And we're off! Sunday morning and I have a head ache after last night's drama. Living with someone suffering from depression means they go up...and down...and up...and....And it can all happen in 12 hours.
Every time we have a good day I tell myself I am making the right choice to live with Colin, and then every time there is an incident, my compassion for what he is going through is tempered by the desire to find a little cottage of own to retreat to.
Last night was another in those bad moments that just chip away at the love between people. We'd had a pretty nice day, outside, active, lots of good talk and some yummy intimate moments, and a lovely dinner we made got topped off by Colin deciding we had to have a big party and invite 40 people via email so 4 would show up at our house for the event. The logic? He had a crappy social life on his own (all true) and this was the only way to get any of these people to agree to see him. Never mind he forgot to ask me whether I was up for the work on my end (I am not), or whether this kind of big blast of effort would make sense to anyone but him. When I questioned the scheme he got furious and pointed out--rightly so--that I needed to be more straightforward about what I wanted to do--not have a party--before I criticized his efforts.
I agreed on that, but the evening spiraled into a mad and regressed Colin plunging into depression and hugging his pillow. I was facing yet another Saturday night wondering how I had gotten myself into a relationship where I was so committed but I wasn't having fun.
Problem is, I don't know how to fix his depression, I don't believe I can, and don't think it's my job to. On the other hand, he is a wonderful man, I love him, and I feel so bad for all he is going through and how fragile his self-esteem is at this very minute. But if I don't break free a little bit--I am going to suffocate.
Welcome to Sunday, Ugh.
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