Tears of a Clown

I know I haven’t updated in a really long time and if you’re one of the handful of people in the universe following my blog, I apologize. I have no real excuse. I’ve been busy but I’m always busy. That’s nothing new. I’m returning to the land of Blog now because I just have some things I need to get off my chest and I don’t know of another place to do it. I supposed I could write it all down in a diary if I need to vent but there is something about a public forum that makes it feel like someone might just be listening and empathizing with my plight.

I’ve never been depressed in my life. Not to say that I haven’t been sad or there haven’t been times when I was less happy but I’ve never understood the heavy sighs, gaunt faces and tired eyes of the depression sufferers in anti-depressant commercials. I’d have thought it was some kinda of melodramatic overstatement if I hadn’t also seen these things exhibited on my husband time and time again.

Growing up, my mother set a tone that a strong woman didn’t show her pain to the world. She suffered silently and to herself. She put on a brave face for her family and loved ones and never faltered. Not to say that my mother is a woman without emotion. She has always lavished affection on my sister and myself and is one of the kindest, thoughtful, most loving people I know. She simply feels that her role as a wife and mother is that of a rock in times of adversity. She believes that it just doesn’t do anyone any good to sit around crying about it.

This is how I was raised and how I have lived my life to date. Of course I grew up in the 80’s and not the 50’s so I’ve learned to wear quite a few more emotions on my sleeve than my mother would ever find acceptable for herself but at the end of the day, neither of us understand the concept of depression because it is just not something we have time for. Perhaps that sounds a little more snarky than I truly mean it. I understand that depression sufferers are afflicted with an emotional disease that they have little control over but there is a part of me that, on an emotional level, just sees weakness. I hate that I feel that way. I want to be more empathetic but I just can’t understand how people are able to burry themselves so deep in misery.

I believe my husband has been suffering from depression for most of his adult life. In fact I think his depression may have started at a surprisingly young age, so young in that it is a physiological part of him that is nearly impossible to dissect from the actually person. I believe he’s been depressed for so long that he honestly has little to no idea what real happiness is.

I've spent a majority of our nearly 9 years together doing everything I can think Of to make him happy. While there were brief periods of time where his smile was around more than his frown, they were always fleeting and in the end he was always the same sad boy I'd met nearly a decade ago.

Now I'm nothing if I'm not stubborn and I hate to loose so I've fought tooth and nail to pull him out of this funk. I've thrown everything but the kitchen sink at our relationship and I've run out of ideas. He did finally agree to see a therapist a few months ago and I think she has helped to awaken in him a desire to find happiness and to know what it is to shrug off the binds of depression but how close he's actually gotten to making any real progress is hard to say.

I feel like the worlds biggest asshole because I'm angry. I'm angry that my husband is still broken and that the world made him that way to begin with. I'm angry with him for not being strong enough to simply beat his depression into submission. I'm angry that I am helpless to do anything for the one person I love the most in this world. I feel like I've failed him and I just don't know what else to do.