One thing I'm grateful for

Depression is often accompanied by anger.  Sometimes this is anger with yourself, sometimes it is extreme irritability with everyone around you, sometimes it is name-calling, sometimes it is physical aggression.  I know of a lot of women who have to live with spurts of derogatory comments and insults, if not something worse.

I feel constantly grateful that that isn't part of my life.  Maybe (although I really, really doubt it) that will change some day, but I am so grateful that no matter else what happens in my life, I feel loved every day.

What I was looking for in a blog

When Dave first started really struggling with depression, I scoured the web for blogs about the spouse's experience, and particularly the wife's experience.

What I found were lots of lists of how to help your spouse.  That isn't what I was looking for.

I know that is what some people are looking for, and I did want to know  if I was missing anything really important.  But one list is enough to identify the major steps ("help them seek psychiatric and therapeutic treatment", "recognize that it is a true and often genetic problem", and "don't tell them platitudes" are usually the top 3, followed by tips about exercise, eating, and sleep), and given that I'd worked for a year at a psychiatric hospital, I really doubted I was missing any universal to-dos.

What I really wanted was a blog that said, "This is hard for me.  This is my life as I am living it, and it's what I want and what I chose to do, but this is hard for me".  I just wanted my pain to be acknowledged, validated, and sympathized with.

I have now identified a few blogs that do just that (they're all listed under "interests" in my profile).  But my writing this blog gives me exactly what I was looking for - I acknowledge my pain (and my joys!) here, and   I am grateful for the validation and support I receive, both on this blog and in person.  Thank you.

The hardest part

In school, I've been learning about the different stages of love.  When you're infatuated with someone, every time you are with them or think of them you have a rush of dopamine and a greatly increased heart rate.  You have a hard time thinking of anything else.

You might even forget you're precariously balanced hundreds of feet above the ground!

When Dave and I were dating, I always felt like if only I could be there with him (we dated long distance for years), then I could help him with all of his problems.  And at the time, that was true - as long as I was there, he wasn't thinking about his problems.  He was thinking about me.  To me, that feels really powerful.  To be able to take away all of someone's problems, even if it is only for a few minutes, is pretty awe-inspiring.

But though love lasts forever, infatuation can't.  Physically, I don't think our bodies could take it, so it fades in and out.  Now, I can't fix things just by being with Dave.  

Not being able to fix everything, not being able to make the problems go away - that just might be the hardest part of this whole situation.  It's definitely in the top 4.  It makes me feel helpless, and irritated, which certainly doesn't help things.

Celebrating

On Thursday, Dave and I had our last therapy session of the year.  We debated about whether or not we should go.  We were doing so well, we didn't have anything to talk about.

I am really glad that we went.  Our therapist reviewed with us all of our successes, all of the things that have gotten better in the past year.  It feels good to recognize those things, to acknowledge what we've learned, and how much things have changed.

I felt grateful for the chance to celebrate everything that Dave has done.  He hasn't seriously considered suicide (except for during the medication change) for several months - he always thinks about other plans.  He has changed some of his negative self-talk.  He knows things that pull him out of his dark spots, and he uses them.

I recognize his changes every day, but it felt really good to celebrate all of them all at once.  It's a really big deal.  I've made a lot of changes too, and learned what works for me, but I really think Dave deserves recognition and gratitude for the incredible things he's done.  I was glad we had this opportunity to do it.  

Liberating

Dave's suggestion that we separate was an eye opener for me.

I had been feeling a bit of pressure and burden surrounding chores - feeling like they had to get done, and I was very alone in working towards that goal.  But the moment Dave made that suggestion, all of that frustration went away.  There were two reasons for that: first, it seemed inconsequential in comparison to the alternative, and second, for the first time I realized that 85% of the work I do, I would have to do even if I were living alone.

So I decided to be "expectation free," at least until new year's.  Since I love being with Dave more than anything else, and since I would have to do most of the work anyway if I were alone, I realized there is no reason for me to get my knickers in a twist over whether or not he went to class.

This is one of the most liberating things I have ever done.  I don't say that lightly - it's got to be in the top 5 most liberating decisions I've made in my life.

To be clear, I don't usually explicitly state my expectations.  I try hard not to nag Dave, so it's really rare that I actually say, "I think you should go to class."  But I think it, and Dave can always tell.  So I stopped thinking it or caring about it.  It made my relationship with Dave much, much smoother, because I felt more accepting of him and more comfortable being with him (no expectations to conceal).  But astonishingly, it also made me feel much better about myself.

Before, I had seen all our obligations as a gigantic list of things to do.  I imagined that all of these things needed to get done, and with strict time limits.  I had expectations in the back of my mind that Dave would help me, and when he didn't, I felt even more burdened and alone.

When I stopped having expectations of Dave, somehow it gave me freedom to stop having those expectations of myself.  I stopped seeing our chores as a list of things that had to be done every week, or I was a bad person.  I did things when I wanted to, and because I wanted to.  Meals still got made, just less often.  The bathroom still got cleaned before company came, just with a little less time to spare.  And I felt so much happier, so much lighter, so much better.

There is a confounding variable to my feelings of liberation and happiness, because David started doing better at around this time.  But he and I agree that that's partly because I got rid of my expectations.

Everybody wins!

How fast things change, part II

Dave has been happy the past weekend.  Not just less depressed, which is usually what I mean when I say things are going well.  But he's actually been happy - enthusiastic, looking forward to things, energetically happy.

Part of me wants to think that this is the result of his new medication, because that would mean it might be stable.  But he only started that a week ago, and it seems optimistic to think that it could be working so quickly.  But either way, I was so  happy this weekend.  I love waking up to joy, to Dave bouncing on the bed and telling me he's been laughing at Animaniacs all morning.

Jokahontas is his favorite

I wrote in September about how quickly things could change, about how even after weeks of doing well, it only took one comment, one downturn, before all my worries came back.  And now I am writing about the opposite change.  Sometimes Dave can have some really down days, and then some really happy days (on most occasions, some not-depressed days.  But sometimes genuinely happy!).  And I love that joy.

Uplifting

I have had so many happy moments over the past two weeks.  I thought it'd be good to talk here about the things that uplift me and make me so happy.

• Dave spent a weekend out of town at a conference. Before he left, he drew this in our shower.  Moments like this make me so happy.  I am so happy to be married to Dave, and he makes me happy every day. 

• A wonderful friend took me out to dinner.  She is always surprising me with things that take me away from my responsibilities and are totally for me.  They make me feel so loved and taken care of, and it means the world to me.
• I spent the weekend with my decade-long friend.  I love talking with her.  It is always purely enjoyable, uplifting, and fun.  I also got to spend time with her family and another good friend.  
• My brother-in-law and his fantastic fiancee asked if they could make dinner for my husband and me.  They made it at our apartment, but said we weren't allowed to do anything but watch a movie and refused to let us into the kitchen.  It is so relieving to have someone force you to take a break.  I felt very loved and supported.  And dinner was delicious.  
• Twice in the past couple weeks, once in group therapy and once in a comment on this blog, someone has said that they wished they could take some of my burden away.  Just that comment gives me some relief.  It both acknowledges the reality of my pain and what I carry, and is compassionate and giving.  I am so grateful for that.  I know other people (including those who made those comments), have terrific burdens themselves, but the moment of acknowledgement is invaluable to me.

All of these things made me feel loved & supported, and I am so grateful for them.  

Maybe it is selfish, but I really love it when someone forces me to take a break, like when my brother-in-law and his fiancee made us dinner.  Somehow, it is really easy to set everything you normally carry aside, after someone gives you permission.  I think almost all of these things had some aspect of that.

Medications

I have been thinking for months about asking our psychiatrist to be more aggressive with Dave's medication.   I wrote a few months ago about being really frustrated that he didn't realize sooner how severe Dave's depression was, and that he was not sensitive in revealing his surprise when he did realize it.  I was angry that he hadn't realized it when he could have helped most.  I know this is unfair to him - he only has what we tell him to go on - but it is easier to place blame on him than me or Dave.  

Dave was on Prozac (40 mg) & Wellbutrin (300 mg), which are fairly aggressive doses, but not aggressive medications (they're among your first choices, and then you move up from there).  We agreed that they made his low times shorter and less frequent, but he still dips just as low, and he still really struggles with school, etc.
 

So when we went in to meet with the psychiatrist this time, I was prepared to ask him about potentially being more aggressive, and Dave had agreed it was a good idea to discuss it.

I was surprised when the psychiatrist immediately agreed to change.  Said we were done with prozac & wellbutrin - that we had given it a year trial and it was time to move up.  Effexor is the new medication.

Now Dave is transitioning off the old medications - he was really sleepy and passively suicidal for the first two days (I was unhappy to be in a home with guns, even though Dave said he was not seriously considering anything), but his mood came back up after that.

It's so strange, the delicate balance of our neurochemistry, and the impact our thoughts have on it.  It's so odd to be waiting, wondering what will happen while Dave comes off this medication, wondering how much of any changes are situational and how much is here to stay.

I know that for lots of people, no medications work, and for others, it just takes a long time to find the right mix.  It feels really odd, to have hope that eventually - in a few years, maybe - there might be a medication mix that will work.  Or maybe there won't.  And there's no way to know.

But either way, I'm glad to have something new to try.  There's always hope in that.

I can't find a title for this.

I was in the middle of writing a post about how I feel overwhelmed when Dave can't pursue any responsibilities for us, when he came into the room looking depressed.

I asked him what he was thinking about.
He said he thought we should separate.  He said that he and I both knew he was a deadbeat, and that he has a hard time convincing either of us that there is hope for him ever getting better.  He said that sometimes he can convince me, and sometimes he can convince himself, but very rarely can he do both at the same time.  He thought that maybe if he had some time away from me, he could "figure himself out" and come back.

And immediately, all of my previous worries seemed so inconsequential.
It seemed so sad to me, that my expectations put pressure on him, that he knew I was constantly watchful, constantly hoping he would get better, constantly disappointed when he wasn't able to go to classes.  I couldn't believe that I had done that to him.

And even though I would do anything to make him happy, would happily separate from him if it seemed like that would be helpful, I really, really, really don't want to be without him.  That's the most important thing to me - to be able to be with him.  And so all of my worries and expectations seemed so paltry in comparison, that I almost couldn't believe it.

I went into the front room and sobbed.  The moment was so painful I almost couldn't stand it.  I thought about all of our dates when we were teenagers, about how much I loved him while we walked around River Falls, how much I hoped he felt something for me.
This is not the future I pictured for us.
But he is still the man I fell in love with, and I would still choose this future with him over one with anybody else.  (Sorry, other men of the world.  You're out of luck).

Can someone please tell me how to get rid of my expectations?  How to be truly accepting of Dave, no matter what happens, no matter what he does?  I don't know how to do it, but I desperately want to.  Need to.

There's a beautiful song by Erin McCarley called "Love, save the empty."  Even though I think it's beautiful, I always got confused by the title words.  Did that mean love should fill emptiness?  That love should save people who were empty, and fill them?  I think the song intends the later meaning, but it has a new, particular meaning for me.

Maybe if I can empty myself of expectations, love can save me.

(Disclaimer:  Dave and I are not currently separating, even temporarily.  We had an appointment with his psychiatrist today, and he is going on a more aggressive medication. Dave wants to give it a chance to work before we try anything else.  We feel hopeful.  And in fact, I feel at peace, knowing how much I love Dave, and that I'll do anything to try to help him).

Untitled

Dave stayed home sick from school today.

I get really frustrated when that happens, sometimes.  I really hate coming home at noon, having exercised, done homework, gone to class, gone grocery shopping, and finding Dave still asleep in bed.  Sometimes I get angry on the drive home, knowing what I will find.

And I shouldn't be angry at him for being sick.  I'm happy that he takes care of himself, and I want him to feel better.  But I feel like on occasion, he's not really sick, just depressed and really doesn't want to go to class, and so he gets worked up and starts feeling sick.  I don't know if that suspicion is driven by fear or anger or if it's true, but Dave thinks it might be true sometimes.

I think that when Dave stays home from class in bed, it makes me feel A) completely alone and B) afraid.  I'm afraid that his depression is getting bad, and I'm afraid that if he does miss class he'll do poorly in his classes and then his depression will spiral downwards.  And when he stays home in bed, I feel more alone than usual in my responsibilities.  I know sometimes he feels bad about playing video games during the day, but...

I am stopping this post in the middle.  It seems inconsequential now.  

Having hope

We had a rough patch a few weeks ago.  Dave had a few really down days, and I guess I had been waiting for a winter downturn and assumed this was it.  Since Dave got really depressed and stayed really depressed all winter last year, I assumed it would happen again.

When we talked about my expectations in therapy last week, Dave said he didn't expect to stay depressed again this winter.  He thinks there will be ups and downs.  That is exciting to me, particularly since it has been true so far this winter - even after the rough patch a few weeks ago, his mood pulled up and stayed up for a few days.  

So why was I initially so hopeless?  Our therapist thinks it might be self-protecting, that I'm trying to be prepared for the worst.

Sometimes I wonder if it is because it is draining to have hope.  It makes me tired, sometimes.  I don't know why.

Paradoxically Comforting

Last week, my husband showed me something he had written.  It included this thought: "I promised my wife I wouldn't kill myself.  I'm keeping my promise to my wife for now, but I wonder if I'll always be able to do it.  If things get worse, how can I stand it?"

Is it odd that this was reassuring to me?  Dave has promised me several times in the past that he would never kill himself.  But when his depression gets serious, it seems like he can't possibly commit to that completely and indefinitely.  If Dave can tell me that he is unsure, it makes me feel like he is serious about the commitment.

So we altered the promise.  He won't kill himself before new year's.  I can feel completely comfortable that Dave is really committed to that, and even mostly comfortable that he will tell me if he isn't committed to it.  And since I'm really not living much in the future, the thought of what might happen after new years doesn't really scare me. I can take that when it comes.

Too heavy

In the book of Exodus, when all of the people are bringing their problems directly to Moses, he goes to talk to his father-in-law.  His father-in-law says, "This thing is too heavy for thee; thou art not able to perform it thyself alone."  He goes on to give Moses some relief, but I think maybe the most helpful thing he did was to say "this thing is too heavy for you - you shouldn't have to carry it all by yourself."

This looks like it would be too heavy and too hot to handle

I really want to hear that.  I really want someone to look at me and say - Jaime, you mean you are trying to carry all of the financial burden for two peoples' living expenses, all of the financial planning, all of the initiation of housework, cooking, shopping, and event and short and long-term life planning?  While you're in grad school?   You're trying to remain emotionally stable yourself while trying to accurately read how Dave is doing and figuring out and then providing the best support to him?  You don't know when, if ever, that burden will shift?  You think it will just get harder for ever after from here when we add kids to the mix?

Jaime, this thing is too heavy for you.  You don't have to carry it all by yourself.

But at the same time, I know that I could do it all by myself.  And I know that there are people out there who shoulder bigger burdens all the time.

But I don't want to carry this on my own.  I want someone to tell me I shouldn't, and I don't have to.

***

Note:  I was really hesitant to actually post this, because I was afraid of how Dave would take it.  But it actually led to a good discussion between us, and he encouraged me to post it.  But I will tell you, as I told him, my three fundamental points:
          1.  Even if Dave were not doing anything to help us with finances/housework/etc.,  I would still chose to have him as a part of my life - he still provides me with support and love and happiness I really need.
          2.  I happily and gratefully proclaim that Dave does a lot to help us - laundry, dinners, dishes, you name it.  I just have to initiate everything, and sometimes ask him several times to do it (I hope that doesn't sound like nagging: Dave tells me I don't nag), and that load gets tiresome.
          3.  I know that I can handle it.  Given that Dave is doing everything he can right now to manage his depression, but is unable to initiate any work outside of some homework, and given that our current financial state won't allow me to hire any help, the only option is for me to carry everything.  And I can do it - in fact, I know that other people carry heavier loads all the time.

A letter to my Dad

10/2/11

Hi, Daddy.

Tomorrow you are going into a partial hospitalization program for the second time, and I don't know what to write to you or what to tell you.  

But I know what I wish I could tell you.  I wish I could tell you that I have hope that you that your depression could go completely away, that there is a life ahead of you that is much more joy than sadness, with no more long episodes of having nothing that makes you happy.  I wish I could tell you that.  I wish I could tell you, here, I have hope for the future - you can take some of it.  You can hold on to it for a while, for as long as you want.  

But I can't tell you that.  I hate to hear you say that no program is really going to cure you, going to make your depression go away forever, because that sounds so hopeless - but I believe you.  

And it seems selfish to want to hold you here, to life, just because I really, really, really don't want to be without you.  Because I don't think that we can be without you.  I know what I do have hope for - that you can have some things that make you happy, sometimes.  That you can have some times where you laugh and feel engaged and enjoy life for a little while.  Is that enough to work for?  Because I know it is work, a lot of it, all the time.  Is that enough to work for, besides keeping us stable and connected to you and happy?  

It seems like so much work for so little payoff for you.  And yet I'm so grateful that you do it.  That you did it in hospital years ago, that you're willing to do it again now, that you've done it nearly every day for so many years.  I'm so grateful that I still have my Dad, and that you works so that you can have a little bit of joy, and I can have times where I get to talk to you and learn from you and joke with you and play with you.  I am so grateful.  I love you so much.

Dave and I just started a fast for you.  We wanted to give you some sign for you to know that we'll be thinking of you all day tomorrow.  But I hope that you would've known that anyway, that you would've known that we're always thinking of you, and especially would be when you took a big step like this.  

I love you so much, Daddy.  Thank you for being here for me.

Jaime

The Changing Faces of Depression

I'm dressing up as Mystique for Halloween, and I am more excited about this costume than I can ever remeber being.  I wonder if my excitement stems from my confusion about one thing with many, many faces.

10 months ago, David had chronic insomnia, found it almost impossible to do any kind of work, and impossible to see worth in himself. 

I've written blog posts about how differently David is handling things now.  I have been so impressed by that, so impressed by how David is managing to do some work every day, to go out with friends, to find some things that he's excited about, that I think I've failed to see the depression underneath.  Because he didn't have the same depression symptoms he did 10 months ago, I guess I thought it was gone for a while.

But we went in for a therapy session (we do monthly check-ins even when we're doing well, which I think is really helpful), and Dave started talking about how life still didn't seem worthwhile, and how he still felt like he was disappointing in every area.  I hadn't seen that. 

He's also been sleeping a lot lately (the other day he feeling sick and slept 15 hours), and even though he's been 100% on top of some of his classes, there are others that he really, really struggles to find motivation to work on. 

When Dave found ways to really effectively manage his depression, the face of the depression changed.  And somehow I just didn't recognize it. 

*****

Depression has so many faces, so may different symptoms, so many outlets.  At the moment I feel surrounded by close ones with depression.  My Dad was admitted to a day patient program for depression, one of my very best friends is currently at a low point, and I have another family member struggling.  That doesn't make me feel overwhelmed, it just is.  But I do find myself puzzling over how to support each person.  Depression can have such a different face for each person, and have different faces at different times.  So it's really, really hard to know how to help someone without them telling you, but when you're at a low point in your depression, it seems like you're averse both to figuring out what you need and to telling someone else about it.

Afraid

10/11/11
Today Dave didn't answer his phone all day, and I was afraid.

Enough

Last week Dave had a really low day.  He came home from school early, feeling miserable.  He initially told me that life was too much to handle, but after talking with me for about an hour he said, "I can handle calling my group to schedule our meeting.  I can handle that.  Is that enough?  Can that be enough?"

I don't think that he realizes just how much that is enough.  Though I almost cried to hear him so miserable, so overwhelmed by life, I was exhilarated to hear that he was willing to do one thing.  It is more than enough.  I think it is enough for me that he keeps living for us.  But it is definitely enough for me when he is willing to keep doing things, keep trying things, to try to get even a little better, for us.

How fast things change

Before I say anything else, things are still going well for us.  Things fluctuate, of course - last week, there were some things Dave felt excited about, which was worth worlds to us, and this week Dave says that he feels uncertain that happiness is really possible, but he's still willing to try things out.  And that is wonderful, for both of us.  This feels so good, to Dave and to me.

But I wanted to talk about how quick things can change.  How quick my feelings can change.

It took 3 months of things going well before I completely stopped worrying about Dave when he was late.  Before I didn't have a little thought in the back of my mind that maybe Dave had passed out in a closet somewhere.

And it took only one expression that he wasn't doing well before it all came back.
I wish I could stop that reaction.  And mostly I can - after that first reaction comes up, I can remember that Dave is doing well, and that even when he's not, he always protects himself, mostly for my sake.  But it seems important to write down how fast that reaction comes back.

Grateful things worked out this way

I've been thinking for a couple weeks about whether or not I wanted to write this post.  I still am not sure I want to commit to making this statement, but I'll at least tentatively put it out there:

           I am glad, for my own sake, that Dave and I have been through what we've been through.

Two disclaimers. First, I am not at all glad for Dave's sake that his depression has been so bad.  I know that it makes him and his life miserable, that he feels no joy and no hope.  I would not wish that on him for anything in the world.  Second, that feeling of gratitude goes away the second that Dave's depression threatens to worsen.  I was thinking about writing this post last week, but Dave's depression got a little worse for a few days, and the feelings of gratitude disappeared, replaced by immediate worry, concern, and a little dread.

It felt like reaching into a hat expecting a rabbit

 and getting a crocodile

But when things are going well, as they have been, I've been grateful for what Dave and I have been through, and how close we are now.  I feel exactly the same feelings for him that I felt two years ago when we were engaged, but it feels more powerful now.  It feels more impactful or concrete, somehow, knowing that we've been through some pretty bad stuff and come out of it with those feelings intact.  

When I was a kid, I used to wish (foolishly!) that I could have some kind of serious health impairment as a kid that would go away later.  Everyone kept telling me that you don't understand your health till it's gone, but I didn't want to only appreciate it after I had lost it.

Somehow that feels very relevant to me now.  I feel like I can appreciate when things are going well a hundred times more than I could two years ago.  Even though the feelings are the same, my gratitude and appreciation is so very different.  So for myself, at least for today, I am grateful for what we've been through.

Ask me again when we're hitting some pits, and I'll re-evaluate.

Things keep getting better

They do.

I thought a month ago that we were back to normal, and that things were going fine.  But in the past few weeks, David has mentioned that he's been thinking about what more he could do for our family, and taking initiative to think of what he can do and then to do it.  He's been cleaning and grocery shopping - he even brought me a packaged dinner when I wasn't going to have time to eat in between activities one evening, something we did a lot when we were engaged, but we hadn't done it in a long, long time.

It's like I had forgotten how good things could be, and how happy I could be.  And now life is that way again.

Here comes the sun (do-do-do-do)

It's not as if things are unchanged by the threat of Dave's depression - he still feels afraid of what could happen, and feels burdened at school by his past poor performance even though he's doing great now.  But things are overall going better than I ever remembered they could.

On July 6th I wrote a post about how hurt, burdened, and alone I felt.  I wondered when things would get better for me, even though they were already starting to get better for David.  And today I feel like all of those issues have been resolved.  Things became better for me - they even became wonderful.

Diagnoses

When I first went to the psychiatrist with Dave, I saw that the psychiatrist had all of Dave's information on the computer screen behind him, and I read it all.  My eyes seemed to fixate on the line "GAF - 50."  I couldn't stop staring at it throughout the session.

GAF is a global assessment of functioning, and a 50 means he has serious symptoms or serious impairment in  functioning.  It is also the kind of score inpatients had to have at a local psychiatric hospital before they could be discharged.  I remember thinking, "Really?  Really, is that what we're living with?  A level of functioning that would barely get you discharged from an inpatient facility?"  I thought about it all the rest of the day.  I tried to think of reasons it wasn't true.  Somehow I was double bound, wanting it to be higher, to have some kind of confirmation that things weren't so bad and would get better - I also wanted it to be low, to have confirmation that my feelings were valid, but I felt like I would much rather have been told my emotions were off-base and things were going to be fine.

Now that I've learned more about the GAF, I realize that Dave really should've had a score closer to 30-40.  And I feel angry it wasn't assigned to him.

Later in the year, when things had gotten a little better, we had another appointment with the psychiatrist.  We mentioned that Dave had failed nearly all of his classes that semester, and the psychiatrist said 3 or 4 times, "Really?  Really, that was your GPA?  Wow."  It was like he was shocked at how poorly David had been functioning.  And even though the double-really was very similar to my original reaction, I felt angry.  I felt angry that he would keep asking, when Dave already felt bad about it, and I felt even more angry that he hadn't asked about it sooner, when it would have actually benefited us.  I bet he left that session thinking, "Wow, I had him pegged for a little higher functioning than he was.  I'm glad he's doing better now," and went on to meet his next student for their 15-minute session.  But I left the session agonizing over what resources we might have been able to have if he had realized the extent of Dave's situation sooner.

Now that I know Dave probably should've had a lower GAF (it's subjective and there's quite a large range of scores you can choose, but I'm still very confident in that assessment), I wish I could go back in time to that first session and wave it in the psychiatrist's face, saying, "LOOK!  This is what we are dealing with.  Now please, help us find the resources we need."

In terms of actual diagnoses, rather than GAF scores, Dave thinks he probably had dysthymia throughout high school and certainly on his mission (dysthymia means that for at least 2 years, you feel depressed more days than you don't), and the episode from this past year was an episode of Major Depressive Disorder - Severe.  Early onset dysthymia means that you're likely to have a major depressive episode later, and if you have one episode after dysthymia, you're likely to have more episodes later.  We were counting on that anyway, but somehow...  it actually makes me feel better to be told it's much more likely than not that we'll have another episode.  It's like, rather than spending my life worrying about whether or not another one will come our way, we can spend our time preparing.  It feels much less haunting and uncertain that way.

Diagnoses have historically been harmful in my family, and left people feeling both labeled and hopeless.  But somehow it's comforting for me to know exactly what box someone would put Dave's symptoms in.  It's comforting to me to know what we should expect.

Abuzz with questions

Tomorrow Dave returns to school and I start my master's program, and at some points I have felt almost overwhelmed with questions:

            Will my perfectionism sink me in self doubt and loathing? 
            Will I still make time for Dave? 
             How will I do that? 

A few days ago, Dave thought about dropping out because he feels so little interest in school.  He says he feels little interest in anything, but some ideas are much more interesting than school.  I am all for whatever gives him any particle of joy, though I worry about leaving behind an insitution he has invested so much time in and that offers so many benefits.  He decided to stay in school, particularly after talking to his mom, but I worry about his lack of interest.  What will happen if that interest lags or disappeares completely?  What will happen if he starts to do poorly - can he/we continue to feel or do okay if that happens? 

I worry a little about our habits, too.  Our therapist really encouraged us to eat better (apparently 4-5 bowls of cereal a day doesn't count as adequate nutrition), sleep more, exercise, and go on dates.  We've gotten reasonably good at all of those things, but it took us months to establish those habits.  What will happen this semester?  I keep thinking, how can I possibly maintain these while I'm working, studying, and doing sessions?  Maybe Dave won't be quite as busy as me and can help out, but I doubt that, and even if that would work, if his depression becomes worse he won't be able to.

I feel like these questions fill and surround me like bees, buzzing and demanding my attention, so that my focus flits from one to the next, and my stomach churns.  A lot of it is my anxiety about my own performance and enjoyment in my master's program, but that is all tied together with my concerns for Dave and for our life together this semester.  Maybe all these concerns will go away in a week, once I remember how to live the school life, but I worry that they won't. 

Radio silence

I know that I haven't posted in a couple of weeks, after some frequency in July.  A blogger that I really respect (http://sonyasworld.wordpress.com) talks about how posts stop when things are going well.  After his most recent break, he said, "So in essence, I haven’t been writing because I’ve been too busy being happy. I started this blog when I needed an outlet for my feelings of anxiety, terror, uncertainty, and frustration". 


That's the way I feel.  I haven't posted because I have had no anxiety, terror, uncertainty, or frustration to express.  David is doing amazingly well, I feel supported both by him and my friends, and I couldn't be happier.  Everything I've wanted - Dave to take initiative in showing me he cares about me, help with our housework, security and comfort that Dave won't attempt anything harmful, support from my friends, hope for our dreams - is all here.  I don't know how long that will last, but for now, I am incredibly content.  

Hope

Hope for me is a candle that flickers, but never goes out.

When he started feeling down last week, Dave fell behind in his homework.  I hope this isn't just me being perfectionistic and performance-based (which I know that I often am), but whenever I learn that, my fears for the future spike.  Being behind in school often triggers a downward spiral.  Dave and I have both been so much hoping that things will be better for a while now, even if we both try not to count on it, and even if we both know to expect bumps along the road.  My candle started flickering.

But somehow it turned out okay.  Dave's mood went up, and he stayed up, catching up, late in the evening.  Things continue to go well.  And I am so, so happy.  I've been happy for a lot of reasons, even during some of the time that Dave was down over the past week, but I am so happy now.  I wish I had words for how happy I am, for how wonderful it is to sit across from Dave when he's happily working and making jokes, to smile at him when he makes incredibly clever responses to everything I say, even though I know he's listening all the same.  I'm happy right now.

Reading for Two

One of the most frustrating aspects to me of having a spouse with depression is the PRN necessity to be emotionally mature enough for two people.  I expect that this is necessary at some points in any marriage, but it's frustrating to me regardless.

Last Wednesday and Thursday I started feeling really weighed down, the way that I usually do when Dave's depression is worsening (lots of reasons for that, but I won't go in to them here).  I asked him how he was feeling, and he said he was doing fine.  He was playing video games more and talking less, as he often does when he's down, but he said he was doing just fine.  So I had to double-evaluate:

1) Am I really sure of what I am noticing in Dave?  Am I reading his emotional state correctly?
2) And since he says that's not right, what else can be making me feel that way?  What is wrong with my initial interpretation of my own emotions?

Now, it turns out he was feeling pretty down, and didn't want to tell me because he didn't want to worry me.  In this case my initial reaction was right, but it isn't always.  When Dave is down, I feel like I have to emotionally read both of us, and in two ways.  First, as in this case, I have to evaluate how I think Dave is doing, and then check my own emotions to see if they are clouding the truth.  But additionally, I have to weigh different emotional responses.  When Dave is feeling really down, I try to be aware of his emotional state at the same time I'm figuring out my own.  Sometimes I'm angry at the same time that he is feeling most down and in need of comfort, and I have to figure out which need is more important.    

There's a lot of "have to"s in this post.  I know I don't have to do any of this, but it feels like I should, and that's probably why I end up feeling frustrated.

Slump and my own issues

Dave said he was having a harder time on Wednesday and Thursday this week.  He told me he just couldn't be motivated to do his homework, and so he cleaned the house and did laundry instead.  When he first started telling me that the past couple days had been hard, and he hadn't been able to do homework, it felt a little like slipping right back into all the old feelings of being trapped and afraid.  But when he said that he had done housework instead, it was like a big burden had been lifted off my shoulders.  I had been dreading doing that housework, and to know that Dave had done it, that he had worked for our family even when he wasn't feeling on the top of his game, felt like a ball and chain being unlocked.  

I had to remind him that that was wonderful, and appreciated, because he was still feeling like he hadn't done anything.  But that is a huge difference to me, and I think he was able to acknowledge that at least to some extent.  

And now on to my own slump.  One of my friends asked me recently if I thought I had any depression.  I said I didn't think so, and I still don't, but my perfectionism is seriously flaring up.  I worked on it in therapy for a few months last summer, and after those sessions and then a few more months of application, I felt so happy.  For probably the first time in my life, I felt like I had a personality, that I was someone unique and innately valuable and separate from my achievements.    

And for the past several weeks I haven't felt like that.  I have been recognizing a lot more black-and-white thinking, overwhelming, labeling, and should-ing in my thoughts.  I made a mistake at work yesterday that my (incredibly cool, btw) boss had to take some time to correct.  She didn't put any blame on me, said that it was completely understandable and she was glad I was able to help her by phone, but I still felt guilty, so guilty I couldn't really focus on the conversations my brothers were having.  I just wanted to be able to forget all about it.  I haven't felt this way in a long time.  I make mistakes -everybody does.  It shouldn't traumatize me like that (and there's another should).  The worst part about when I get like this is that I already feel overwhelmed by everything I have to do to fulfill all my obligations perfectly, and then I add to that "overcome perfectionism," even though I have no idea how to do that.

So I have my own issues I'm attempting to work through.  I'm grateful that Dave always, always will set aside whatever he is going through to help me when I am in need.

Why I chose this

My Dad had very severe depression while I was growing up, and he went into treatment (several different kinds of treatment, actually) when I was 18.  It's remarkable to me that I didn't know that my dad had depression until he announced that he was going in to treatment.  Very suddenly, a lot of things made sense, and I was shocked that I hadn't realized how infrequently my dad smiled or laughed, or that he was never satisfied with his work performance, etc. etc.  But I was even more shocked that I never knew how much stress my mom was under.  I had no idea, because she carried herself with so much grace and was so other-focused, always present for me regardless of what else was going on.

At some point following this revelation, I decided that I would not, could not, marry someone with severe depression.  I thought that of all the things I could face, that alone would be too much for me.  

But I knew Dave had depression before we got married, and at some point during our dating I recognized that he had more or less exactly (I didn't know it would become this severe, but I knew he had depression and that anything could happen) what I had set myself against.  And I chose Dave over that decision.  I chose Dave because I knew that he made me happy, that I could never be as happy without him as I was with him.  I wanted him in my life forever, and it was worth whatever else I might have to face.  

And I still choose Dave, on a daily basis.  I'm a fairly pragmatic person (okay, really pragmatic, even though I think the word sounds cold), and I've had a few heart to hearts with myself assessing whether or not I'd be happier if I left the relationship.  And I always conclude no.  I still need Dave to be happy.  He still makes me happy, and gives me a sense of stability and comfort and confidence that my dreams are possible.  

And going through all the worst times - is worth it.  It's worth it for days like today, when I come home to a living room of partially-folded laundry, from a husband who saw I was running out of underwear.  When I fall asleep waiting for him in the parking lot, and wake up to him rubbing my shoulders because he loves me and shows his love for me every day.  When he tells me he's just passed off his program, and I know that a big part of why he's in school, pushing through all his homework (and succeeding!) is because he cares about me and wants to be able to succeed and to support me.  Because I know he quite literally lives for me.  

And that's pretty nice.

P.S. I was reminded of this decision when I was talking about my blog with one of my coworkers today - I'm grateful for people at work (and elsewhere) who make me feel valued and like what I have to say is important.

All wrapped up

Several people have told me that they wanted to talk to me about how I was feeling over the past few months, but in one way or another I was unresponsive.  My dad wrote, "I had the impression you didn't want to talk in depth about it when related topics came up.  I sometimes wondered if you were simply your usual superhuman self, handling it far better than anybody could expect from typical people in the same circumstances.  Or perhaps you chose therapists or close friends as your outlet for deep sharing."  A few others expressed similar feelings, and I think I recognize now that I shut down sometimes and don't want to share my emotions, even when there are good opportunities.  Over the past few days, several people have asked me how I have been feeling & what I've been experiencing, and I have to remind myself to answer honestly and not brush it off.  

I'm interested that I am going through all of these reactions now, rather than when I was in the middle of Dave's most severe depression.  I think that at that time, I was so busy trying to figure out what to do, trying to know how to help Dave and to make it through each day or each week, that I didn't take time to figure out what I was feeling.  There wasn't time, frankly.  

I think that maybe when Dave's depression got really bad, I grabbed hold of the emotions I was feeling, like someone grabbing on to a piece of toilet paper from the roll.  

Then I kept hurrying and scurrying and turning around, until I ended up a complete mess of emotions and didn't know where to start to unravel it all.

When people ask you how you're doing, it's hard to say, "Well....  I don't really know...  Let me think out loud about it for a few minutes until I can figure it out."  But that's what I'm starting to do, and I think I'm getting down to the last few layers of emotions.  Soon I'll be free, and in all likelihood, ready to start again.

The best you can expect

A lot of my friends and family have talked with me since I've shared this blog.  A lot of people have expressed their support, but what is most relieving for me is when 1) people ask me about my experience and 2) share what they've noticed about how I've handled it, and how they've known that it's been hard for me.  I've been really happy that my friends and family care about me enough to seek me out and have those conversations the past few days.

During one of those conversations yesterday, one of my best friends asked me, "What's the best you can expect for the future with Dave's depression?" 

That's a question I've been thinking a lot about lately.  I think it would be naive to think Dave's depression will never be as bad as it has been again.  I'm confident that we will sink this low again, at least a few times during our lives.  Right now he is doing really well, succeeding in his classes and really enjoying being out with friends, and generally (naturally not always) feeling happy.  I feel like this is wonderful, this is almost complete absence of depression.  My hope is that he will stay doing this well for some time, with only little downturns-and-returns along the way.  

And then my hope is that when things do get worse, we keep finding tools to eventually return to doing well again.  I'm really happy with how happy David is right now, and I am trying to enjoy the high times while they're here, and we'll weather the low times when they come.

With Music Strong I come

I've really struggled with the decision whether or not to make a public blog about my experience with my husband's depression.  On the one hand, I'm hesitant to share my life with Joe Schmoe on the internet, and I'm slightly hesitant to share these experiences with even those close to me.


But on the other hand, I have scoured the internet for blogs of people with depressed spouses.  I have been desperate to know what other people are experiencing, and to know if they go through anything like me.  I haven't been able to find much, but maybe other people out there are searching, too.


And I do want those close to me to at least have access to my experience.  Maybe it will help them to know what I've been dealing with - more likely it will help me to have them know, and it will help me to document it.  


So I've decided to put this blog out there.  I've gone through all of my journal entries since Dave's depression started getting bad, and I've posted everything relevant here.  (FYI, Dave has read through everything and is okay with my posting it).  


***
With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums,
I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquered and slain persons.
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
I beat and pound for the dead,
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.
Vivas to those who have failed!
And to those whose war vessels sank in the sea!
And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!


I want this blog, like the experience it's supposed to document, to celebrate and beat and pound for Dave, regardless of the outcome of our battle to manage his depression.  I am grateful every day - I think I can honestly say every day, even though some days it's muted or overcome by other things - for his constant work to overcome his depression.  He really does work all the time to do whatever he can to lighten his load, and by extension to lighten mine.


And I also want this blog to play music for me, regardless of outcome.  I am working every day, too.
We, like so many others out there, are fighting a good fight.

Return of Hope

7/6/11

Dave and I journaled and talked for a long time last night.  One of my favorite things about Dave is that no matter how late it is, no matter what else he has going on, he will set everything aside and hold me and listen to me.  In addition to that, when his depression isn't so severe that he shuts down, he really tries to understand how I am feeling, even when I am feeling some negative emotions about him.  And so after listening to me last night, he told me that he had always been amazed at my strength, and it hadn't really occurred to him that it was hard for me to be strong, that it was a constant struggle and effort.  It felt good to have that acknowledged, and to be thanked for it.

But my beloved also responded to so many of my other concerns.  Today he dropped me off at work, and when he picked me up he had my favorite chocolate in the car for me.  He told me he had planned a date for that evening.  When I got home, there was a letter for me on our bed.  I always know that Dave loves me, but his letter showed me how that love keeps developing, even when sometimes I think depression has it stalemated.

We went to the canyon, made a bonfire, and roasted hot dogs and marshmallows.  Dave taught me how to breathe fire!  I felt closer to him and happier just being with him than I can remember in the past year.  It was wonderful.

It felt like such a relief, like a day off, to have him plan everything and take complete care of me.  It felt like a reprieve.  It felt like hope.

Feeling sad, part II

7/5/11, 11:30 pm

Dave just asked me what's been hard the past year, and I told him it's been hard to be sectioned off from him.  First when he was angry at the church, I felt like I couldn't tell him about promptings or experiences I felt that I'd had, because even though I was trying to enter his assumptions/world view and understand where he was coming from, he was too angry to accept my worldview or to acknowledge that those experiences were real and special to me.  Second, I felt I was separated from him in that I couldn't tell him things I didn't feel he could handle, about how his depression was affecting me.  A)I thought that could make his depression worse, and I was scared of doing that, and B) when he's deep in his depression he shuts down when he hears things that scare or hurt him, so talking about it wouldn't do a lot of good.  That made me feel really alone, to be a segmented self and not to be able to share everything with him.  What's more, I didn't feel there was anyone else I could share those things with, so it made me even more segmented.  After I talked about that, I said it's been hard to always know what mindview I should have, to know that it won't do me or him any good to feel like a martyr and so I should change my thinking.  It's tiring to always be changing your mindview, to try to change or get rid of your victimist or angry thoughts.  And that led to I think my biggest issue - that I was making these constant, daily, tiring changes without ever knowing when I would get something back.  I knew those changes would help dave get better, and that they would probably be the best course for me, but Dave has to be at his very peak levels before he is able to give back to me, and I didn't know when if ever these exhausting constant changes would do anything for me, would make life better for me.  And people are constantly asking how Dave is doing, and what they can do to help him - which I appreciate, I do, I do!  And then they would ask how I am doing, and I would say fine and move on.  And even people who knew it was hard for me never really asked me or really cared or acknowledged or wanted to hear about how it was hard for me.  And I think that was maybe the hardest part - feeling like my life was hard, too, but no one was helping me.


And I feel a little hurt, and angry, and dissappointed, and upset, that no one tried to help me.  One person with good intentions tried to tell me that probably Dave was doing a lot better than I thought.  And that made me feel belittled and like I should be happy and I should be satisfied because probably I didn't even know what was going on and how good things were for me.  I know that's not what he meant, but it's how I felt.  And I feel like someone, of all of the people out there in the world, should've tried to help me, and someone should've succeeded in helping me.  And I can't feel angry at Dave for not helping me, because his depression made that impossible and because he has been doing so much over the past months to get better, to get so much better.  And I'm really genuinely happy and proud of him for his work.  But it makes me feel a little alone & segmented from him that I can't be mad at him, can't have expected him to be present & aware of my problems and to help me.

[EDITORIAL COMMENT:  See editorial comment from part I]

Feeling sad, part I

7/5/11, 10:00 pm

I don't really have all the words for what I am trying to say or what I am feeling.  But I just broke down crying in bed asking Dave if he thought that I really saw who he was as a whole person, and then talking about how I feel like nobody sees the emptiness in me.  That's been building for a lot of months.  I just sent out a message to a bunch of my friends asking if they would remember my birthday in some special way this year, because it seemed so important to me that I get some kind of attention this year.  


And that's true by itself, but it's more than that.  I think I realized tonight that I just feel that no one understands a part of me that has come up over the past 6 months.  What's more, no one has tried to understand it.  People have told me that they know it's "been hard", but no one has talked to me about or expressed or acknowledged the vacuum of it, the...  I don't have words for it.  The constant hardness.  I need stronger, better words than "hard."  I need someone to try to understand and to acknowledge how painful it has been for me.  But nobody has, and it makes me feel alone.  


I don't know why I haven't been able to get that out.  I've tried a few times, I know.  I think they were superficial attempts, partially because I didn't know exactly what I needed to talk about so I couldn't say, "I need you to ask me about how I'm feeling, and what I have been feeling".  Jake asked me what I'd been feeling the past 6 months.  He was initially asking about Dave's doubts about the church, but he extended it to his depression as well.  


I don't think anybody else has asked me what I've been feeling.  They've asked me how I've been doing, but not what I've been feeling.  Including, by the way, my therapist.  I knew there was a reason I wanted to start therapy when Dave's depression was getting bad, and I had a couple of reasons that I thought were good reasons (like defining expectations and mourning some things I felt like I'd lost), and we talked about those, but we never got anywhere close to what I think was what I really needed acknowledged - that I felt empty.


I wish I had better words.  I have a few scenes that come to mind -
-Driving down the highway after coming home to Dave being irritable, trying to acknowledge that he has a right to be irritable and to get rid of my thoughts that he shouldn't be irritable because I haven't given him a reason to be irritable, trying hard to get myself into a good state of mind so I am ready to go back home, even when I know he might not be in a good state of mind when I get there.
-Washing the floor.  A lot.
-Dave endlessly asking me what he can do to help me, and me knowing that's a good thing and trying to figure out what to say, when the real answer is "Think of something you can do to help me"
-Not knowing what to say or how much can be handled.
-Constant censoring and feeling alone.  All the time feeling alone and separated. 
-Not knowing what to do.  All the time trying to figure out what to do.  All the time wondering if there's something more I can do.  Trying to be balanced and to know it's not my fault or completely my responsibility, but even just keeping that mindset is just one more thing to do, one more hard thing to do.  To keep your thoughts constantly in line.  
-Wanting to go out with friends and knowing that there aren't any friends who will actually talk with me about what I'm going through.
-Looking up "depression support groups" 3 different times on google, only to find there's nothing in provo.
-Knowing its not as bad for me as it is for Dave and I should just suck it up.  I'm the strong one, right?
-Worrying about what we should do for my birthday party and wishing I had someone who would want to take care of my birthday... without me having to ask about it and without me having to worry about it.  


There.  I guess that's it.  Now I'm crying again, so that must have captured a good part of it somewhere in there.

[EDITORIAL COMMENT:  I have wonderful friends, and I am surrounded by very supportive people.  I don't want to suggest that I felt like anyone should have treated me better: that's not the case.  I didn't recognize what I needed (to have it acknowledged that things were really hard for me, and that I was trying hard and doing okay) and so I couldn't ask for it.  I wish that someone could have helped me recognize that, but it's possible they couldn't have even if they tried (and maybe they did without my notice) until I was ready.]  

Feeling so much better

6/26/11

Now that I have plenty of time to write in my journal, I have nothing to write about.

I wish I had a more detailed record of Dave's severe depression, but while it was going on I felt consistently burdened, alone, and sometimes irritated.  I didn't have as much down time, and I wanted to really rest when I did.  When David was feeling up, I wanted to make the most of that time, too. 

But now David is feeling so much better, feels hopeful and has motivation.  Everything is going smoothly around our apartment, and as of today I literally have nothing on my to-do list (classes are a month and a half away and I've already bought all but one of my textbooks). 

Onward, ever onward

6/21/11

A lot has happened, but I'm too tired to write about it so I'm just going to make a list.

-Dave and I continue to go to therapy & the psychiatrist to try to manage Dave's depression.  There have been ups and downs (notably Dave was out of medication for a few days and was too embarrassed to tell me and too amotivationl to get more: those were a relatively low few days but things have picked up since), but overall he's been doing much better, and we've had some times when we've been very happy.  I'm struggling with a few things, but maybe I'll come back to that. 

-We got really worried about finances for a little while.  We thought we'd run out of money soon.  But then 1) We got Christmas money from Grandma!, 2) Dave's parents told us about how much was in his education fund, 3) Dave got a grant, and 4) I got a scholarship! (Woo-hoo!) and now we're doing fine!

Therapy Update

5/19/11

I really want to document Dave and I's journey through therapy and learning how to manage his depression.  In therapy on Wednesday, I realized that even though it has been a really slow process, we are starting to have some good skills in place.  Dave is learning that when thoughts of self-hatred come up, he needs to re-direct them or it will deepen/lengthen his depression.  We have a sticker chart for exercise, now, so we both exercise regularly, and we have a date night so we have some time set aside just with each other.  I am learning how to be directive without nagging - at the beginning of the week we check in with each other on what we hope to do that week.  Then if I have an idea that I think could help Dave, during the week, I tell him.  Last week I suggested that it could be a good idea to go hang out with friends, since sometimes that helps pick him up (Dave has been having a really hard time believing that people like him).  He didn't do it, but I was able to suggest something positive without nagging.

At the beginning of our therapy, I really wanted to clarify my expectations of Dave.  I felt like I had unrealistic and even contradictory expectations.  I feel much more comfortable now, because I know exactly what my expectations are.  If they are not met - that's fine, that happens.  But I feel happy knowing exactly what my expectations are, and feeling like they're reasonable. 

On Ambien

4/16/11

A common side effect of depression is insomnia, and Dave has really not been sleeping well lately.  A few days ago, Dave took his first dose of ambien.  He didn't realize you should take it right before bed, and didn't tell me he had taken it until 20 minutes later, when he was commenting on how he couldn't get his eyes to focus.  He then couldn't walk straight, and so I helped him to bed and had to prompt him at each step of getting ready.  He was HILARIOUS to listen to.  I wrote down some of the things he said:

-In my more sane moments, I know it's just you and the house full of cleansed iced tea.

-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get so, ahahahahaha....  no, I couldn't have been seeing that in the background because my eyes are closed.

-I'm kinda loopy, like the state fair thing...  what was I saying?

-It's hard to tell, you know?  Because the thoughts in your head that are normal...  aren't necessarily...  if you let them run ahead and get mixed up!