I am the son, and the heir
of a shyness that is criminally vulgar.
I am the son and heir
of nothing in particular.
I threw up in the parking lot at work yesterday as I was getting ready to leave, and then I sat in my car and cried for about ten minutes. She had let me know that she was going by the house during the day to pick up more things, which meant I’d be going back to an even emptier house than before. The only thing I really noticed that she took was the Ninja Foodie, but it doesn’t matter. She could take everything, honestly. She still didn’t take her stuffed animals, and I wonder if it’s because they make her think of me. Maybe she’ll find another one to adopt.
On the drive back, my mind went to dark places. How easy would it be to swerve suddenly into a telephone pole? What angle would I have to hit it to maximize the chance of it being a fatal crash? What’s the minimum speed needed to render an airbag ineffective? You were warned. I said dark places. But I made a promise. I made a promise as she and I touched. The only time we’ve touched since she said she was leaving. I can’t control where my mind goes. I can only control how I react to it. So I slowed down a bit, and got in the left lane to put a little more distance between those poles and myself. (And now that I’ve written this, if I get into any sort of car accident I’ll be committed. Wonderful.)
I stood in my living room, on the verge of a panic attack, and tried to focus myself… Ground myself. I’ve been trying to go through several different ones, to see if some help more than others. The first one on the list is ‘describe your environment in detail’ which I really can’t do in the house, because it just points out all the things of hers that aren’t there. So I started on the second one: Play a “categories” game with yourself. I started naming off dogs types, one for each letter of the alphabet…. Akita… Beagle… Chow Chow… Doberman… and then I got stuck. I’m sure it would have been fine to skip E and move on to F, but… wait… are there dog breeds that start with F? Does an adjective count? Can I say “English Setter” and “French Bulldog?” I need to know the rules. Are those proper names? Would they work in a game of Scattergories? I don’t know if that counted as Grounding myself… but it distracted me, so I’ll call it a draw at worst.
There’s a club if you’d like to go.
You could meet somebody who really loves you.
So you go and you stand on your own, and you leave on your own,
and you go home and you cry and you want to die.
I rowed on the machine for 20 minutes. It was probably too long, and I probably pushed myself too hard, especially since I’ve been rowing every day this week instead of just Mon/Wed/Fri like I used to. I just had music playing the whole time (Can you guess which song? I’ll give you two hints. It’s not a workout song, and it’s like seven minutes long.) I found myself singing along as I rowed. Singing might be the wrong word… breathlessly chanting along, maybe. Singing (and dancing) are on one of the lists of Grounding techniques as well, and I do love music. I know The Smiths might be some of the worst music to listen to while you’re drowning in Depression, but it does focus me. The problem is that it may focus me in the wrong direction. Grounding is designed to detach yourself from the emotional pain, distract yourself by focusing on something OTHER than the difficult emotions you’re going through. But it does make me feel a little better, so I don’t know.
After rowing, I ate part of a cucumber and a sad-wich to finish off the last of the ham before it went bad. Truthfully, it was probably already bad. I just can’t smell very well, and I have historically eaten bad ham a couple of times in the past year. It didn’t have the rainbow sheen on it yet, though… but it was kind of shiny for ham. Then I sat down and started another letter to her. She picked the previous one up with her mail when she’d come by. I don’t know if she read it. I don’t think she would have thrown it away, but can’t know for sure. The first letter, though, was mostly about me. Sharing insight into what my Depression feels like and how it lies to me… Things that I should’ve shared with her all along. Some of the sentiment I’ve already mirrored here, but some was just for her.
This letter is going to be about her, though. It’s about what she means to me, and how I would treat her if she gives me another chance. It’s harder to write this one because I have to stop and cry a lot more often. The thing is… I know I’m fighting a losing battle. I know there’s no guarantee that this is going to end with us back together, that the odds are probably very much against it. It’s also more than a breach of trust that needs repairing. It’s years of complacency when I should have been showing her, every fucking day, how much she meant to me…
I also know that there’s an extremely high possibility that I’m the only one in the marriage who has any hope of us fixing it, which is probably why I hear her singing this next verse in my head every time it comes around…
When you say it’s gonna happen now
When exactly do you mean?
See I’ve already waited too long
and all my hope is gone.
– All lyrics from How Soon is Now? by The Smiths