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.