Like a widow I am going to have to learn to be more resourceful. But unlike a widow I don't have the luxury of a home to return to - to curl up alone in a safe place and 'lick my wounds'. When I'm out and about I have to put on a 'brave face' otherwise people will avoid me. Friends understand and are quietly supportive if I'm not on top form. When I'm home I have to put on a brave face again.Otherwise my depressive gets even more anxious and upset at the distress he is causing me and how it is upsetting my life. It's a roller coaster ride. Sometimes the negativity is soul destroying. The petty nit picking is demoralising. I've lost my best friend and I'm sad.
I examine the website on how to cope with self esteem problems when living with a depressed person and know that although I often feel that life is a sickening roller coaster ride and feel as if I am trying to balance on a very wobbly fence - it is not surprising that I feel burnt out and stressed.
To quote Anne Sheffield "Interactions with depression sufferers range from difficult to unbearable. When you offer love and affection, they are not returned. When you offer sympathy, you are told you don't understand what is wrong. When you offer support, you receive complaints that it is not enough, or not the right kind. Those who remind us of the depressive's need for sympathy, support, and love are correct, but they leave out the other half of the equation: it is hard to give all those things when you're not receiving them."
Thursday, 15 March 2007
I really must get out more. But trouble is I'm a bit like a widow. But without the dead spouse. I'm not a golfing widow, I'm a depression widow. It's a bit awkward to fit me into the social sphere. I'm not a widow and unattached. I'm married but my husband rarely goes out or socialises. He is only happy at home and he's rarely happy there. Everyone asks after him and I'm now at a loss as to what to answer. He is seen out and about on occasions. After all there are medical appointments he has to attend. Otherwise I think people would think that I'd murdered him; buried his body in the garden and just carry on claiming his disability pension. I don't murder him as I worry I wouldn't get away with it. In which case I still wouldn't be free. In some ways widowhood would be easier. The end product - if I can call it that - would mean that I'd have to get used to it and move on. As it is we are both trapped and unhappy. One way or another Depression has us both in its grip. Like a widow I am going through the gamut of emotions [I did denial first] now I'm working through loss, anger, grief etc.