I find myself rocking back and forth in this chair for no apparent reason other than to comfort myself, I assume. That, or I’ve completely succumbed to madness. I’ve sought refuge in the emails I’ve received from all of you, and although I haven’t had it in me to answer any yet, have read them all, I assure you. I can’t stress how much the kind words, prayers, and the pingback I received meant to me. I have no one else. Funny…for someone who’s always tried to be there for anyone who’s needed me–however slight or monstrous their problems might have been–I find myself alone with this pain and depression right now. There are no friends and family coming to my aid. It’s just me and another one of my problems, and they’re too preoccupied with their own to notice. My husband, likewise, offers nothing to the relationship in the way of support.
For most of us when the going gets tough, the tough get going. For my husband, when the going gets tough he buries his head in the sand and plays the out of sight/out of mind game, hoping what he doesn’t recognize won’t hurt him. I wish sometimes I were that naive. I’ve been accused of being a pessimist because I’m not. I choose to look at the problem with eyes wide open, and face the inevitable horror when necessary. I don’t consider this pessimism as much as being a realist. Lies are comforting, but just because they feel good doesn’t make them real. Sadly, the truth usually hurts.
My husband isn’t ready to let go. He informed me this decision we’ve made concerning Sully is not something he’s comfortable with now. Sully has had a couple better days. The diarrhea and vomiting has ceased, and with it has cast a shadow of doubt in my husband’s mind. He again feels it’s not time yet. I sit here filled with worry watching Sully struggle with his breathing while he sleeps, and groan nearly every time he tries to get comfortable. These things I see that my husband chooses not to. My fear is that he’s going to yield to this cancer while in my care one afternoon while my husband is at work. What then? How am I, weak as I am emotionally in my current state, going to deal with watching my son suffocate to death, have a massive heart attack, or his kidneys fail completely? Am I selfish for wanting to end his life before it comes to that?
I didn’t think at first I would have the strength to make this decision, but here I am today feeling that keeping him with us under these circumstances is worse than death itself. Sadly, it appears it’s not my decision to make. My husband laid guilt on me and made me feel as if I were just trying to get rid of Sully sooner, so I told him to cancel the appointment till he’s more comfortable with this choice. Never mind that I am uncomfortable and the only one home to deal with this slow demise as my husband is gone twelve hours out of every day, and when he’s home preoccupies himself in the garage, on the computer, or really with anything that distracts him from this slow death and our marriage unraveling . Once again my husband is showing little consideration for anyone other than himself; again at my expense, and sadly now Sully’s too. I’ve begun to hate him, and have little sympathy for his pain. What of my pain?
I know I’m doing nothing more than crying in a rain storm for all the attention my pleas are getting me. I just have to brave through this as I’ve been forced to every other damn thing in my life. I may not come out of this unscathed, but know I will be stronger for it and more capable of making difficult decisions in the future because of it. I teeter between anger and self-pity, knowing neither are healthy or will benefit me. I am not beneath pettiness at this point, I shamefully admit. I’ve become a shrew, and almost embrace it. I care little how it makes me look. I wish I were anywhere but here. I wish my son were healthy again. I wish I didn’t always have to be the strong one, the capable one. I wish…Want in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up faster. The stinging slap of reality is that life is a crap-shoot, we get what we get, nothing good ever lasts, but then neither does the sadness or pain. Or does it? For those of us with clinical depression maybe it does.