And some days are pearls

Dear you,

I’m just so frustrated (useful word that the 3-year-old has just learned and is practising putting into context, not difficult to do in our house).

I can’t bear to hear another word in that flat, monotone voice. I miss a dynamic voice; some kind of indication that he experiences emotions, some of them positive.

There are so many things that I dread raising in conversation: events, work that needs doing around the house, bills, plans of any kind that involve leaving home.

I am always scheming to find ways to avoid placing extra pressure on him at all and I’m anxious all the time that I might fail.

I know, this is so selfish. It’s invariably worse to be the one who’s depressed, to feel nothing, to struggle with basic everyday life.

I don’t have the illness, but I have the symptoms.

It’s not that today is worse than many others. I just realised that it is in fact boringly familiar. We go down, we go up, we go down.

So hello to you out there if you’re reading this and you’re living a similar kind of life, if your partner is depressed and you find some days almost impossible and you’re screaming to get out of your head, if you feel like you can’t explain why you stay (sometimes not even to yourself).

Flo