Part of why I started this blog is to get my thoughts out. I tend to bottle things up in real life. Especially anger. I’m not mad now or anything, but when I feel angry I repress it and let it stew until I’m utterly dysfunctional even when I have nothing to be mad about. I had an epiphany the other day, I was explaining to Roommate#1 why I was reading a book by a very whiny woman who was writing about how miserable having what she wanted was making her. I realized I was reading it because it was easy and acceptable for me to channel my anger at the author, I could complain about her hypocrisy without hurting anyone (well, I’m assuming she’ll never read this blog, if she does well she’s probably read much harsher reviews from amazon). I could get my anger out. Albeit it’s not very productive, but nobody is being hurt by it. In fact, I tend to be able to make people laugh when I go on rants.
I had been angry at Latte for a good portion of this summer. It was about things that were mostly not her fault. I had no way to deal with that anger. Growing up, I only saw my dad yell and insult people when he was mad. I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to ignore her either, which was how my mom dealt with anger and conflict in general. So, I have been hate readings memoirs written by people who seemed very self-unaware of how flaky/pathetic/etc they sound in their books. It was cathartic, I probably would’ve exploded without it. Thank goodness for Good Will and their unending selection of bad books.
Now things are better. Much of what I was mad about wasn’t Latte’s fault. Nobody wants to be depressed, and depression really clouds one’s judgement about what’s okay and not okay. I remember how self-destructive I was as a teenager/young adult when I had depression. I remember feeling how I wanted to destroy myself and everything around me. It wasn’t rational, it was the illness talking, not me. In some way I’m glad I had that experience of being severely depressed. My wife would be nearly impossible for me to understand if I had always been mentally healthy.
But the depression is much better now, thanks to an increased dosage of medication. Therapy is being sought. This has been fairly stable for about a week now. I am adjusting to this new normal of having a mentally healthy spouse. It’s different. When I met Latte, she as doing okay, she was exciting about restarting college. Hopeful about the future. And fiercely independent and very caring. Depression robs her of many of her best qualities. Gone was her optimism , her perseverance, her ability to cope, her independence, and her ability to be caring and giving. It forced her into a prison where she was the jailer, which was painful to watch, and made it very difficult to help her. But she’s out of it now. And now I’m having to adjust to being able to think of things beyond how to convince a nihilist that everything will be fine and getting up for the day is worth the effort.
My initial reaction to this recovery surprised me. I found myself feeling angry and resentful. She was trying hard but I felt like I couldn’t appreciate it, and as the clouds were lifting from her eyes she could sense it and I felt guilty. Thankfully it has passed. Now I just find myself cautiously falling back in love with her.