Here I am, watching my son play LEGO Lord of the Rings on the Xbox, drinking my first free cup of coffee in quite some time. My husband, who is so sick that he slept on the couch, left the house to start-up the lawn mower as soon as I emerged from the bedroom.
Of all the things I thought I’d do to this marriage, I never thought I’d kill it with depression.
I did not foresee that.
For now, I have a house to clean up and some baking to do. And in two days, more trips to the outpatient hospital to get electrocuted. Perhaps it’s all more poignant this way; Since I’m not trying to get better to save my marriage anymore, maybe getting electrocuted and heavily medicated will mean just that much more to my children when they hear the stories once they’re old enough.
Happy Weekend, STO readers.
This time, the hospital kept me long enough to convince me that shock therapy was an option. I went through a few treatments while staying inpatient, and now I’m home with the promise that I’ll return next week for the last two, and two sheets full of prescriptions.
What was the same when I got home? Nothing. My memory: gone. My dog…well my dog is still awesome. And my husband is reserving judgement on what will happen to our marriage until after the last two shocks.
I can’t blame him, really except I do. Blame him, that is. I can say this: I’m grateful that my partner is such a good father. My kids are OK. At least my kids are OK.
I ruined my husband’s birthday, this year. But it’s not the first time, I find as I pore back over the journals of our lives. The very first year we met and fell in love across the country from each other, I was absent when he tried to call me on his birthday.
I can apologize all day but nothing will fix that I don’t really care about birthdays. I used to, and I cared about mine, even. But now I hate them and the obligation and the guilt and the CONSTANT FUCKING FEMALE PARTNER responsibility in every relationship I’ve ever had, to remember and handle all birthdays. My contention is that (in the hetero partnership anyway, I don’t know the details of other arrangements) the woman gets blamed when birthdays (extended family ones) get shit on. Maybe I’m just Southern, but I think I’m right.
Anyway. Tomorrow is my son’s birthday and I’m going to try not to ruin it, even though I’ve been sleeping either in a hospital bed or a shitty motel for almost a month now, trying to figure out where I fit into their lives anymore.
Definitely it’s become clear that where I don’t fit, is my husband’s heart. But who can blame him, really? How long can you love a crazy person before your love just…dissolves?
It’s shocking, isn’t it? How much about human relationships can stay exactly the same, even while the actual vehicles we use to interact with each other are turning into space props from the future.
We’re making jokes about how in the olden days we used quarters and put them into phones that stood still. And I’m still not sure what it means, are we better, worse? What would’ve happened to all those totally silent camping trips, and hours-long walks through the city streets, if there was a constant deluge of “MOREFASTERCOOLERBETTER” flashing in front of our eyes. This makes me wonder how anyone falls in love in this age basically predicated on people’s need to compare and adjust their desires against comparisons.
My middle daughter is 8 years old now. I couldn’t fathom even being in the same place for 8 years, 20 years ago. But here I am, not one but three children into the life I ran like hell to escape when I went to North Carolina. My daughter, eight, will be attending a SCHOOL DANCE after class on Friday. A boy has asked her, and when I refused she said “GOD! WE’RE FRIENDS! IT”S NOT LIKE WE”RE DATING!” And I can’t help but think WHAT are these kids watching and exposed to that they are asking each other on dates at 8 years old?
Every generation thinks about previous ones in the rosy glow of it-was-great because it-sucks-here. I know that while raising my kids and grousing about how much less polluted/better educated/better paid the previous generation(s) was, I must also remember that —AHAHAHAHA this is the part of the letter where I talk about how much equality has come to the forefront of our conversations, about how women now, as opposed to women backthen, enjoy equal pay and respect in media, the workplace, and their relationships.
So, future travelers. Just read our missives and create a textbook out of the battles we fought and fought, and ultimately lost.