Depression: The completely irrational anger comes out

See, and I know it's completely irrational. I get it. But still.

I lived with the man for more than 10 years. There were times in those 10 years when he got down, and I mean really, really down, down to the point where I was nervous who or what I'd find when I got home. Down to the point where I got tired of his down and just wanted my happy man back. These times, for him, beings as how he's a very black and white concrete thinker, were down times for a reason. He was out of work. When we moved to Rapid he did not find work for months. And it was a scary time. But I did my best to understand and I paid for stuff and I tried my best to both cheer him up and lift him out. I stayed with him and loved him and helped him as best I could. And then, later, similar situations both when we moved here and after the hospital gig--both times he was out of work for a while and it brought him down. Understandably. And I stood by him, give me an A for effort, and for understanding and being supportive. And not telling him to just snap out of it or demanding that he talk about it. But also for being there when he did need to talk, and for helping with resume work and on-line job applications and trying to work through the unemployment process and the weird child support paperwork that came due at that same time. I was awesome, man, best woman a guy could want to have around!

During those 10 years I'm not saying I was up and happy every damn day but I only had three serious or long term depressions during those times--first, when my grandma died. I cried and cried in the night, was down and feared for the future. He was pretty supportive but couldn't understand the "why" of it. He wanted a simple reason and I had none to offer. I didn't realize until later how deeply her death affected me. Even now, thinking back, it might be a bit too simplistic to claim that it was all about my grandma's death. I was overwhelmed with the cost of living in Rapid and could feel us sinking down, financially, at the same time that I was dealing with the emotions surrounding her death. But overall, I'd rate him a C for how he dealt with my depression, with me, during that time.

The second time it affected both of us and I think we were both pretty good to each other as we each struggled to come to terms with the Nephew death after the big drawn out drama that had been the Nephews' Mom's Deployment. I'll just give us a both a B for this one and call it good.

But then about a year and a half ago, maybe longer, I fell into a horrible depression. I could feel it; I wondered aloud if I should seek meds for it. When I spoke to him about it his answer was always , "What are you depressed about?" I could not answer for life is not so clear cut, not so black and white for me. I thought things through. I contemplated him, me, us. I contemplated where we were and how things were between us. I was feeling like I didn't matter to him anymore, he didn't seem to care if I was there or not. When I talked, he rarely listened and I felt as though every single thing I said I had to repeat because after anything and everything I said, his reply would be, "What?" He was no longer interested in any kind of physical contact, although we still slept in the same bed. We never touched except by accident, by reflex while sleeping. I examined it all and it brought me farther down. I tried to talk about it and was met with replies of, "That's what happens when you get old," and "I do too listen." And then he got an ipod.

It was bad enough before, when all he did all evening, every evening was watch tv, but when he started to listen to the ipod while he watched tv, essentially totally shutting me out of his life completely? I could tell there was a reason, finally, for my depression. And there was a point where, if he'd tried just helping me through my depression, talking to me and working things out, I think it could have been saved. But instead, as I fell down deeper into my depressive spiral, he just shut me out more and more, refusing to even try to understand how things were with me. We went from this happy couple to one who never spoke to each other, touched each other, looked at each other or did anything together within the course of like 2 years.

And here's the irrational part: I'm so happy, now, for how things worked out. I know, now, that I really did want out and I'm glad I got out while I'm just 44. But I'm still irrationally angry at him, now, for not "getting" it, for not trying to help pull me out of my despair and working with me. I feel like, as I look back, I could have killed myself and he'd have just gone, whew, wonder what her problem was? And just moved on. I exaggerate. But I'm mad and irrational. Why couldn't he see how depressed I was? I pretty much lost all my energy and totally shut down, couldn't do much but sleep and cry. He'd lived with me a long time. I could have tried reaching out more, but I did try to the best of my ability. He laughed at me, misunderstood (deliberately obtuse?), and dismissed me. And I'm mad because I could easily have done likewise when he was down but I didn't do that. And I'm mad because I got so, so tired of anything and everything always having to be initiated by me.

Ah well, it's over now. And now I see that perhaps he just does not have the depth to see how far down I was and since there was no external cause that he could identify, well, "I guess," he thought, "it'd just be easier to ignore her." And after all I did for him. Bastard.