In a rare sighting, sadness and hopelessness has its grip on me. It’s amazing how many mood swings I can have in one day. Is that just a characteristic of having a dissociative disorder, or does everyone swing like this?
I try not to write about the every-day-goings-on of my life because it’s not always rainbows, sunshine, and unicorns bursting sparkles and glitter. I always try to see the positive in every situation, look for the good in people, work to be happy in every moment, and strive to convince myself the remaining noise will pass. But tonight, I must be real. Please grant me that.
This day has been difficult. Husband and I had a fight Saturday. We had an agreement that he would go to therapy for three months because he was deeply depressed after his father died. Now that I’ve seen a great deal of improvement in his behavior, seen him rise from the ashes of his chronic depression and become more of a husband instead of a roommate, he has started counting down the sessions to when he can stop therapy. “Four more,” he said. When I heard this, hopelessness grabbed me and lit me on fire with fear and sadness.
The “what ifs” sprinted through my mind. He knew: one year. If he doesn’t make significant progress in his mood and his behavior in one year then I will leave him. I can not jeopardize my own recovery with his poison. If he leaves therapy, I see no chance for us, and perhaps no chance for me.
After the argument, he went to bed depressed, and I left home for unrelated reasons. While gone, I texted him my love and surprised him with his favorite Chinese meal and candy when I returned home. For reasons I did not ask, he agreed to walk our dog Maybelline with me. Now, hours after the disagreement and in this moment in which I write, I sense subdued tension.
Dissociation Steals Me
Is my life worth nothing more than this sadness and hopelessness that takes hold of me when I’m not looking? I don’t have the answers, don’t know if there are answers, but there is an emptiness that seeks to destroy me tonight. No, I’m not okay. Am I allowed to say that? And I would love to say it’s okay not to be okay, but tonight it doesn’t fit my skin. All I have is the comfort of my music and my words, but that will not be enough.
Time is a passing force. For some of us, fleeting minutes keep us safe from the sadness and hopelessness. For others, safety is compromised. This is where I’m needed the most, but I fear this is where I’ll be sacrificed to the malice of self-harm. Am I that easy to kill?