Being married to a depressed person can’t be easy. You never know what will be the switch that’ll turn on the face leaks. Could be anything really. Say for example a song. I mean Joe Cocker “You are so beautiful” harmless right? Sure unless…
1. Your mom used to sing that song while counting your freckles and wiping the bangs out of my little dark blue eyes, the same damn 6 words, over and over, strings and crescendos, I’m everything she hoped for, everything she needed. Ugh. She sang it like the song was written for me. She meant it, like really, with every fiber of her being.
2. You knew you’d see your friend you’re estranged from today and seeing them you wanted to say everything and nothing and crawl out of your skin and into theirs screaming I miss you into every cell of their limbs. But that’s weird, so you just cried and ate the cookie you bought to make it less awkward.
3. You can hear your brain cycling over and over that it’s just this time of year, it’s normal. You feel anything but normal, and go through the checklist of things you can should do: free yoga (haven’t been yet, super terrified and lazy but mostly terrified of God knows what). Walk (because you know it’s one of the sure fire go to ways to feel better but why are there lead balls on my ankles and ass, pulling me ever towards a seated or fetal position). Listen to music, wait, isn’t this where this damn listicle started?!
It’s hard to be married to me. But I am lucky. 12 years into this cycle she knows by now. Hang on, this will pass.