I worry that your not happy and that’s because of me he said to me this morning.
Why? I said looking up at him.
Because I should make you happy he replied.
I’m not happy when it happens because of me. You have no control of the circumstances behind my happiness or not- I am, I said to him.
My husband thinks about my mental health a lot- I’m guessing. In truth, I have never asked but it became apparent he did when I was struggling one year and he asked if I wanted to kill myself. Despite the depths, my mental health has been I have never been in that much pain. I have wanted to leave, stop being a burden, an embarrassment, a weight to my family- yes- but not kill myself.
When he asked me that one morning; whilst we lay in bed, I cried that I would cause someone I love, that much worry. In the past seven years’s I have had two bouts of depression both brought on by exhaustion. My anxiety battles have tittered me back to the edge numerous times, however, I have been in control of my anxiety for almost 18months now. After finally understanding where it stemmed from and what to do with it. I still get anxiety but after much work, I am in control of it now and I’m not afraid to admit I struggle every now and then.
Regardless of my husband has been amazing since I told him I was struggling all those years ago. He was like Superman the day I crashed and the best thing was he never tried to fix it. That wasn’t what I wanted either, I was sick not broken. In the beginning, he took charge for my own safety as best he could in the middle of the Indian Ocean, he asked for the help I should have yet he never treated me like I was fragile.
Despite my fears that he wouldn’t understand, that he would be disappointed in that I wasn’t able to care for our children, he did understand and he encouraged me to seek help; knowing only I could do that. He gave me the space to get well. He helped me get better. He listened, only gave advice when I asked or he really thought it was necessary because the chemicals in my brain were way out of wack {or I was overreacting to something so very small}. He never got impatient with me because I was unwell and he got that. He didn’t judge my decision to take medication or judge when I came off. He just made sure I knew he was there, that he had my back. He probably wanted to scream and shout at me a thousand times but he didn’t and honestly as I sit here I wonder where he got his patience because this is the man who can’t deal with a scattered pantry let alone a scattered wife but he did.
He did it all again when I become unwell the second time because as a slow learner of not asking for help I hadn’t really learnt my lesson the first time. Then my leftover anxiety from an unresolved problem would rob me of myself. During the past seven years, he never told me to get over it, or that I was being stupid, over-reactive or unreasonable he just didn’t. I can only guess that he knew that it wasn’t who I was.
He made me feel safe to be crazy and I can call myself that because I was so far removed from myself because I was tired, exhausted, irritable and scared that I was crazy. Yet he loved me still and he made me know and feel that.
He did exactly what and all he could for my happiness. He lived up to his in sickness and health vow as promised and that couldn’t make me happier.
xx Deb
