my lover. I get his anger and hate. I get his fear and self-loathing. And it’s contagious.
Every day I survive my best friend alternating between I need you and GO AWAY! I never know which I might get. And I do it all alone. I call my friends, who are sometimes clearly sick hearing me. They don’t understand why I stay. It’s because he’s not him. It’s that monster, the one that ate him. That’s who is talking. I stay because I see him inside. I see him hurting. I stay because when he manages to escape the depression, he’s amazing again. He is sick, and one of the symptoms is ass-hole-ry.
Some days I don’t know why I stay either. I could be happy elsewhere. I could be snorkeling. I might be back to 0, or where I prefer to be, about +2. I’d have energy, I’d be less upset. Maybe even like my activities more. But I stay. I may be an idiot for it, in fact, a lot of days I’m sure I am. He’s in there. He is not depression, this is not him. This can be temporary if he gets help.
And now here I am. I am looking for another person suffering like me. I have found one, just one website that had the tiniest bit of helpful advice. I’ve seen a few others that say a few nice things, but mostly it says, depression will get you too. Go do nice things for yourself. Which is bull shit. Yes, I do stuff, even if I don’t want too. Actually, especially when I don’t want to. I reach out when I’m lonely. I no longer hesitate to call my pals or my mom. But I miss my boyfriend. I miss him like nothing I’ve even felt before. He’s not the next state over. He’s not out of town on business. He’s not out with the fellas. He’s at his home. He’s probably playing games or watching something on Netflix. He might be drinking too much, as he seems to like to do now. I miss who he was, I miss what the depression swallowed. He’s there. He’s just a short drive away, but he’s gone.