What is the Point of all This Then?

He sits at the computer singing Bowie, bouncing in time to the music. Coming in a little too early with the words as he mimics the sounds of a great song. Certainly not a cure for his depression but a reprieve from it.  Peace.

What's the point of all this then?  Eating, Drinking, Dying? Flatulence?  It seems only a few people get to live, really live every moment. While the rest scratch around on the crust of this earth looking for meaning and purpose.  So what am I doing?  ......................

 .................................  He sits. Blue (sometimes Grey) eyes are glued to the computer screen.  Focusing on a jig saw puzzle.  Eyes darting back and forth, taking in all the pieces that make up his puzzle on the illuminated screen.  Hunched forward, head moving in time to the music pouring out of the small, resonating speakers.  His voice carries over the song that he sings.  Melodic, beautiful.  He catches each note on his breath like the ocean catching the last rays of a sunset.  His manner is playful which belies the intensity escaping his lips..........................
 ......................... Soft, smiling serenely to himself.  Gray fur cuddled irresolutely into himself.  Ears twitching intermittently as they pick up the sounds floating across the room.  Morrissey plays.  Eric sings.  Brutus tucks his nose into his tail and smiles at a joke only he knows.

Floating across the room, "I am the last of the famous, international playboys....."

The red curtain shuts out the night and the sites of the seemingly intrusive city.  We are wrapped in our womb, ignoring what may await us.
... for now
   ......... life is perfect

The Ugly Beast that is Depression

It has taken me some time to admit this to myself.  My husband has depression.  Not the blues, not an occasional sad moment, but full blown, and in all it's guises, Depression, with a capital "D".

What does that mean to me?  It means, I have to be stronger than I have been already, I have to be there for him, more than I already am and I have to have the patience of a saint (if there ever was such a thing).  Also, it means I have to forget about me and focus on him.  Do I sound bitter? Maybe a touch.  It has never been, and now, given my husband's condition, never will be, "my turn".  Selfish? You sit where I am sitting now and I dare you to call me selfish.  Right now, I am defeated.  After being born into a house where I had to become an adult very damn quickly, I find myself in that position again.  The circumstances may have changed but the end result is still the same.  There is no one to take care of me.  No one I can go to when I feel sad.  No one who will hold me, stroke my hair and smile into my cheek, knowing they are being strong for me.  No one to wipe my tears away.  Again, I find myself in the position of not being allowed to cry. 

When I was growing up, I cooked and did the laundry for my family.  I lied for them to cover, (as much as a child can) the fights, my mothers bruises and her strange way of speaking (slurred speech is not easily understood by other children at the ripe age of 4.  I never understood why I was spared those cruel and vicious beatings.  I never had to undergo the harsh and demeaning words that he spat at my brother.  But I had to clean up the mess.  Help my mother mop up her face (after she was beaten so badly it resembled ground hamburger more than the face of a woman) I had to bail my brother out of jail when my parents would not.  I was saving up for my first car but bail for a juvenile whose parents did not care to find out why he was even arrested, can be expensive.  My brother's friend, who was also arrested that night, his parents were hippies from the old days. They had gone to get their son after letting him cool his heals for an hour (to teach him about consequences) but then, later, they held him and eased his fright, toasting him as he had his first brush with "The Man".  In my mind, I see them, later in life they would look back and chuckle at his pre-teenage impetus. My first car would have to wait.  I never complained.  In all honesty, who would listen?  I reported these things to the leaders of our church and was accused of being an attention seeking liar.  Couldn't they see what was happening?  Maybe they did but nobody cared.  That is the way I learned my first of life's lessons.  The truth is inconsequential.  People do not care unless other people can see them caring.  Friends are not really friends, not when they are called upon to be one.  I was taken in by  a charming, rich southern couple who felt the need to teach me manners.  This, among other things, had been overlooked by my parents.  They taught me to never let them see you cry, never let them know they have made you uncomfortable.  Cry, if you really must, inside.  Above all, always wear a smile, a mask that will serve you well. 

I figured out a few things on my own along the way.  But some of this scattered training went with me.  I never share my pain (because I had been taught that no one will listen) This little lesson helped me to never trust anyone's intentions.  I knew that people were only nice because it suited them but they never really meant it, not really.  I know now that what I was taught is not always true but trusting people at their word is still very difficult.  Until I met him.  He was fresh and honest but strong and courageous.  I knew that I had met my best friend, lover and protector.  Now, after journeying along life's paths with him for the last fifteen years, I have learned of his terrible illness.  Once again, it is up to me to keep things even and comfortable.  I will be there for him because I love him and despite his illness, he loves me.  He has agreed to go to a counselor if I bring him.  He is so weak from this last bout of depression, he cannot even make the phone call for an appointment.  Of course I will be there to see that he gets the help he needs.  He is the only person I can say this about, I know that if it was me, he would do the same thing. 

This journey is not an easy one, but nothing worth doing ever is.

I woke up this morning...

Friday
I woke up this morning.  The man next to me was crying.  His back hurts from climbing ladders in this 88 - 90 degree weather for the last week. He smelled of alcohol and had just taken anxiety medication.  I offered to call his customer this morning to tell her he needed a break today but he insisted on doing this himself.  I squashed every instinct I had to insist that I call her so she would not hear his slurred speech and confused words. But then I stopped. How would he ever learn to take responsibility for his actions if I kept being his mommy?  He would call her later in the morning, (if he remembered to and if he did not fall asleep first).  These thoughts going through my head as I clamped my lips firmly shut.  Instead, I choose to get ready for work and get out of the house without incident.  Not an easy task when he is like this.  He insisted on walking me to my car despite my many urges that he, "get some rest."  He can be an intimidating figure, a muscular man, 6'3", weighing over 200 lbs., and when he gets like this,  there is no stopping him.  He, like the 300 lb gorilla at the movies, "sits wherever he likes" so to speak.  So, he dons his sandals and follows me out the door.  Of course we see a couple taking a walk heading away from the still empty pool.  The two of them work maintenance in my apartment complex.  My husband begins to loudly ask them when they were ever going to get the pool opened, in what he believes to be a playful, bantering manner.  It comes out loud and intimidating.  They exchange a look and with a nervous laugh, begin to walk even faster away from us.  My husband would not be deterred as he begins to walk in their general direction, continually making comments about the pool.  I laugh uncomfortably, and tell them he is only teasing.  His face lights up in a crooked grimace and returns to me as he awkwardly hugs me goodbye. 


A few minutes into my long drive to work, my cell phone starts to chime his ring.  He is defensive, trying to explain that he is tired, his back hurts and he needs rest.  I have no doubt that this is all true.  He has been doing back breaking work for the last several weeks.  I told him his schedule was to full and that he was working too hard.  He pushes, and pushes until he breaks then I am left to pick up the pieces and try to put it all back together. 


I finally arrive at my job, a thankless position of keeping a non-profit organization compliant with foundation policies.  The staff is fairly sick of me in my attempts to follow the policies and procedures to the letter (as I have been instructed to do by my new boss). The benefits are mediocre at best and the pay is worse.  Throughout the day, I continue to get phone calls from my husband.  Each one, more disjointed than the next.  Finally, at the end of the day, as I attempt to arrange the volunteer schedule for the week, make sure my fundraisers have all they need for the event that evening, for the event on Saturday and for the event coming up on Monday, my cell chimes his ring once more.  He is crying.  From the conversation, I make out that he was riding his bike to a local public pool he had heard of from yet another maintenance man that he accosted about our pool.  He said the gears seized up and his foot scraped the pavement, ripping off his toenail and loosing his sandals.  His story was that he was near the public pool when this happened so, in some manner, ended up getting first aid administered by a capable young lady. He was in no condition to ride the bike home so she offered to call local law enforcement to help him home. He agreed and waited.  Shortly, an ambulance drives up.  According to my husband, they insisted he get in so they could check him out.   They took his vitals and though his heart rate was slightly elevated and his blood pressure was off (he had just lost a lot of blood from scraping his toenail off) he was OK.  The police came.  A bored country cop with a chip on his shoulder meets my paranoid, anxiety riddled husband.  It did not go well, yet my man managed to escape the encounter without going to jail.  He began to walk home, wheeling his bike.  He told me he was still bleeding and in a lot of pain, when he came upon a woman in her yard. She allowed him to keep his bike at her house but could not give him a ride home due to not having a car.  Finally, he makes it home and into the shower.  I ask him if he needs stitches and inform him that there is a clinic right down the road from our complex.  He says he doesn't and requests that I hurry home.  I finally make it to our little slice of heaven (the complex is undergoing some extensive ground renovation and there are piles of earth, rocks, and construction vehicles all around)  As I drive to our cul-de-sac, I notice sandals, one broken, in the middle of the drive, very near our apartment.  Apparently, he had fallen here, lost his sandals but continued his journey in quest of a public pool.  I feel the concern turn to anger, like sour milk in my stomach then dread as to what condition I will find him in when I reach my door.  Thankfully, he is asleep so I give him a look over.  Blood in spots on our white comforter with a beach towel curled around one leg, he is asleep on a blow up mattress in the living room.  (No air conditioning in the bedroom so we do this on really warm nights) Sadness threatens to overwhelm me but I cannot cry.  I am not allowed to cry.  If he wakes up and sees tears he will become even more difficult to handle.  I roughly wipe my face with the back of my hand, a little too roughly. I do this in hopes that the self inflicted pain will prepare me for what is to come.  The night passes in various stages of wake and sleep. He wakes and I clean his toe. He sleeps. 


I Woke Up This Morning
Waking me up with a conversation he had with his grandfather a few days ago.  I was in the middle of a dream involving a pool and blood.  I shake my head to clear the cobwebs.  Morning comes and goes.  I give him a bath so the shower does not pound on his open wound and cause discomfort.  He awkwardly gets out of the tub, head sagging and lolling side to side as I attempt to dry him off.  I get angry at this apparent drunken appearance. He was not drinking this morning but the smell and the characteristics stay on him like stench on a wet dog.  He is angry with me for being unkind. He yells and slams his fist into the wall, fortunately, the wall is left intact.  I nervously try to calm him down, worried, scared that he may become more and more confused. When the confusion strikes, he hears things that no one has said and argues with it. Sometimes this causes him to lash out at me so I stay an arms distance.  I get him back on the mattress with promises of breakfast to come when I am saved by the ringing of my cell.  My friend, my only friend really, is calling me from her sunshine.  She had a fun, sake filled evening with friends and was driving home.  I envied her as she related the events of the evening.  The luxury of being invited to go out then crashing at someones house, feeling safe and happy. This is not part of my life. 


I squeeze my eyes together as I type, listening to the snores of my husband in the other room, not knowing what he will be like when (if) he wakes up today.  Yet another weekend of being alone while he sleeps.  I have decided to keep track so he can see how often he does this.  This is the second weekend in a row and counting.


I don't want to wake up tomorrow. It is easier not to wake up then being alone, sad.......

added at 5:30P.M.
Today, it feels like it will never get better. It feels like the pain in my heart will set me on fire from the inside out. That would be good, I think. To purge. I wanted to jump in the river today but the cliff wasn't high enough. It hurts so. I am screaming but no one hears my silent scream. no one
 .... I can hear him snoring. ..

It's been awhile...

Life has a way of speeding by whether you are living it or not. Considering the small amount of time we have, it is interesting how often people spend it on meaningless endeavors. 

Everyone usually wants to feel loved, happy, needed, or even just good. So why do we spend life on those things that result in the opposite of that?  I have just awakened from a ten or more year nap from life.  I am breathing for the fist time, seeing with my own eyes, feeling things that are real and thinking my own thoughts.  The prospects are dizzying, so now what? Do I go back to my farm on facebook and continue my life, farming virtual vegetables for mock money that I spend on a fictitious house with artificial decorations? What makes that any less real then the physical job that I go to every weekday? I get up early in the morning, sometimes, barely seeing my husband as we go through the morning ritual of "getting ready for work." Next, we hop into our environmentally damaging metal box to a place we are not all that thrilled to go, to do a job well and accurately so we can earn money to buy a better metal box to drive to work in and better clothes to wear to work and food that we can eat while we are working? 

I am slowly changing that about myself. I still have to go to work, most everyone does, but I can still control how I feel about it, I can see more if I choose to, feel more, live ......... well, more. As I continue to write, I will explain what I mean.  I have had to take back my life more than once in the few years I have walked this earth. Lamentably, the right to be who you are or, to find out who you are, can be taken from you.  In the beginning of my life, this happened to me. I seized it back! Then, later, I freely gave away my choices, deciding instead, to float along in an aimless ebb and flow that became my life.

I am me again and fully intend on staying that way! Today, I feel good, loved, happy and needed.