I sit here with tears pouring down my face as I think about how I used to treat the love of my life. When we first met I was severely depressed, anxious, and insecure. He’s smart, kind, not to mention gorgeous! And I’m quite proud to say he’s still mine.
We met at a time in my life when I felt so alone I was a hair away from giving up. On the outside it seemed like I had it all together; I had a great job, a college diploma, a car, money set aside, big plans. But on the inside, I was empty. I knew shortly after he walked into my life that he was going to become a big part of it. Considering we lived 120 miles apart, we only got to see each other on weekends. I claim this to be the key to why he stuck around for so long. Spending time with him was the highlight of my life at this point. The feeling I got when he held me after weeks apart made my depression, anxiety and insecurities feel almost inexistent. Weekends with him were the one thing I could look forward to keeping me sane. We spent so much time laughing, talking, kissing, loving, that we finally decided that it was time to take our relationship to the next level : Living together.
It was December when he moved in with me. This was the beginning of a love so deep and so true that I never would have thought possible. It took about a month of spending my every spare moment with him before the novelty wore off in an unkind manner. My depression and anxiety came back in full swing and there was no possible way to hide it. Instead of the usual laughing, and talking about life, he spent most of his nights holding me while my mind was in a dark and scary place. I was completely immobile and incapable of feeling anything about 60% of the time I spent at home. I may have been suffering excessively, but it couldn’t have been any easier for him.
Every time I would finally snap out of one of my dark episodes that would often last for hours, I would cry. I didn’t cry because of the mental pain, or because I hated that this was happening to me, (even though I did!) I cried because I knew it hurt him to see me this way. Although always grateful, I often wondered why he stayed with me through such an intractable and grim time in my life. I had no idea when things would get better, or if they would, yet he stayed by my side and insisted that he would never leave. Little did he know that he was the one thing keeping my head above water.
Don’t get me wrong, when things were good, they were really good! We still had times of sheer happiness and enjoyed each other’s company. As previously mentioned in another post, he finally convinced me to get the help I needed. I was beyond ready for the self harm, self-hate, and the unintentional destruction of our relationship to end. I visited my doctor, got a prescription for some antidepressants, and went home to my loving boyfriend who held my hand through this entire journey so far.
As relieved as I was that this nightmare was coming to a momentary end, I could sense his worry as I popped my pill every morning before work. He would tell me to be careful on these medications, as he did not want me to lose my sense of self while trying to fix the initial problem. I had no idea at the time that he would be so right. The medications I was taking were helping my depression and anxiety greatly, but were transforming me into a person whom I didn’t even recognize. But that’s a story for another time!