Post affair: Still depressed
Posted: July 22nd, 2013, 4:58 pm
Hello, forum folks. I’m struggling with clinical depression and the aftermath of my husband’s three-year “emotional affair” with an old girlfriend. Tomorrow (July 23) is the one-year anniversary of when I picked up his phone, read his sexts to her, and found out I didn’t have the life or the husband that I thought I had. He has been remorseful and loving. I’m in counseling with a great therapist and an equally good psychiatrist. So why do I still feel so up and down -- and sometimes borderline hopeless? Why do I still feel so fragile when the slightest thing goes wrong (normal things) in my life?
It has gotten better. Early on, we were working through things with a fairly awful marriage counselor, and after a month of that and one particularly bad session, there was one day (Aug. 27) when I gave up hope. I came home by myself while my husband went on to work. Then I wrote a goodbye note to my daughters, texted my husband goodbye, locked my bedroom door with the note propped up outside, and got my daddy’s pistol out of the closet. Then I tried to load it. Comically, I didn’t have the right size bullets for it – they were way too small and fell straight through the cylinder – bloop, bloop. It was like I was watching myself in the middle of a dark comedy. I decided then I would just cut my wrists in a warm tub. And I got the idea that I didn’t want to be found naked, fat and dead by the local cops, so I climbed in with a steak knife AND all my clothes on. The knife was too dull to even break the skin unless I pressed really hard, and I was afraid that I would just maim myself without actually dying and ending the pain. When the cops came (my husband called them), I finally came sloshing downstairs like the Phantom from the Black Lagoon, squishing and splashing and crying. I was then in a psych ward for 10 days. I felt numb and like I had ice water in my veins for the first four days.
Of course, the pistol is now long gone from the house. And I'm getting some help.
It’s not just the affair. It’s a lot of things. We’re going through bankruptcy because my husband mismanaged our money while I was dealing with an elderly mom who has dementia (now in a nursing home). We are probably going to lose the house. And I’ve been depressed since my older daughter ran away from home several years ago (we’re close again now). And I had a shitty job where I got treated like a pariah because honestly I just couldn't do the job well anymore (better job now, but the work is erratic). I lost 60 lbs. on a diet and need to lose more, but I’ve plateaued and lost my energy to keep going.
The thing is, I kind of expected to be in a better place after a whole year has gone by. And all I feel like is that I’ve stabilized – scabbed over, so to speak. I go to my counselor every three weeks, and there are no startling, painful or thrilling insights, not even many incremental ones. I just feel stalled. And still so crumbly on the inside.
Not looking for answers here. Just appreciate having a place where I can tell people -- without tying them up in guilty knots -- that I’m still very much NOT okay. And I’m trying, even if I’m currently still fucking it up.
It has gotten better. Early on, we were working through things with a fairly awful marriage counselor, and after a month of that and one particularly bad session, there was one day (Aug. 27) when I gave up hope. I came home by myself while my husband went on to work. Then I wrote a goodbye note to my daughters, texted my husband goodbye, locked my bedroom door with the note propped up outside, and got my daddy’s pistol out of the closet. Then I tried to load it. Comically, I didn’t have the right size bullets for it – they were way too small and fell straight through the cylinder – bloop, bloop. It was like I was watching myself in the middle of a dark comedy. I decided then I would just cut my wrists in a warm tub. And I got the idea that I didn’t want to be found naked, fat and dead by the local cops, so I climbed in with a steak knife AND all my clothes on. The knife was too dull to even break the skin unless I pressed really hard, and I was afraid that I would just maim myself without actually dying and ending the pain. When the cops came (my husband called them), I finally came sloshing downstairs like the Phantom from the Black Lagoon, squishing and splashing and crying. I was then in a psych ward for 10 days. I felt numb and like I had ice water in my veins for the first four days.
Of course, the pistol is now long gone from the house. And I'm getting some help.
It’s not just the affair. It’s a lot of things. We’re going through bankruptcy because my husband mismanaged our money while I was dealing with an elderly mom who has dementia (now in a nursing home). We are probably going to lose the house. And I’ve been depressed since my older daughter ran away from home several years ago (we’re close again now). And I had a shitty job where I got treated like a pariah because honestly I just couldn't do the job well anymore (better job now, but the work is erratic). I lost 60 lbs. on a diet and need to lose more, but I’ve plateaued and lost my energy to keep going.
The thing is, I kind of expected to be in a better place after a whole year has gone by. And all I feel like is that I’ve stabilized – scabbed over, so to speak. I go to my counselor every three weeks, and there are no startling, painful or thrilling insights, not even many incremental ones. I just feel stalled. And still so crumbly on the inside.
Not looking for answers here. Just appreciate having a place where I can tell people -- without tying them up in guilty knots -- that I’m still very much NOT okay. And I’m trying, even if I’m currently still fucking it up.
I read your post and I honor your pain. You don't deserve that pain.