So much better

I just went back and re-read all of my original journal entries.

Things are so much better.  In my blog this morning, I was trying to remind myself that things are still a little better, even when they look a little gray.  But I was shocked, as I read old entries, by the contrast between then and now.

So here's a quick list of differences, a short note of gratitude:

• I can tell Dave everything now.  I think we talk about everything now.  I never feel like I have to hold something back because he is feeling too depressed.  I think we've learned a lot about communication, and we are much more open with each other.  I never feel segmented due to his depression.
• I don't feel responsible as often anymore.  I know that Dave and I are both doing our best.   I don't feel responsible to find the one solution that will make everyone feel better.  I try things, and when they don't work, I move on.  It feels much less weighty to me, and more like part of marriage and life.
• I think we share a lot more of the burden of depression. 
• Dave always has things he's working on.  As I mentioned this morning, even when he is at his most depressed, he is still willing to take a few steps forward (like calling a doctor, or scheduling to take our car in).  This is amazing to me, and I am so grateful.   
• I think we might be starting to realize some of the things we can learn from Dave's depression (this process is very slow).  
• We have friends who are very aware of us, who listen and are always there when needed.  This is amazing.
• I can go weeks without worrying that Dave will commit suicide.  This is a big change.  
• I am not nearly as afraid that things won't get better.  If things don't get better than this, that's okay.  I can live with this.  If things get bad again, we're ready.  We can handle it together.

                                                    

This isn't comprehensive, but it's a good indicator of how much relief and peace I feel.  I am so grateful to Dave for everything he's done (and it's a lot) to come to this point.  I am so grateful he was willing to talk with me.

And I am grateful to myself, too.  Does that sound weird?  I'm grateful that I tried a lot of things, and kept going when it was really hard, so that I could be here.

I wanted to write this blog to beat and pound my drums for Dave's efforts and my efforts, regardless of outcome.  Today I'm grateful for the outcome, and grateful for the efforts.  And so today, I beat and pound my drums!  Vivas!  

Still better

Things are still better.

Things are still better because even when Dave feels depressed and wakes up feeling overwhelmed, he says, "I'll just start working on something."  Things are better because the situation is very rarely, if ever, dangerous.  Things are better because he sometimes enjoys things.  Occasionally, though rarely, Dave almost looks forward to something.

Things are still better.  In obvious, apparent ways that things are better.





Sometimes they're still hard to see.

Change

Lots of change is happening in our family.  I find myself really reluctant to describe the changes, because I don't want there to be any pressure on Dave to have to continue or report on those changes.  So I'll just say that Dave's desk is getting cleared off, his stress at work is becoming manageable, and  even when things are really dark, they are never hopeless.

Reasons for slow blogging

My mom asked that I post something new, since we as a family have transitioned away from the pain of the previous post.  Chelsey is doing really well, and has retained all of her personality while becoming both more grateful and somewhat more assertive.  Her transition to a group home has been slightly sad for all of us, but on the whole has been positive.  We feel this is a good change for her, and we've already seen a lot of benefits and positive changes.

As that transition became more calm, peaceful, and resolved, my Dad wrote "I now have no energy for this blog, and very little of interest to say about CCH now that the problems are less salient".  He and I talked about how in the moment of crisis, the problems are pressing and it feels important to voice your experience and your insights, as well as to hear from others' insights and responses.  Once the crisis has passed and you can cope with ongoing concerns on your own, there isn't a lot of energy or interest in posting.

That's how I've been feeling lately.  Though the depression is ongoing, the crisis of the depression seems past.  Dave and I have learned a lot, and we've both learned how to cope, individually and in our relationship.  There are ongoing lessons to learn, but it doesn't feel like a crisis anymore.

I'm not saying goodbye to this blog, though, by any means.  This blog has been a lifeline to me when times were most hard, and I am not at all ready to let it go completely.  I want to keep writing about our transition, and I want to keep it available if there should be another crisis.  

I'm grateful for you readers of this blog, who have been part of my lifeline.

Calling Chelsey

I found out a few days ago that I could call Chelsey at the hospital.  I wanted to talk to her, but I felt really reluctant to do it.  It made my stomach churn to think about calling.
I didn't want to touch this world she's in.  I didn't want our worlds to touch, I guess.  The idea felt painful and disorienting and uncomfortable.

I had to call 4 times before I could get through to her - I am assuming the phone is actually on the psych unit, and someone answered and then set down the phone, someone hung up as soon as they heard me ask for Chelsey, and then someone talked to me (mostly unintelligibly) for two minutes before hanging up.  When I did get to talk to her, Chelsey had to yell twice "I'm on the phone!  Stop it!" It was disconcerting to experience some of the chaos of her world right now.  

Even over the phone

But it was really, really good to talk to her.  
Unbelievably good.  


The first thing she said, after realizing it was me on the phone, was "I know now that I'm Chelsey Rogers."  When I paused for a minute, she said, "You see, I've been in a psych ward, and I've had to re-learn some things."  


But it was so good to hear her say that.  It was so good to know that she knows who she is, and what she's been going through.  


Much more than that, it was good to hear her interact with me in the same way and even to say some of the exact same things (like "Can you tell me a story?") with the exact same intonation I've heard so many times before.  It felt like I still have my sister, like I can still talk to her the way I always have before.  It felt so good.  


Aside from frequent retching, more assertiveness with people around her, and more self-disclosure about how she is feeling, this was the same as countless other conversations I've had with her.  
I feel like my parents took a bullet for me, having all the conversations and experiencing all of the behavior that has been so disorienting and heartbreaking.  They provided the stability and sanity, and found the support services, so that she could do what she needed to and be where she is today.  So I could have this conversation with her.   


And if I had to guess, I would guess some of these things will happen again (the nature of chronic illness).  At the very least, she's still in the psych ward for a few more days because they want to see a little more change before she comes home.  


But having this conversation made me feel like everything is okay.  If I can still interact with her in the way I'm used to, even if it's only sometimes, then everything is okay.  I still have Chelsey.  She's still my sister.  I still get to talk to her.  


We talked for a little while about how it's sad to realize you can't have some of your fantasies, but it's ok.  At the very end of our conversation, she said, "I just want to be Chelsey, the human (not the TRON computer program), and be home with Mom and Dad."

That's what I want, too.

Chelsey

For the past two weeks my sister has been in a manic episode (at least, that's what we are currently assuming.  The alternative would be the early stages of schizophrenia).  Last week it drastically worsened.  She had multiple suicide attempts, self-harm, and really bizarre delusions.  My parents took her to the ER twice, and she is now in a good neuropsych hospital.

When I first heard that Chelsey had been taken to the ER for her suicidality and delusions, I thought this:

I really, really wanted Chelsey to come visit me for a week.  Now that won't be possible.  Or if it is possible, it won't be what I wanted.  It won't be with the person I really wanted to be with.  Not really.

That thought made me really sad, and I've really struggled with it the past two weeks.  I am mourning that opportunity.  I've had seventy thoughts since then, but that theme of "not the person I know" has run through most of them.  The stories I'm hearing describe someone different from the Chelsey I knew.  And what if I cannot get her back?

I don't know how to proceed with this blog post from here, and so it seems like the simplest way will be to write down a brief summary of the other recurring thoughts I've had in the past week.  I am writing them down as I had them:

     1.  How are my parents getting through this?  What is this like for them?

     2.  For the first time, I am afraid of what people might think of me if they know what I am going through.  I have freely blogged about and discussed my husband and my dad's history of depression without even a thought of being judged for it.  But the threat of schizophrenia in my family is different, and I am afraid.  (Even though this thought only lasted for a moment, it scared me to have it).

     3.  I bought Chelsey a t-shirt for her birthday.  Maybe I should send it to her, since she's having a hard time?  But I don't know that she is having a hard time.  I don't know that she is even aware of everything she is going through.  And I don't really want to give it to this person, who I don't even know.  I don't want to give it to her.  I bought it for Chelsey, the one I know.  If I wait until her birthday in September, can I give it to the Chelsey I remember?   If I wait forever, would that be long enough?

     4.  What does it mean if I never get Chelsey back?  What does it mean if I have to accept this new person, who I will never spend as much time with as I spent with my Chelsey?  What is the personality continuity across this psychotic break?  Break is a good word for this.  

     5.  How dare the neuropsych staff say Chelsey is nonverbal.  How. dare. they. 

     6.  How can I leave Chelsey in a place where she is defenseless?  How can I hold the image of her being dragged in her chair by a compulsive chair stacker?  How can I?

     7.  I am glad this is happening while I'm far away.

     8.  I feel sad that I can't be there.

     9.  I feel guilty for being glad.  

     10.  I'm grateful for the love and support I feel.  Especially when people know Chelsey.  It means a lot to me when people want to support me, but what means the most is when others who know Chelsey are sad.  For some reason, that means the most.

As of today, my parents report that Chelsey is doing better.  She was on an antidepressant, which can aggravate a manic episode.  The doctor is taking her off of the antidepressant and putting her on a mood stabilizer for bipolar, which gives us a healthy hope that she is bipolar and not schizophrenic (which would be huge).  The flip side of that is that as she gets better, she feels more sad to be in the neuropsych unit, and is sadder when my parents leave.  That's a good and a bad thing.

I don't normally post pics, because I value my anonymity

 with stranger-readers of this blog.  But I wanted you to see 

my beautiful sister.  This is Chelsey.

Stability

I said in my last blog post that I was both angry and hopeful after accepting that I might need to give up the expectation of Dave's perpetual happiness, though we could still have moments of happiness.

I wanted to mention that I felt like I need to accept one other thing.  The earlier-referenced conversation came up because I was working on our finances, and was curious what we could expect for the future.
The fact is, I like stability.  It would be cool if I could plan out our financial future for the next 5 years.

But I can handle not doing that.  We're doing absolutely, 100% okay financially right now.  And our future is not at all scary; Dave is in a good job, and after I graduate I will be in line for an income as good as any social services worker can hope for.

So maybe I don't need to have a 5-year plan.  I feel happy tonight anyway.

Angry and hopeful (or, giving up perpetual happiness)

I feel both angry and hopeful right now.
Is that possible?  

I feel angry that Dave can't be happy.  I feel a little angry at him, very angry for him, and very angry for me.
I have blogged before (see this post) about how the hardest part of Dave's depression for me is that I can't make him happy. I think I've made some slight changes since that time, and I would be excited if Dave could just be happy, even if I wasn't the cause.

But today we talked (at my insistence) about whether or not he should continue school.  Dave always becomes very frustrated and depressed when we talk about the future.  Today Dave told me it's because the future seems extremely bleak.  If he makes a decision and, once again, things don't get better, that would be devastating.  Dave really doesn't seem to expect to be happy in the future.  And so he is really reluctant to try any of the things that could possibly (even if only remotely possibly) make him happier.

So at the end of our conversation today, I felt like I had to accept the possibility that Dave will never be happy.

I hate that for two reasons.  First, I hate that I have to give up what seems like the one thing I want - for Dave to be happy.  Second, if Dave will never be happy, it seems like a lot to ask for him to continue to live.  

So that's why I'm angry.

But just when I was feeling so upset, Dave and I made a joke.  And then I felt happy.  It felt good to be sitting with him and to be happy, for a moment, together.

And I am pretty sure I can be happy with that.  With moments of happiness, for both of us.

So at the end of the conversation, I felt hopeful.  I can be very happy with a life full of moments like this.  

Why I haven't blogged in a while

Two reasons why I haven't blogged recently:

1)  Things have been mostly stable.  Especially on his newest medication, his mood doesn't fluctuate as widely or quickly.  So I almost never feel blindsided.  

2)  The longer that we are on this journey, the more that I have to look at myself.  It's an immediate relief and a support to post things that I am going through that are hard for me.  It's much more intimidating to blog about unpleasant questions I am asking about myself (like, how much of me is comfortable with things as they are)

That said, I still think I can benefit a lot from blogging, and intend to continue.  Including a series of 2-4 blogs to follow immediately.

Good

Things have been going so well.  So well.

Dave tried a medication that seemed really helpful at the same time that I had a breakthrough in my personal counseling regarding our relationship (namely, that Dave couldn't get better until I let him know how I need him, let him respond to my needs, and then appreciate that response from him.  Sometimes I think I'm helping him by doing everything and not expressing my needs, but that's not true).  Our relationship got a lot better, and his energy and motivation went way up.  He started applying for jobs, and got a FANTASTIC one!  He made goals in his hobbies.  He did his homework, and felt hopeful about graduating in August.  He did everything to take care of the house and responded to a survey in the mail.

Can I just say for a minute how much that meant to me?  That when we got a notice in the mail, he responded to it?  I have taken care of every bill or survey or notice that has come in the mail for the past 16 months.  I couldn't have imagined Dave doing that.  And when I came back with the mail and he looked at it and said, "Oh, I guess I'll do that," I felt amazingly happy.  Like I was part of a team, and we both picked up part of what needed to be done, without even being asked.  It was amazing.

I realized I've put this all in past tense.  That's partly because he's been feeling down this past week, but partly I think I put it in past tense because it matters much more to me that it happened than that it keeps happening.  I see clients sometimes who say "Depression is so hard to face all the time - if only we could have some breaks sometimes, to recuperate, then maybe we would have the energy to keep facing it."  And I felt like that's what I've had for the past three or four weeks.  I've had time to re-energize.  I've had hope.  I've had teamwork.  I've had gifts of time and attention.

And no matter what happens next, that's enough to keep me going for a long time.
It'd be great if things stayed this good, but this is enough for me.

My own stuff

For the record, after Dave and I looked over this post together, we decided it's really my own anxiety transferring over to worrying about Dave.

That happens, you know.  When I have a hard or a bad day, then I'm more likely to worry about Dave.  Not really a constructive cycle, but it's there.

At least we are getting to where we can talk about it and try to figure it out together.

Something fun

I have a friend who says I should make a blog of all of the fun things David does for me.  I think it'd be cooler just to include them here, so here is one:

A few weeks ago, I was feeling really overwhelmed.  I told David that I wished I were sick, so that I could justify just taking a break and doing nothing.  He said, "Why don't you just pretend you're sick?  Then you can take a break, and I'll take care of you."  And we did!  He made me soup and brought it to me, and checked in on me and brought me drinks while I watched stupid chick flicks on TV.  Best sick day I've ever had.

Forever

Today Dave said, "I was wondering today what the chances are that I will die by suicide.  Even though it's not something that I am considering right now, even though I can promise you right now that I won't, I don't know who I will be in 10 years.  I don't think it's super likely that I will die by suicide, but given my history and how suicidal I have been, I'd say it's more likely for me than for the average person."

Two things about that are a little jarring for me.  

First, that suicide will always be a threat in our relationship.  Even when it's not a threat, it's still a threat.  (I don't mean a threat from David to me, but rather, something we're both afraid could happen).

Second, that Dave phrased it so passively.  "Die by suicide" sounds like something that happens to you, rather than something you do.  I know that there is some literature out there that emphasizes that viewpoint (that suicide becomes the only option, and is not a destructive choice per se), but I had never heard Dave use that viewpoint.  It kind of forced me to enter a viewpoint where it isn't a choice, but is something that happens to you.  I didn't like that.  That scared me.  

Paralyzed

I feel paralyzed tonight.

I feel anxious and very tense.  Part of that is my own anxiety about getting schoolwork done, and part of it is anxiety that Dave slept in late today and then didn't do anything.  It's really hard to separate, sometimes, how much of my anxiety is really from school, and I'm just transferring it to Dave.  But I have been worried tonight.

After he has been doing so well (more about that later), this seems like a day right out of a rougher patch from the past 6 months.

So my thought process tonight goes something like this:

• This feels like a bad day.  It feels like a dangerous day, like one that could trigger a spiral down.  
• Do I comment on it?  Maybe I'll make Dave feel bad if I do.  Maybe things are fine, but if I comment then Dave will feel bad, and that will lead to a spiral down.
• Do I not comment on it?  But in the past when I've been quiet, it has just added to the problem.  Sometimes things got better when I was more open.  

I end up feeling so trapped either way.

But I'm circumventing all of it by writing this and having Dave read it.  That way, I process my feelings by writing them out, and I also get to be open and find out what would work best for him.

Hopefully that works?

Thank you to those who acknowledge

I was reflecting today on how many people have acknowledged that Dave and I struggle, and who, by acknowledging it and asking about it, strengthen and help us.

• I think about Dave's sister, who sent him a message just letting him know that she was thinking about him and really cares about him.

• I think about Cam and Christina, who read my blog and comment to let me know that they care about what I post and what I am going through.

• I think about my parents, who ask about how Dave is doing and then ask, "And how are you handling that?  How are you doing?"  and who send us little gifts in the mail.

• I think about Dave's mom, who is always willing to talk to him and who always makes him feel better.

• I think about students in my program, who occasionally make comments about how they know I am carrying a lot, and how am I handling my schoolwork, too?

• I think about my friend Jeni, who sometimes just takes me out to dinner, just to do something special for me.  

• I think about far-away friends who drove all the way to our apartment just to drop off a gift and to see how we are doing.  

I don't think I have any illusions of uniqueness; I know that all of these people have their own struggles, some of them much weightier than mine.  But that doesn't take away that our struggle is hard for me, and hard for Dave.  It makes it so much easier to have people acknowledge that it's hard, ask how we are doing, and show that they care.  I am so grateful for these people.  I am so grateful that there are so many, so many people who check in with us and how their care.  I am so grateful for how they make everything a little lighter to bear.

In stride

It's kind of crazy how much you can take in stride.  A couple of days ago, Dave said, "You'd better take the car today.  I won't drive to buy a canister of (lethal) gas if I don't have the car."

And I can say, "Okay, I'll take the car.  Are you thinking seriously about suicide, or is it an idle thought?" And when it's idle, I can go on about my day.

It's kind of crazy.

How things are different

Unfortunately, Dave's hope and happiness of early January only lasted a little while.  He now feels low fairly often, and has some worries about his schoolwork.

But things are still so, so much better than they were a year ago, or even a few months ago.  

There are two huge differences:

• Dave's mood never dips really low.  Yesterday, he didn't answer his phone all day, and I was shocked to realize that it never occurred to me that he might be in danger of suicide.  His depression just doesn't become that severe.  His mood dips down fairly frequently - I'd guess 3 days out of 5 he feels low.  But when his depression used to be constant, unending, this seems like a very welcome change.
• Dave can still do things, can still focus on things outside of his depression.  Even if he has some concerns about his schoolwork, he can still do some every day.  He still helps out around the house, and smiles as he does it.  I had a few hard days this week (I made some mistakes in an assignment, and then had to type them all up and present them to my peers.  Painful.), and even though Dave was feeling a little overwhelmed himself, he took a break to buy me flowers and make me dinner.  I can't help but feel so, so happy. 

So maybe Dave isn't happy all the time, but things still feel so much better.  They feel comfortable and hopeful to me.  I feel so happy to see Dave smile more often, to slow dance with him in our living room.  Right now, I have a life with my husband that is happy, engaging, uplifting and full of joy.  I couldn't picture myself happier. I feel so happy.

(Naturally I mean that I couldn't picture myself happier in my marriage.  If I magically became really talented in my schoolwork, I would definitely be happier with my life overall).  

Side effects

Fact #1:  None of you (especially my parents, who occasionally read this) need to know about my sex life
Fact #2:  Someone out there needs to talk about the impact of depression medication side effects.

During the first several months of our marriage, Dave wanted sex far more often than I did, and I know I left him feeling guilty and unwanted sometimes.  I felt sad about that, but it felt like it would just take so much work.

Now I'm grateful for that experience.  Somehow, it makes it easier now that the roles are reversed (and exaggerated).

It is a very lonely thing to not be able to make your husband want you.  No matter what you do.  Even though I know Dave loves me, even though I know that he thinks I'm beautiful, it is still lonely and painful to be unwanted in that way.  The side effect ebbs and wanes, but it is sad and lonely when it's here.

Adjusting

After my last post, Cam asked what I had done to adjust to life as a wife, rather than a wife of someone with depression.

I reflected on that question for a long time.
Because in reality, I haven't found new ways to adjust.  I just went back to doing all the things that had worked before.  I bought Dave treats and left them for him in the car.  I left him notes.  I told him I loved him, and I told him how grateful I was for him.

But it didn't really seem like Dave needed any of those things.  I guess I wanted to show him my love and support in ways that he needed.

After about two weeks of trying to adjust, I started thinking about what made it difficult.  I think I realized that Dave was stable, but not happy.  For the first few weeks in January, Dave had hope and even felt happy relatively frequently (I'd say about once a day).  But after another two weeks, he didn't have deep lows in his depression, but he also didn't feel happy very often.  It is really difficult to serve someone who doesn't need your help not to feel depressed, but who cannot feel happy.  I asked him if there was anything I could do that he would enjoy, and I made a list of things he had enjoyed when we were first married.  He said that all of them were fine, but none would be particularly enjoyable or helpful.

So while I know that Dave loves me and needs me, I still feel rather helpless to demonstrate that love.

Unexpected Role Change

In this post, I wrote about how I felt like being a wife and being a wife of a husband with depression were completely different roles, and I had to learn how to adjust to my new role as wife of a husband with depression.

Well, Dave is doing so incredibly well now, that I feel like my role as wife of a husband with depression is (at least temporarily) obsolete.   And it surprises me to say that I've been having trouble adjusting back to my role as just wife!

I'm used to showing love in the context of Dave's depression.  I show love by accepting Dave as he is, and by doing everything that needs to be done without complaining to him or myself.  So when Dave started doing all the cleaning, cooking all our meals, and even bringing me home flowers, I felt a little out of place.  I didn't know, anymore, how to show my love for him.

I'm starting to remember, now.  But it has been a transition!

Milestones

For the past year or so, Dave's email inbox has been piling up with unread emails.  Yesterday, he found a way to mark all of his thousands of unread emails as read, so he would be able to keep track of all new emails.

He told me about this with a little smile and obvious happiness.  He said it sounded like a small thing, but that it was a milestone - he actually wanted to do something about his email inbox, and he found something to do about it.

There have been so many milestones in rapid succession.  He organized all of his classes and registered and is on track for graduation.  He came home from school and decided he wanted to clean.  He did almost all the paperwork for his thesis.  

This is incredible.  So cool.