He Never Wanted Our Dog?!

He never wanted the house. He never wanted to change jobs to reduce his commute from an hour and a half down to thirty-five minutes. He says he just used that as an excuse. He says he changed jobs because I couldn't stay on a budget. We weren't even in debt, with the exception of a house payment, but we had money in savings and were fortunate enough not having to live paycheck to paycheck, or worse, like some in this economy.

He makes me feel that he made every decision just to make me happy and that's not true. It's just not true. He thinks he has a hard time saying no. Marriage is give and take and making exceptions for our spouse. It's communicating and compromise and forgiveness. Right?

If he were making decisions just for me and my happiness with no input our whole life would be different. From the vacations we went on, to the furniture we have, the car we drove. Go back all the way to our engagement and the ring we chose together. I'm not saying I would change it, I'm saying that he had input too. This was his life too and if he felt like he didn't speak up for what he wanted, he's mistaken.

But what hurts so much is when he told me he never wanted our dog. Our dog! Our dog?! Our dog!!! Our dog who loves him. Our dog who he taught to roll over, shake hands, shake the other hand, stay with a treat on its nose until he said okay. Our dog who loves to play fetch with him. Our dog who he would roll all over the floor with and play. Our dog who used to lick his hand and lick his hand and lick until every possible taste of his last meal was gone. He's wrong with that too. If he really didn't want the dog, why did we choose the breed he wanted? Don't get me wrong, I love my dog. He's my best friend, especially in these times, and I wouldn't give him up for the world. But why does he feel this wasn't a life he created too? And why is it that he's making me feel that his unhappiness is my fault?

How could you give up and not want this dog?! Tell me how?

I Just Want To Fix This

Last night we cried. Matt wrote me a scathing e-mail. He claims we've been doing it my way for years. He changed jobs in 2007. He went from a sometimes 1&1/2 hour commute to a 1/2 hour commute and, yes, we finally were able to save money and save for our future and a future family. But Matt says it's because I didn't want to stick to a budget. He said I would regularly drop large sums of money without batting an eyelid. Now he's asking me to limit spending so he can have his apartment. Matt makes it sound as if we were in debt! We're far from it with several thousands in a savings account alone and thousands always in checking!I didn't know he never wanted to leave the other job. Why didn't he say something?

Matt feels if he had cried out for help, when it comes to me and my depression, no one would have responded. He based this on when I told family and friends about my depression. I received no outpouring of help and support from either family or friends. He feels no one helped him and no one helped me. But I don't think we ever communicated that we needed help. He feels no one's ever stood up for him, including himself. But I have, especially during this process. I have stood up and defended him when family and friends begin to trash talk. I know that's their way of being protective, but it doesn't do me any good to hear such negativity and I dislike people talking bad about my husband, because I still love him. He feels that he has always put himself last out of concern of hurting other people, but it only ended up hurting himself. Why didn't he communicate how he was feeling? Why didn't he get help when I asked he join a support group for those living with someone with depression?

Matt typed the words, "Yes, I want to get a divorce." in the e-mail. The first time he's ever typed the words and the closest he's come to saying them to my face while looking into my eyes. The thing is, ever since I've been released from hospital care, I've talked about how I want things to be different. I've talked about how I want to put him first for once. I've said how I want to do the things he wants to do and enjoy together. Why won't he try? I'm so heart broken. He says I should accept the reality of the situation we're in, but I can't. I can't let go. Am I in denial? I don't think so. I guess I feel this way because I feel I haven't tried fixing it. If he would just let me in. I just want to fix this, remove the pain he feels, replace it with the love I have for him.

After I read Matt's e-mail I was in tears. How could he bring up these past issues? Issues I thought we moved past. Issues I thought were in our past. But he held onto them. He didn't keep them there in the past. He remained carrying the hurt around all without telling me a thing, which isn't fair to me.  But he's suffered through so much. He never once spoke up with a firmness in what he wants, at least it didn't appear that way to me. I know I'm not controlling, I would have listened if he had just spoke up. Matt has said for some time now that he feels like he plays the role of a pleaser. I feel I'm being penalized now for him not standing up for what he wants and believes in the past.

I was bawling. I couldn't e-mail Matt back. It's not getting my point across and, frankly, it's really a cowards way of communicating when it comes to serious matters like this. We really should be talking face to face. It's time I finally got answers. I picked up the telephone and called Matt, but he wouldn't answer. The more I called there still was no answer and I cried more and more. At times I felt like I was right on the edge of another panic attack. An hour or so later he finally picked up the phone. I tried speaking, but he couldn't understand me through my tears. After repeating myself three times he still couldn't understand me. I just got frustrated, hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch...or at least I thought I hung up.

Matt listened to me cry. He stayed on the phone while I cried, while I prayed to God, while I cried some more, spoke more to God. I'm not sure if he heard a word I said, but he did hear me cry...and Matt cried too. In a way, I wish he'd heard my prayer because a lot of it was praying for him, his heart, his pain. About 45 minutes later I noticed the phone was off the hook. I picked up the telephone and Matt was crying...bawling. We cried together. I apologized for being so angry lately. He said he doesn't want this to get vindictive. I told him I just can't let go and he knew that. We both agreed it's time to talk. Whether face to face, just the two of us, or with a marriage therapist together, it's time to talk and get answers and address matters.

I don't know if it will change a thing, but at least we'll be talking. I just want to fix everything, take away his pain and make it better. I hate this depression of mine. It's ruined so much of my life. Sometimes I ask, why has God forsaken me?

Is This The Anger Stage?

I'm so angry lately. They say with a death there is a grieving process. Since this feels a lot like a death, am I stuck in the anger stage? The past week and a half I've just been so angry with Matt. Sad & Angry. I've talked to Matt on the telephone twice and just blown my top. That's so unlike me. I've never talked so angry toward my husband before. We've always been calm, even when we disagree. My friends and family say it was about time, that I was being too nice to Matt. Maybe I was because I felt like he was so fragile. As soon as I talk about serious issues he bottles up and doesn't talk back but with a, "Yep" and a "Uh-huh". I don't know how much sinks in. The difficult thing is that each conversation where I've gotten so angry, we end up having a good and calm conversation in the end and I find out more of how Matt's feeling than I think I have in years!

Here's something that I've felt is so backwards. We come into this world not picking our family. (Some may feel otherwise on this topic, but I don't think you do, but that's besides the point.) We don't choose our siblings, we don't choose our parents. Yet, we are attached and bonded to them for the rest of our lives, for most people. They may do things that hurt us and we eventually forgive them, but for most of us we don't give up on them. Right? Then we get married. We choose to spend the rest of our lives with that one person. Sickness, health, better, worse, good times, bad. Then some of us have kids. We don't get to choose who our kids are and who they will be when they grow up. Yet as parents, most of us love and never give up on our kids. They may hurt us, disappoint us and all those things, but most of us love and don't give up on them.

So my point is, all those people we don't get to choose who will be attached to us for the rest of our lives. Yet, the one person we CAN choose. The one person we choose to live with for the rest of our lives and we live with them the longest overall, is also the one person that is easiest to walk away from. Promising to spend forever with them was what? A lie? The one person you choose to spend forever with. It's so backwards, don't you think? Why is that?

I know it's a different kind of love, but in my case, it's just so frustrating because I feel like I got the atomic bomb dropped on me one day and all I want to do is fix it. But first, I don't know what to fix, and second, he doesn't appear to want to fix it. It's so frustrating in life when other people won't put in the work that's required of them.

These are my thoughts for this Monday. Thanks to all for your kind words, love and prayers.

Psych Ward -- ME?!

Depression, many people experience it at some time in their life. A death, a divorce, loss of a job. But some are more than depressed. Some are clinically depressed. It can happen to anyone. 1 in 5 Americans experience clinical depression at some point. More common in women than men. The cause is unclear, genetics, brain chemistry, life events and other diseases can play a part and add to it. There is still so little known about the brain.

Many people with depression do not seek treatment. They either don't know they have it or fear the social stigma of mental illness. Trust me, attorneys suffer from clinical depression, various CEO's do too, actors do, doctors do, artists, professors, fire fighters, various people from various walks of life.

Expanding on my last post, I checked myself into a psychiatric ward (yes, the "psych ward") Tuesday, March 22, 2011. My husband left for a weekend to put his words together to form sentences and answers to my questions as to why he didn't think he could "do this anymore" and what we can do to try and heal what is broken. Little did I know, he was spending that weekend finding an apartment, signing a three month lease and going on a furniture spending spree at IKEA. He was expected home Sunday, but didn't come home and after a phone call with him that evening my gut told me he was leaving me and my mind went to a place I didn't recognize in myself.

Monday night Matt, my husband, was expected home once again after he finished work. He was late, and then later, and then even later. I know now he didn't want to tell me he had left and got an apartment and asked my mother to tell me. Mom laid into him pretty good telling him this was his decision and he needed to tell me himself. (That really should have been my first sign that my husband has no balls.)

He finally arrived, told me the news and after a long conversation, the end result was for him to work on himself and me to work on myself and in a few months, at the end of his lease, we would come back together to see if it was time to try again.

The next day, following the advice of Mom and my family doctor, I checked into the "psych ward". You see, I have lived with clinical depression for the past 8 years. In my past I've been to see 2 psychologists, one marriage counselor and my family doctor has had me on various antidepressants. My thoughts never really went to suicide before.

But, I'm not THAT bad. Am I? I pictured straight jackets, zombies over-medicated and over electric shocked. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Girl Interrupted, so to speak.

This was my beginning. MY beginning. And an end?

On a side thought, I saw the cows in the valley near me today laying down in the field. Doesn't that mean it's supposed to rain? This Spring we've had perhaps five days that actually felt like Spring. I love Spring and I wish it would just come and stay.

My World Stopped Spinning

March 20, 2011 my world stopped spinning. The rug was pulled out from under me. I was blindsided. It felt like my husband rowed me out into the middle of an ocean, dumped me overboard and along came Hurricane New Life and I'm still being tossed around inside the hurricane not knowing where it's going to stop, where it's going to spit me out and where and when I'm going to land.

That night I knew, he was going to leave me. He was going to leave us. Panic struck my heart and soul. I couldn't control it and I now know it was a panic attack. But during the panic attack I thought, "Well...there's pills in the house.", but I never went to get them. I never had a plan. No notes were written, no action was taken. I just didn't have the will to go on with life.

Quickly I reacted. I'd experienced a panic attack in the past and Matt, my husband, was able to calm me down. He was my rock. I needed him just to help calm me. He could not...no he would not...be there for me. Sometimes I really dislike cell phones. Sometimes I really loath text messaging, which is how he chose to tell me he could not talk. He'd gone to a hotel Friday night and was taking the weekend to form his thoughts into words because he couldn't talk to me or answer any of my questions. Little did I know he was already taking action.

In the middle of this panic attack, sweating unbelievably and breathing so heavy one would think I just ran a marathon, I know my thoughts had gone to a wrong place. I needed help. I needed to calm down. I went to the phone book. Why can you not find a suicide prevention hotline number in the phone book? I looked in the beginning of the book, I looked under 'S' for 'suicide' and nothing! Even though she didn't know, even though I didn't want to worry her, I had to reach out to my mother.

My mother gave birth to me 39 years ago and that night, Sunday, March 20, 2011, I think she saved my life.