This is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done, but I know that I can do it. I know that I can be exactly what he needs me to be when we're together. When I'm alone, well, that's when I'll lose it.
Bo was adamant that he wanted to go to a movie Saturday night so I got my grandparents to watch Oliver for us for a few hours and we lost ourselves in the mindless entertainment of the The Expendables. Being in the car though on the way, well, it is just so different. My husband was always the joker, often at my expense, but never maliciously. On the way to the cottage to drop Oliver off Bo wanted to talk some more, more like re-hash how he was feeling. From what I could find online (and I don't know if it's actually what I should be doing), I've been doing my best to listen when he needs me too, and accept how he's feeling and not try to diminish his emotions at all. I rub his hand and smile, promising him that it will get better, and it won't happen over night but that we're in it together. He seems to have this fear that I'll leave because it'll be to hard to live with. He's also forgotten how strong I am it seems.
It's the comments that I don't expect that sting the worst. Like when we're talking about other movies and suddenly he's saying how much better he would feel if he just ended it. Or how the doctor asked if he would be happier if I weighed 80 pounds. Or how the only reason he's still here is because he doesn't want our son to call another man Daddy. These are the comments that sting, but he'll never know. He'll never know that I'll now carry all these comments around with me, wondering how much truth is behind them despite the depression. He won't know that I've stopped eating lunch and started walking the hour away, and starting weighing myself daily, promising to lose some weight to see if it will help.
He'll never know how absolutely terrified I am to leave him alone for even a moment right now. He says that since he's admitted that he has a problem, he can't pretend any more. Our nights together are spent with Bo sitting on the couch and silently staring at our son, fighting back tears until he can't any more. He walks around like the ghost of a man, with no emotion, no desire to be there or do anything. I try my best to play with our son in front of him, and egg him into joining us. I do my best to fill the house up with Oliver and my laughter in his presence, to remind him on some subconscious level that we do have the perfect happy family, happy life, and that he is an integral part of it.
We're supposed to go to my moms cottage in two weeks for the long weekend, but he's trying to talk me into taking Oliver on my own. I refuse to do that, and told him that if he's not comfortable being around anyone yet that's ok, I'll cancel and say that he has to work. He's voicing the same concerns about going to his family's this coming weekend to celebrate birthdays. I don't want to let him sit home and wallow. I want to get him out of the house and keep him as busy and as distracted as possible. I don't know if this is the right thing to do for him though.
Last night in bed he broke down again, crying in my arms for almost an hour after I had to wake him up when he fell asleep in the bath; he's just so exhausted from not sleeping at night. I'm so scared right now. I feel that Bo is scared that he might do something terrible one of these days, and that scares me even more. Right now the only thing keeping him tied to any form of reality is our perfect little boy. Oliver will never know the the incredible gift he's given our family by having evoked so much love from his father. Thank goodness that I have that to comfort me. I really wish it wasn't to this point though.