He tries his best, bless, as they say round here.
I hate to get up with another nag; he calls me his sat nag, I understand what he’s going through. I’ve spent 18 months listening patiently to him.
My own circumstances are more trying, but my stoic femininity keeps me going. I asked him over breakfast to wash my cardigans as I’ve none for work.
Before February 2013, I’d have approached this request with caution – his irritability and anger – pre-medications – was tangible. But not now. He’s lost his edge.
He smiles back and says “Sorry, yes I’ll wash them today.”
Ok this is hardly the stuff of Greek tragedy or Shakespearean romance, but it’s positive in the big scheme of things.
I’m not entirely sure if it’s absence from work or the SSRIs, but he’s calmer, more laid back, and the bags under his eyes – which I thought were bags for life – have almost vanished.
Despite his insomnia, flashbacks and nightmares.
He misses the ability to get angry, to rage, to complain, but I don’t. I can see he’s numbed from what’s gone on – the deceits, the trauma, the harassment – but he’s easier now to live with. He’s hardly cuckoo nest material but he’s been psychologically damaged by events.
After Christmas, I was incredibly worried about his mental state, and even up to Paris, I said on leaving “Don’t do anything daft, whilst I’m away.” He assured me he wouldn’t. And I believed him. I’ve lost one family member to depression – a brother – and I don’t want history repeating itself. He’s busying himself with building a website, which I can see has been therapeutic in unleashing his latent creativity. He’s also got a diary thing to plan where he has to determine tasks for the days ahead and try to stick to them. I resist the urge to write “wash my cardigans” on the schedule, as I’m sure he’ll add it in his OCD ways.
The stress he’s enduring affects us all: the uncertainty over his career and our financial future. We’ve got used to a way of living and I’m not sure he’d adapt to changing that if circumstances dictate. He’s always got to have the latest phone, gadget, tablet, car etc, with his excuse being some lurid tales of teachers who retired rich but died soon after jacking in. He won’t leave money just debts.
I resist the urge to phone him as he appears to not listen – I wonder if he’s washed the cardies, shall I text him?
No, I will wait.