Fuck.
Oct. 31st:
Last night was pretty awful. My mother called to tell me all about her chemo treatment, and it really upset me. I ended up having two glasses of wine at dinner. When I got home, I was very upset.
Skyler always asks why I won't open up to him. And so I started opening up. I told him how I'm going to start going into therapy when I get back from my trade show trip in January. I'll have insurance by then. But I basically said that it's a necessity. That things had gotten pretty bad in the past, and I'd even started researching pills, but nixed the idea because people have the tendency to wake up in the middle of a suicide attempt. I figured it would be less messy to go to therapy, and so I decided to do that.
He flipped out. He flipped out and called me a liar-- since I had 'lied' about how depressed I really was to him, I was therefore a liar that he could never trust again, and he especially couldn't trust that I wasn't lying when I said that I'm working on it now.
I said that I'm doing better. I'm being social, I have trusted friends looking out for me, and I'm going to get professional help just as soon as I can afford it. He kept replying with condescending, dismissive bullshit like, "I hope that's true, but I can't trust you that it is."
I kept saying, "Sky, I'm working on it. I'm working to get better, and it's not as bad as it was." And he'd reply icily the same.
I was flat out saying, "I am not currently suicidal," and every time, he replied with some version of "well sure, but you're also a liar."
I got irate. I didn't want him anywhere physically near me. Every time I left the room, he followed me. I asked him to leave, and he wouldn't. It was a serious boundary violation. He made me feel like I was crazy. Worse, he heaped guilt on me by calling me a liar on top of everything else I'm already working on. I'd been making headway, moving forward, and he basically shoved me several paces back. I told him that this is why I never let him in. THIS IS WHY I KEEP THINGS TO MYSELF.
What made it the worst was that he made it about him. He took an extremely emotionally vulnerable moment and turned it about his anger. He was angry that I "lied" to him by not telling him how upset I was. That I hurt him with my angry words. That I physically shoved him when he insisted on touching me when I said very clearly, "I do not want you to touch me." I'm sure it was part of some bizzare fear reaction, but you know what? I don't fucking care. His response was one of the least compassionate I can possibly think of. I was finally opening up to him about something serious and core, and he took that trust and basically twisted it.
October 31st:
Tonight, he said that only one other person has ever lied to him to the magnitude which I have apparently lied to him. And that person was his father.
I was so livid at being compared to a manipulative, abusive asshole that I almost punched him.
Not to mention the major reason I "lied" (ie-- didn't tell him the full extent of the depression) until I was mostly clear of it is because I knew I couldn't trust him to keep my personal business confidential. And I was right. Which is kind of a big red flag.
Tonight:
Things did not go well at all. He was being very distant, and when I asked if this is the way it was going to be all night, he said yes. And probably for a long time. Because he couldn't trust me, and he couldn't be close to me if he couldn't trust me.
Because of course, when I'm so depressed that I had been considering offing myself, his trust issues are really what's important, yes?
And so I tried to explain the "lying." Things got the worst for me about four months ago, and I had another spike of severe depression about two months ago. I didn't know how to put these things into words. How does one really say, "so, I'm considering taking sleeping pills and taping a bag around my head"? Especially when one really knows that it's just the depression talking, and I should get help. So I threw myself at new things. New things being bellydance, new friendships. Distraction therapy. And things started to get even keel. I needed distance between me and the low point before I could even try to put it into words.
Not to mention asking for help. It's not something I do well, or easily. A lot of it is childhood/upbringing/parental baggage, and I learned to survive by retreating inside myself, inside my journals. I don't know how to do a lot of things as well as I should-- including accepting compliments, accepting gifts, and accepting help most of all. So, getting to the point where it was either ask for help or die, it was kind of a sharp contrast kind of moment.
I knew that even if I could put it into words, talking to him would be virtually the same as being essentially forced into some embarassing and traumatizing intervention. So I kept up with the distraction therapy and took the "fake it 'til you make it" approach to happiness.
Until the night of my mother's chemo. When I was genuinely very upset and afraid. My guard slipped, and I started telling him a little more of the full extent of the depression. And that's when he flipped out and started calling me a liar.
So, then I told him that it's not truly in my heart to break up right now, but if we're going to stay together, then I need him to work on being a warmer, more compassionate partner. Which he said he already was. He told me that I needed to not lie to him. Which... fine. But I have to trust you if you want me to tell you things. And trust has to be built. Judging from his reaction earlier in the week, I'm not particularly inclined to be open with him right now, you know?
I also told him that his repeatedly calling me a liar is doing a lot more harm than good, and if he wanted to help me, he'd cut it out. He told me he wasn't trying to help me. That I don't get "unconditional help" because I'd lied to him. If I wanted his help, I would have to go into therapy.
Fine, I said. No problem. Already working on it. In fact, it was something I'd comitted to before I even said a word about depression to him.
No, he said. Sooner. He wanted a deadline. He even used the word "deadline." He wanted me to start calling therapists by Tuesday, or he wouldn't help me. An even exchange, you see.
And I told him he was fucked in the head. He should want to support me because I'm his fucking girlfriend who loves him and I fucking need support right now. But I'm a liar, you see, and so I'm not entitled to help.
I said fine. How is November 30th for a deadline? A little under a month to find and interview a good therapist? Not good enough.
At that point, I got out of the car and walked away in tears.
I only stayed at the dance for about twenty minutes, most of which I spent sobbing in the ladies' room.
When Sarah drove me home, I called him. I said look, I know you're scared because well, this is fucking scary, and you're angry that I didn't tell you. But stop with the "I can't love liars" bullshit because you do love me. And you've spent at least two nights a week in my bed, tangled up, making love, being cuddly and disgusting, for the last year and a half. You might confuse your anger for falling out of love, but all it is is hurt and fear.
And I got a firm, cold, "thank you, I have to go. I'll call you on Sunday. I have to decide if I still love you or not."
Yeah. That's when I raised my voice. Then I hung up.
I fell apart.
I know that he's a douche. I know that I deserve better.
All of that doesn't change that I do love him, and I want the person with whom I've been sharing my bed and body and food and love with for the past year to not be a jackass to me right when I absolutely need him the most. I am about to undertake something really scary for me, and my mother is sick on top of it. This is not the time for him to be selfish and self-centered and issuing ultimatims about my mental health.
I don't think it's too much to ask that someone who (as of Tuesday) loved me to be a kind, compassionate human being when I'm dealing with a sick mother, frightening depression, and all the other bullshit that life throws my way. I may not always have it together. I may have a fight-or-flight response. None of that changes that I love him and asked for his help and finally opened up and was called a liar for my troubles.
I know that it's that he doesn't know how to deal with this. I know that's because seeing me in so much pain (because really, it's evident) is a stark reminder to him of how much of his own pain he's got bottled up. I know he's scared for me. All that said, his response has been the furthest from appropriate that I can rationally conceive. This is not okay, and I hate myself for thinking, "if he can only realize what he's doing, it might be okay." Because it won't. Because I can't change him. Because he's so fucking delusional about his own emotions that he can't see past them to support me.
I can't deal with this. It feels like someone is knifing me in the chest. It hurts so bad. I can't do all of this at once. I am so tired of being hurt. Of being in pain. It's too much.
Last night was pretty awful. My mother called to tell me all about her chemo treatment, and it really upset me. I ended up having two glasses of wine at dinner. When I got home, I was very upset.
Skyler always asks why I won't open up to him. And so I started opening up. I told him how I'm going to start going into therapy when I get back from my trade show trip in January. I'll have insurance by then. But I basically said that it's a necessity. That things had gotten pretty bad in the past, and I'd even started researching pills, but nixed the idea because people have the tendency to wake up in the middle of a suicide attempt. I figured it would be less messy to go to therapy, and so I decided to do that.
He flipped out. He flipped out and called me a liar-- since I had 'lied' about how depressed I really was to him, I was therefore a liar that he could never trust again, and he especially couldn't trust that I wasn't lying when I said that I'm working on it now.
I said that I'm doing better. I'm being social, I have trusted friends looking out for me, and I'm going to get professional help just as soon as I can afford it. He kept replying with condescending, dismissive bullshit like, "I hope that's true, but I can't trust you that it is."
I kept saying, "Sky, I'm working on it. I'm working to get better, and it's not as bad as it was." And he'd reply icily the same.
I was flat out saying, "I am not currently suicidal," and every time, he replied with some version of "well sure, but you're also a liar."
I got irate. I didn't want him anywhere physically near me. Every time I left the room, he followed me. I asked him to leave, and he wouldn't. It was a serious boundary violation. He made me feel like I was crazy. Worse, he heaped guilt on me by calling me a liar on top of everything else I'm already working on. I'd been making headway, moving forward, and he basically shoved me several paces back. I told him that this is why I never let him in. THIS IS WHY I KEEP THINGS TO MYSELF.
What made it the worst was that he made it about him. He took an extremely emotionally vulnerable moment and turned it about his anger. He was angry that I "lied" to him by not telling him how upset I was. That I hurt him with my angry words. That I physically shoved him when he insisted on touching me when I said very clearly, "I do not want you to touch me." I'm sure it was part of some bizzare fear reaction, but you know what? I don't fucking care. His response was one of the least compassionate I can possibly think of. I was finally opening up to him about something serious and core, and he took that trust and basically twisted it.
October 31st:
Tonight, he said that only one other person has ever lied to him to the magnitude which I have apparently lied to him. And that person was his father.
I was so livid at being compared to a manipulative, abusive asshole that I almost punched him.
Not to mention the major reason I "lied" (ie-- didn't tell him the full extent of the depression) until I was mostly clear of it is because I knew I couldn't trust him to keep my personal business confidential. And I was right. Which is kind of a big red flag.
Tonight:
Things did not go well at all. He was being very distant, and when I asked if this is the way it was going to be all night, he said yes. And probably for a long time. Because he couldn't trust me, and he couldn't be close to me if he couldn't trust me.
Because of course, when I'm so depressed that I had been considering offing myself, his trust issues are really what's important, yes?
And so I tried to explain the "lying." Things got the worst for me about four months ago, and I had another spike of severe depression about two months ago. I didn't know how to put these things into words. How does one really say, "so, I'm considering taking sleeping pills and taping a bag around my head"? Especially when one really knows that it's just the depression talking, and I should get help. So I threw myself at new things. New things being bellydance, new friendships. Distraction therapy. And things started to get even keel. I needed distance between me and the low point before I could even try to put it into words.
Not to mention asking for help. It's not something I do well, or easily. A lot of it is childhood/upbringing/parental baggage, and I learned to survive by retreating inside myself, inside my journals. I don't know how to do a lot of things as well as I should-- including accepting compliments, accepting gifts, and accepting help most of all. So, getting to the point where it was either ask for help or die, it was kind of a sharp contrast kind of moment.
I knew that even if I could put it into words, talking to him would be virtually the same as being essentially forced into some embarassing and traumatizing intervention. So I kept up with the distraction therapy and took the "fake it 'til you make it" approach to happiness.
Until the night of my mother's chemo. When I was genuinely very upset and afraid. My guard slipped, and I started telling him a little more of the full extent of the depression. And that's when he flipped out and started calling me a liar.
So, then I told him that it's not truly in my heart to break up right now, but if we're going to stay together, then I need him to work on being a warmer, more compassionate partner. Which he said he already was. He told me that I needed to not lie to him. Which... fine. But I have to trust you if you want me to tell you things. And trust has to be built. Judging from his reaction earlier in the week, I'm not particularly inclined to be open with him right now, you know?
I also told him that his repeatedly calling me a liar is doing a lot more harm than good, and if he wanted to help me, he'd cut it out. He told me he wasn't trying to help me. That I don't get "unconditional help" because I'd lied to him. If I wanted his help, I would have to go into therapy.
Fine, I said. No problem. Already working on it. In fact, it was something I'd comitted to before I even said a word about depression to him.
No, he said. Sooner. He wanted a deadline. He even used the word "deadline." He wanted me to start calling therapists by Tuesday, or he wouldn't help me. An even exchange, you see.
And I told him he was fucked in the head. He should want to support me because I'm his fucking girlfriend who loves him and I fucking need support right now. But I'm a liar, you see, and so I'm not entitled to help.
I said fine. How is November 30th for a deadline? A little under a month to find and interview a good therapist? Not good enough.
At that point, I got out of the car and walked away in tears.
I only stayed at the dance for about twenty minutes, most of which I spent sobbing in the ladies' room.
When Sarah drove me home, I called him. I said look, I know you're scared because well, this is fucking scary, and you're angry that I didn't tell you. But stop with the "I can't love liars" bullshit because you do love me. And you've spent at least two nights a week in my bed, tangled up, making love, being cuddly and disgusting, for the last year and a half. You might confuse your anger for falling out of love, but all it is is hurt and fear.
And I got a firm, cold, "thank you, I have to go. I'll call you on Sunday. I have to decide if I still love you or not."
Yeah. That's when I raised my voice. Then I hung up.
I fell apart.
I know that he's a douche. I know that I deserve better.
All of that doesn't change that I do love him, and I want the person with whom I've been sharing my bed and body and food and love with for the past year to not be a jackass to me right when I absolutely need him the most. I am about to undertake something really scary for me, and my mother is sick on top of it. This is not the time for him to be selfish and self-centered and issuing ultimatims about my mental health.
I don't think it's too much to ask that someone who (as of Tuesday) loved me to be a kind, compassionate human being when I'm dealing with a sick mother, frightening depression, and all the other bullshit that life throws my way. I may not always have it together. I may have a fight-or-flight response. None of that changes that I love him and asked for his help and finally opened up and was called a liar for my troubles.
I know that it's that he doesn't know how to deal with this. I know that's because seeing me in so much pain (because really, it's evident) is a stark reminder to him of how much of his own pain he's got bottled up. I know he's scared for me. All that said, his response has been the furthest from appropriate that I can rationally conceive. This is not okay, and I hate myself for thinking, "if he can only realize what he's doing, it might be okay." Because it won't. Because I can't change him. Because he's so fucking delusional about his own emotions that he can't see past them to support me.
I can't deal with this. It feels like someone is knifing me in the chest. It hurts so bad. I can't do all of this at once. I am so tired of being hurt. Of being in pain. It's too much.